Over the course of writing Men of War, I have accumulated a significant number of debts, and so I am glad to be able, at long last, to repay them—partially, at least.
For providing me with hard-to-find articles and essays, I thank John Heiser, historian at Gettysburg National Military Park; Erik Goldstein, curator of mechanical arts & numismatics at Colonial Williamsburg; Kathy O. Jackson of the Medical Society of Delaware; Col. Joseph H. Alexander, USMC (Ret.); and Alan Hawk of the National Museum of Health and Medicine. Matthew A. Boal and Scott N. Hendrix sent copies of their dissertations, both of which proved invaluable. Samuel Fore of the marvelous Harlan Crow Library in Dallas, Texas, very kindly supplied the unpublished transcript of Isaac Glynney’s Bunker Hill diary.
I must also thank, profusely, Dr. Earl J. Hess of Lincoln Memorial University for reading an early and ungainly draft of the Bunker Hill chapter, as well as Richard Brookhiser and Michael Stephenson for braving the howling wilderness of the first-draft version of Gettysburg. Don N. Hagist, one of the foremost historians of the British Army during the War of Independence, dissected my arguments in the relevant sections of Bunker Hill and (tried to) set me right when I erred. It should go without saying, though I shall say it, that any remaining inaccuracies or misinterpretations are entirely my own.
The Frederick Lewis Allen Room at the New York Public Library is a haven for every writer, and I was fortunate indeed to benefit from its sanctuary for an unconscionably prolonged time owing to Jay Barks dale, its guardian. I’m also grateful to the librarians and staff of the Irma and Paul Milstein Division of United States History, Local History, and Genealogy for uncomplainingly hauling scores of heavy old books to my desk. Not only am I immensely thankful for the unparalleled resources of the grand old NYPL, but also for the wondrous holdings of the Butler Library at Columbia University: Time and time again they remind me that we all are beholden to the antiquarians, archivists, librarians, and scholars of ages past and present. Without their dedication and diligence, our preserved knowledge of history would be paltry indeed.
Producing and publishing a book requires an enormous investment of skill, time, money, persistence, and patience. Random House has neither stinted in its support nor swayed in its conviction that Men of War was a worthwhile project. For their aid and advice, I must thank my editors, Jonathan Jao and Will Murphy, as well as assistant editor Molly Turpin, who supervised the Herculean process of turning an idea into a book with seemingly effortless (though it wasn’t) aplomb. Martin Schneider, the copy editor; Loren Noveck, my production editor; and Jenn Backe and Richard Elman, the production managers, devoted untold hours to making sure my prose was relatively coherent, my bibliography tidily arranged, and my pages neatly bound. David Lindroth did a splendid job of composing the maps armed with only the vaguest of instructions. My agent, Eric Lupfer of William Morris Endeavor, is a font of sound advice and shrewd judgment; it was he who so expertly midwifed, nurtured, and raised Men of War into the form it is today.
My father, Professor Paul Lawrence Rose, one of the finest and most penetrating of historians, died during my final stages of editing this book. He taught me an enormous amount about practicing history, and I think that he would have enjoyed reading (and commenting on) Men of War, as would my late grandfather, Professor Jack Rose (French Army, 1939–40, and the Queen’s Own Royal West Kent Regiment until the war’s end). My mother, Susan, as well as my siblings—Olivia, Zoë, and Ari—have been immoveable rocks of support throughout the writing process, as have Stephen and Craig. Accolades, too, must be bestowed upon Erna Olafson, David and Carolyn Hellerstein, Chad and Elizabeth, and Ben and Jamie. Mustn’t forget, of course, Sabrina and Romy, and Kyla and Iliana.
And finally, I arrive at the dedicatees, my wife, Rebecca, and Edmund, our son. I cannot even begin to describe how wonderful they are, and how beloved. It was a long and difficult trek to finish Men of War, and they were unstintingly there every step of the way. To them, I owe everything still.