“For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.”—2 Timothy 1:8

Profiles of 1776 | Elizabeth Annesley Lewis

n the course of Providence, when Elizabeth Lewis’ husband, Francis, put his name to the Declaration of Independence, he signed away not only his own life but—most tangibly—hers as well. He was the oldest delegate from New York—pulled from a comfortable retirement at the time—and he approved of Independence all while knowing that his home was directly in line for the next British invasion.

Little is known of this couple before the war. Francis grew up an orphan in Wales before becoming a self made man by dealing in trade. He enjoyed prosperity in America and found himself seated at John Hancock’s lavish table by 1776. Elizabeth was the youngest sister of Francis’s partner in the mercantile trade. They were blessed with seven children, three of whom survived infancy. Francis Lewis was intrepid in his business, traveling as far as Russia to promote his trade, and Elizabeth ran the business at home in concert with her brother. In the words of her granddaughter:

Francis Lewis (1713-1802)

“To Francis Lewis she was Heaven’s best gift. When his adventurous spirit led him to embark on long and perilous voyages, he knew that he left his children to the care of an able as well as tender mother, who could train their characters as well as protect their interests.”

Morgan Lewis (1754-1844), son of Francis & Elizabeth Lewis, continued the legacy of his parents by serving his country in many ways, including in both the War for Independence and the War of 1812, the New York State Assembly (1789, 1792), the New York State Senate (1811–1814), as New York State Attorney General (1791–1801), and the third governor of New York (1804–1807).

About 1765, Lewis moved his family to Whitestone, Long Island, where he acquired a handsome estate. Francis retired from business in 1771 except for the purpose of establishing his son, Francis Lewis, Jr., in the trade. Mrs. Lewis resided permanently on Long Island, even as her husband and sons were away more and more as tensions escalated. Francis Lewis devoted his attention entirely to public affairs after his election to the First Continental Congress.

Like his fellow New York signers—Floyd, Livingston, and Robert Morris—Francis Lewis was declared an outlaw by the British authorities and a price set upon his head. The enemy did not stop there. General Washington and the patriot army were soon driven from New York in the summer of 1776, and the king’s troops took possession of Long Island. They were singularly rapacious, having endured a harsh winter in Nova Scotia and been dealt a bitter defeat by the rebels in Boston the previous year. They took out this aggression on the citizenry of the idyllic little community, with violence, pillaging, and rape becoming commonplace. “The troops hold the rebels very cheap,” wrote Ambrose Serle, secretary to General Lord Howe, “and long for an opportunity of revenging the cause of their countrymen who fell at Bunker Hill.”

Memorial to the 56 Signers of the Declaration of Independence,
National Mall, Washington, DC

So empowered, a certain Colonel Birteh promptly led a troop of light horse to go give the aged New York signer “the hanging he deserved.” Finding Mr. Lewis not at home, Birteh changed course “to seize the lady and destroy the property.” As the soldiers advanced on one side of the Lewis home, a ship of war from the other fired upon the house. A shot from the vessel struck a board on which Elizabeth stood.

When one of her servants urged her to run, Mrs. Lewis pluckily replied: “Another shot is not likely to strike the same spot,” and did not change her place. The soldiers entered the house and began their work of plunder and devastation. One of them threw himself at her very feet and tore the glittering buckles from her shoes, only to be disappointed that they were dupes. “Not all that glitters is gold,” Elizabeth reportedly tutted.

The soldiers destroyed books, papers, pictures, and ruthlessly broke up the furniture with hatchets, making the lady of the estate watch her domain being systematically laid to waste. And then, after this pillage, they seized Mrs. Lewis herself and took her off with them on horseback. She was carried to New York and there thrown into prison. She was not allowed a bed or a change of clothing and was only given the coarse and scanty food that was doled out each day to the other prisoners; she was also not permitted to communicate with anyone outside.

Originally commissioned in 1974 by the Daughters of the American Revolution and issued by the Franklin Mint, a series of pewter medallions—Famous Women of the American Revolution—was produced. Elizabeth Annesley Lewis is commemorated here.

Elizabeth Annesley Lewis medallion, back

This went on for months. It became obvious the British were bent on making an example of her by imprisonment and by denying her the bare necessities of life. Elizabeth Lewis was sixty years old.

In retaliation for this outrage of war being waged on the weaker sex, General Washington put the wives of two prominent Philadelphia Tories under a far more benign house arrest. At last a prisoner exchange was arranged—these two ladies for Elizabeth’s freedom. She was released in broken health and initially disallowed from leaving New York to join her rebel husband. Her faithful servant who had followed her was gravely ill himself, and despite her own dire circumstances she cared for him until he passed away from the illness.

Elizabeth eventually reunited with her husband, lived to see a daughter elope with a British sea captain and a son marry the daughter of another signer, Robert Livingston. When Francis was reelected to Congress in 1779, he asked a leave of absence so he might attend to his invalid wife, whose broken health had only worsened in the past two years. She died that year, having never recovered from the deprivations inflicted on her.

Elizabeth Lewis’s tale is one of many such stories, showcasing the grave sacrifices that the citizenry endured in the cause of liberty, and the animosity they faced from those who invaded their homes and destroyed their lives in retribution for daring to break away from the motherland. Hers is a story quintessential of the spirit of 1776, and quintessential of that sturdy virtue which animated the women of the Revolution.

In the words of eminent historian David McCullough:

“The year 1776, celebrated as the birth year of the nation and for the signing of the Declaration of Independence, was for those who carried the fight for independence forward a year of all-too-few victories, of sustained suffering, disease, hunger, desertion, cowardice, disillusionment, defeat, terrible discouragement, and fear, as they would never forget, but also of phenomenal courage and bedrock devotion to country. The war was a longer, far more arduous, and more painful struggle than later generations would understand or sufficiently appreciate. By the time it ended, it had taken the lives of an estimated 25,000 Americans, or roughly 1 percent of the population. In percentage of lives lost, it was the most costly war in American history, except for the Civil War.”

Elizabeth Lewis was one such life; may we never forget.

Image Credits: 1 Francis Lewis (wikipedia.org) 2 Morgan Lewis (wikipedia.org) 3 56 Signers Memorial (wikipedia.org) 4 Pewter Medallion front (ebay.com) 5 Pewter Medallion back (ebay.com)

“‘I will shake all nations, and what is desired by all nations will come, and I will fill this house with glory,’ says the Lord Almighty. ‘The silver is mine and the gold is mine,’ declares the Lord Almighty. ‘The glory of this present house will be greater than the glory of the former house,’ says the Lord Almighty. ‘And in this place I will grant peace,’ declares the Lord Almighty.”—Haggai 2:6-7

Profiles of 1776 | John Hancock

hile reduced in national memory to little more than his unapologetically large signature at the bottom of the Declaration of Independence, the life and contributions of John Hancock to our founding epoch are numerous and varied, and worthy of broader study.

John Hancock (1737-1793)

For while there were many men who wrote and fought and funded the Revolution into being, John Hancock consistently managed to place himself in the thick of things, and to make himself indispensable while doing so. He is lauded as the “purse” of the Revolution, for while others may have given as much or more, none did so as soon or with such abandon as John Hancock. He was also inadvertently the cause of the first shots of the war being fired at Lexington Green on that fateful April day in 1775, being one of the chief objects the British set out to seize—along with powder and arms and his compatriot in the Sons of Liberty, Sam Adams.

So zealous was Hancock in the cause of humanity and of liberty that long before an outright conflict had occurred, it was the talk of Boston how this rich young merchant “poured his heart, soul—and money—into the patriot cause.” One contemporary recalled:

“Charity was the common business of his life. Hundreds of families, from his private benevolence, received their daily bread; and there is, perhaps, no individual mentioned in history, who has expended a more ample fortune in promoting the liberties of his country.”

When in 1766 he was elected, at age twenty-seven, to serve in the state legislature, it was generally remarked to be a wise and good thing, for not only had Hancock proven to be honest in his dealings with his fellows, he was also uniformly generous. Immediately upon taking office, Hancock—who had grown up fatherless and poor—forewent his salary. By electing him, Bostonians had “made that young man’s fortune their own,” in the words of Sam Adams. At that time, no one knew just how true such predictions would prove.

John Hancock’s estate on Beacon Hill, Boston was originally built for his uncle, Thomas Hancock, but inherited by John when his uncle died childless

Having inherited a vast mercantile business from his uncle, with ships and trade being his main source of wealth, Hancock was among those New Englanders first to chafe under the growing imposition of taxes and the Crown’s greatly hated customs officers.

As early as 1768, he clashed with authorities on this matter when one of his ships, the brazenly named Liberty, was seized by the British, with Hancock being accused of smuggling cargo without paying the proper duty. In the words of historian Denis Kiernan:

“This accusation was hardly a shock: Hancock was an unabashed smuggler at a time when smuggling was considered by Americans as the only reasonable response to unreasonable taxation.”

The charges were dropped against Hancock, but the Liberty was pressed into service as a royal vessel. Bostonians took this poorly, a riot ensued—one that Hancock probably did not want—and the ship ended up burned. For better or worse, his name was thus thrust further into the public consciousness. Explosions of public vitriol such as this convinced the British to present a more forceful presence in Boston Harbor, raising tensions that eventually lead to the Boston Massacre in 1770 and the Boston Tea Party three years later.

Paul Revere’s 1768 engraving of British troops arriving in Boston was reprinted throughout the colonies.

Soon Boston was filled with regiment after regiment of the King’s soldiers brought in to ostensibly keep the peace; they instead imposed a form of martial law that turned many docile and law-abiding citizens into patriots. The incoming Coercive Acts fully closed the port of Boston, creating mass panic and scarcity. Daily the ranks of Sam Adams’s fiery Sons of Liberty swelled, and their somewhat dubious tactics grew bolder with the backing of John Hancock’s coffers.

For his part, Hancock put the blame squarely on the King himself, stating in an oration on March 5, 1774:

“The town of Boston, ever faithful to the British crown, has been invested by a British fleet; the troops of George the Third have crossed the Atlantic, not to engage an enemy, but to assist a band of traitors in trampling on the rights and liberties of his most loyal subjects; those rights and liberties, which, as a father, he ought ever to regard, and as a king, he is bound in honour to defend from violation, even at the risk of his own life.”

Hancock was elected President of the Massachusetts Provincial Congress of Patriots in October of 1774. In turn, the king’s Governor, General Thomas Gage, began to regard Hancock as a traitor and outlaw. It was under Hancock’s guidance that the citizenry of Massachusetts raised bands of “minutemen,” citizen militia who trained so that they could be ready to join a fight in sixty seconds. They would soon be called upon, and their action would make history.

The Hancock–Clarke House in Lexington, Massachusetts was built in 1738 by John Hancock’s grandfather of the same name, having purchased the land in 1699. Hancock himself lived here a few years as a child when his father was the parson, but at the time of the events below, it was occupied by Rev. Jonas Clark who succeeded Hancock’s father as parson.

Then, in April 1775, British troops were sent from Boston to capture Hancock and Samuel Adams at Lexington, as well as stored munitions at Concord. Paul Revere—one of many who spread the warning as midnight riders—was the one to gallop into Lexington and warn Hancock of his impending capture. Hancock was at this time engaged to Dorothy “Dolly” Quincy, who later became his wife, and on that fateful night the two were at a dinner in the parsonage of Rev. Jonas Clarke at Lexington.

Never one to be constrained to any typical sphere of action, Hancock’s initial reaction to the news was to join the minutemen on the village green and take a stand; the parson—with the weighty pleas of Hancock’s fiancée—persuaded him it was prudent to run and avoid being taken captive. He and Samuel Adams, also residing there for the night, fled toward the village of Woburn.

Their escape was narrow enough that they heard the gunshots from the ensuing skirmish, and Samuel Adams exclaimed, “what a glorious morning this is!” as they made good their flight. Governor Gage promptly offered pardons for those who took up arms, but he made exceptions only for “. . . Samuel Adams and John Hancock, whose offenses are of too flagitious a nature to admit of any other consideration than that of capital punishment.“

Undaunted from this close call, these two Sons of Liberty journeyed to the meeting of the highly illegal Second Continental Congress, over which John Hancock would eventually preside as President. Further undaunted in private as well as public life, Hancock chose to wed Miss Dolly Quincy during this turbulent time. They would have two children together, a girl and a boy. Tragically, neither would survive them into adulthood.

Dorothy Quincy (1747-1830), as painted in 1772

In the capacity of President of the Congress, Hancock was the first to affix his name to the Declaration of Independence on July 4, 1776, placing it boldly large and intentionally central. He was reported to have said, “There! [England] can read my name without spectacles and may double his reward on my head!”

The signature portion of the Declaration of Independence, with John Hancock’s iconic signature prominently visible at the top

The result was that John Hancock’s name became second only to that of George Washington as a symbol of freedom and defiance in the colonies. But it wasn’t the large signature alone that did that; it was Hancock’s vehement willingness to risk all his properties during the protracted siege of Boston that made this millionaire beloved amongst the ordinary men of the cause. His lavish home on Beacon Hill had initially been spared during the British occupation of Boston because General Clinton made it his headquarters, enjoying the opulent comforts it provided and draining the wine cellars. Clinton also hosted grand parties there, and the British gained much amusement from eating off the wealthy rebel’s silver and plate. They also sought out an erstwhile sweetheart of Hancock’s whose house he had bought and furnished, hoping she might betray him, but she refused and took ship to flee Boston for good.

Hancock Manor, Boston, photographed in 1860—the house remained full of the Hancock family’s belongings and exactly as they left it until 1863 when it was sold at auction for $230, emptied, and demolished.

During the siege, General Washington had kept in close contact with President Hancock, fully relying on the latter to supply him with provisions and civil direction in the war. A vote was held in Congress to debate General Washington’s proposal to drive out the British occupiers by bombarding Boston. Far away from the deprivations of the patriot army, many delegates objected to so strong a measure: many had friends and relations still in the town, others had their homes and businesses there, and still more had qualms about destroying property on such a large scale.

None, however, had more to lose from a bombardment than their President. But Hancock’s response to Washington? “Burn Boston, burn. Though it makes John Hancock a beggar—if the public good requires it.”

John Hancock in 1770

Much more could be told of this great man: how he served in the Congress long past the opening act of the Revolution, how his hospitality once saved a contingent of our French allies from being lynched by angry Bostonians, how he charmed the southern delegates of the Congress into cooperation with their Yankee compatriots, as well as his exemplary service as Massachusetts’ first elected governor. In this office he died at age fifty-six, the war having eroded his health greatly but not his zeal or charm.

In a request that was atypical for this flamboyant character, Hancock left instructions for his funeral be a quiet affair. He got no such thing. It was a huge procession, all pomp and circumstance, with all of Boston turning out to honor him. Bells rang, soldiers marched, stores closed, flags flew. Once again, second to Washington’s own, the memorial of John Hancock stirred public gratitude to overflowing.

His fellow patriot and erstwhile rival, John Adams, gave this testimony of him:

“Mr. Hancock had a delicate constitution. He was very infirm; a great part of his life was passed in acute pain. . . . Yet it was astonishing with what patience, perseverance, and punctuality, he attended to business to the last. Nor were his talents or attainments inconsiderable. They were far superior to many who have been much more celebrated. No man’s property was ever more entirely devoted to the public.”

Hancock House—a replica of Hancock Manor, Boston, and reconstructed in Ticonderoga, New York—serves as a memorial and museum to John Hancock’s legacy

Rear elevation of Hancock House, Ticonderoga, New York

Image Credits: 1 John Hancock, 1765 (wikipedia.org) 2 Hancock Estate (wikipedia.org) 3 Revere’s Boston Harbor (wikipedia.org) 4 Hancock-Clarke House (wikipedia.org) 5 Dorothy Quincy (wikipedia.org) 6 Hancock’s signature (wikipedia.org) 7 Hancock Manor (wikipedia.org) 8 Hancock, 1770 (wikipedia.org) 9 Hancock House, NY (front) (wikipedia.org) 10 Hancock House, NY (rear) (wikipedia.org)

“The quiet words of the wise are more to be heeded than the shouts of a ruler of fools; wisdom is better than weapons of war…”—Ecclesiastes 9:17-18

Profiles of 1776 | Richard Henry Lee

n an era that expected its statesmen not only to hold defensible positions but to articulate them with eloquence worthy of the stage, Richard Henry Lee earned the moniker “The Cicero of Virginia.” For those rusty on their ancient Roman history, Marcus Tullius Cicero was the golden-tongued champion of the Roman Republic in its final decades before it slid into Caesarism. Coming from Virginia—a state that boasted many acclaimed orators, including the unforgettable Patrick Henry—Lee’s influence and fame faced stiff competition, yet such friendly rivalries only made his reputation all the more illustrious.

Richard Henry Lee (1732-1794)

Unlike the self-made Patrick Henry, Lee’s family boasted of vast lands and influence by the time of the American Revolution, being one of Virginia’s original great families. His brother Francis “Lightfoot” Lee would end up signing the Declaration of Independence alongside him, the only siblings to do so. It was no wonder then that we owe many of the initiatives of independence to Richard Henry Lee’s leadership and facilitation, as he commanded great respect from his peers and his prosperous colony was a crucial linchpin for the entire movement.

Richard Lee I (c. 1618-1664), was the English-born father of the Lees of America, settling in Virginia in 1639

Educated in England like many of his peers, Lee had spent his life in a variety of roles up until 1776. At age twenty-three he had participated in the French and Indian War, with his contemporary George Washington serving in the Virginia militia around the same time. He was soon after elected Justice of the Peace and gained a long-term position in Virginia’s House of Burgesses, where he advocated for the abolition of chattel slavery in his colony. During the heated years leading up to war with Great Britain, Lee became known for his impassioned addresses and writings to the king and the British Parliament on the injustices of the Stamp Act and Townshend Acts.

Influenced by the almost prophetic advice of his mentor and close friend Peyton Randolph, who had long served as the King’s Attorney for Virginia, Lee’s addresses evolved from appeals to outright condemnation:

“Once more let me remind you that no confidence is to be reposed in the justice or mercy of Britain, and that American liberty must be entirely of American fabric.”

Raleigh Tavern in Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia

Such verbiage got the House of Burgesses dissolved by the Royal Governor of Virginia, but it was no matter. The colony’s duly elected representatives met at Raleigh Tavern in Williamsburg and in St. John’s Church in Richmond instead. It was at St. John’s that Patrick Henry gave his electrifying “give me liberty or give me death!” speech, which Richard Henry Lee supported with an appeal to arms of his own.

After the applause for Henry’s speech had died out, Lee proclaimed:

“Admitting the probable calculations to be against us, we are assured in holy writ, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong; and if the language of genius may be added to that of inspiration, I will say with our immortal bard: ‘Thrice is he armed, who hath his quarrel just, And he but naked, tho’ locked up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is oppressed.’”

St. John’s Church, Richmond, Virginia

It was Lee who sent an address to the other colonies summoning them to a general Congress to redress their many grievances. It was Lee and Henry who dominated the rhetoric of the first Congress held in 1774, shifting at that early date the vocabulary of resistance to one which espoused an American identity separate from Great Britain. Lee’s resolve that every colony organize and supply their state militias with arms and training, however, was rejected as savoring too strongly of revolt in a time when placating measures were being prioritized.

Lee was elected again as delegate to the Second Continental Congress in 1775 and was said to have liked its spirit of determination. When Washington was unanimously elected commander-in-chief, Lee was appointed chairman of the committee responsible for giving Washington instructions.

About this time, Lee wrote a second address to the people of Great Britain:

“Yet we conclude not that we propose to surrender our property into the hands of your ministry, or vest your Parliament with a power which may terminate in our destruction. The great bulwarks of our Constitution we have desired to maintain by every temperate, by every peaceable means; but your ministers, equal foes to British and American freedom, have added to their former oppressions an attempt to reduce us by the sword to a base and abject submission. On the sword, therefore, we are compelled to rely for protection. Should victory declare in your favor, yet men trained to arms from their infancy and animated by the love of liberty, will afford neither a cheap nor easy conquest. Of this at least we are assured, that our struggle will be glorious, our success certain; since even in death we shall find that freedom which in life you forbid us to enjoy.”

And then, on June 7, 1776, he was the one chosen by the patriot faction of the Congress to put forward the motion for irrevocable independence:

“Resolved: that these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent States, that they are absolved from all allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain is, and ought to be, totally dissolved.”

The Congress erupted at this. John Adams leapt to his feet and seconded the bold motion but was heatedly opposed by John Dickinson of Pennsylvania and Robert Livingston of New York, who were still holding out hope for reconciliation. The next day, Congress voted to postpone the vote until July 1, so that the delegates could obtain instructions from their local legislatures; but in the meantime, a committee was formed to begin writing a document. If Independence was agreed upon, they’d need something articulating their reasoning, and something for the delegates to sign to show unanimity.

Signature of Richard Henry Lee

Five men were chosen for the task: Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, Roger Sherman, and Robert R. Livingston. Richard Henry Lee was to chair the little committee, as it was parliamentary tradition for the man who proposed the motion to supervise its final drafting. It is notable how even in these small details the patriots tried to follow English common law, not acting as rash agitators without care for correct procedure but instead as elected officials citing a case against king and Parliament.

Which leads us to Lee’s last great contribution to the year 1776: his guidance in the matter of our great Declaration’s source material. It was an odd stroke of Providence that ensured Lee would not be present for any of the drafting he was supposed to oversee; his beloved wife had fallen gravely ill and he left Philadelphia in a rush to attend her.

Franklin, Adams and Jefferson hard at work compiling, writing and editing the Declaration of Independence

But before he left, Lee visited the mildly overwhelmed Thomas Jefferson’s lodgings late at night, offering the young man three books to build their great lawsuit upon. For that is what it must be, Lee insisted—this document had to be a lawsuit against Great Britain for their breaking of their covenant with the colonies.

The books Lee left Jefferson with were John Locke’s Disquisition on Government, which proposed that legitimate political authority is derived solely from the consent of the governed; Richard Hooker’s extensive commentary on the book of Judges titled Of the Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity, which expounded upon the benefits of a people united by moral agreement rather than physical force; and Samuel Rutherford’s masterpiece, Lex Rex, which a century before had made the biblical argument that God’s universal law was king, not the other way around.

From these books, Lee charged Jefferson that he had all the material he needed to articulate their lawful reasons for breaking away from their tyrannical mother country, and for choosing to set up for themselves a government which would ensure their safety and prosperity. Next time you read the most exhaustive lists of charges leveled against the British government in the often-forgotten section of the Declaration, remember Richard Henry Lee in your gratitude for so well-bolstered a case against tyrants.

Page 1 of an early draft of the Declaration of Independence

Page 2 of an early draft of the Declaration of Independence

In his Biography of the Signers to the Declaration of Independence John Sanderson notes of Lee’s impact:

“In consequence of his great exertions to procure a declaration of Independence, and his able support of the freedom of his country, Mr. Lee was exposed to the more immediate and implacable hatred of the king of England and his ministers. It is asserted that, had the arms of England prevailed, the surrender of Washington and Lee would have been demanded as a preliminary to any treaty. The rudeness of individuals cannot be charged upon their nation, yet, that many Englishmen, in the garb and rank of gentlemen, could not refrain from expressing, to the sons of Mr. Lee, then at school in England, ‘the hope that their father’s head might soon be seen on Tower hill,’ may serve to show the light in which he was viewed by the royalists of that day. The desire of the enemy to cut off by any means so able a supporter of the rights of America, was only equaled by the solicitude of his fellow citizens to secure his safety and happiness.”

Image Credits: 1 Richard Henry Lee (wikipedia.org) 2 Richard Lee I (wikipedia.org) 3 Raleigh Tavern (wikipedia.org) 4 St. John’s Church (wikipedia.org) 5 Signature of Richard Henry Lee (wikipedia.org) 6 Writing the Declaration of Independence (wikipedia.org) 7 Early draft of the Declaration of Independence, page 1 (wikipedia.org) 8 Early draft of the Declaration of Independence, page 2 (wikipedia.org)

Profiles of 1776 | The Wolcott Family

ew anecdotes from America’s pivotal year of 1776 are as delightful as the one involving Founding Father, soldier, and Connecticut representative Oliver Wolcott and his remarkable little family of “rebels.” When the year began, Wolcott was juggling two careers: as his state’s principal delegate to the Continental Congress, and as Commander of the Connecticut militia. Congress had also appointed him Commissioner of Indian Affairs, his previous service in the French and Indian War having made him well suited for the role.

Oliver Wolcott, Sr. (1726-1797)

He proved Congress’s trust in his merits by hammering out a treaty with the Northern Indian nations, binding them to remain neutral during the upcoming conflict. He did this three separate times, all successfully. By these treaties, many settler families were spared the atrocities that had been inflicted upon them in previous wars.

All these achievements aside, Wolcott’s greatest disappointment of 1776 was his absence from Congress during the momentous vote for Independence. Gravely ill at the time and far away with his militia, he missed the proceedings in Philadelphia on July 4. It would be months before he could affix his name to the document he had helped to craft. But it was this sad absence that allowed him to witness a scene most of his contemporaries missed.

Signature of Oliver Wolcott, Sr.

When the irreparable break from Great Britain was decided upon, General George Washington’s irregular Continental Army was in New York City, preparing to repulse an imminent and massive invasion by both the British army and navy. It was therefore of the utmost importance for the President of Congress, Mr. John Hancock, to quickly dispatch a fresh copy of the Declaration of Independence to the Commander in Chief. And so it was that on July 9, in New York City, the ordinary militiamen from every state—who had fought for over a year under a variety of banners and for a cause still nebulous in its desired outcome—first learned that they now had a country of their own. The reaction was tremendous and not entirely orderly.

Oliver Wolcott was in New York for this occasion, and there he witnessed not only the joy of the soldiers and the effusion of passion many citizens displayed, but also one of the most bizarre demonstrations of patriotic fervor ever expressed in colonial America. For General Washington had hardly finished reading the document when a motley group of soldiers, citizens, and ne’er-do-wells stormed Bowling Green in the Wall Street area. In their zeal, they toppled the stately and gigantic equestrian statue of His Majesty—chief enemy number one—King George III. Having done this, the mob proceeded to smash it to bits on the green before taking its head and parading it on a pike through the city streets. It was rumored to have later been sent to London as a taunt.

King George III’s statue on Bowling Green in New York being toppled by the excited mob

The mob then moved on to other celebratory actions, many equally destructive but of less political impact. Yet Wolcott remained on the green amidst the wreckage. The statue had weighed about four thousand pounds and was made of pure lead with a fine coating of gold leaf. As a militiaman and an old soldier accustomed to providing his own kit, Wolcott looked at that heap of rubble and had an epiphany. Bullets were made of lead, and bullets had been terribly hard to come by for the Americans. His soldiers often had to meet the enemy with no more than five or ten bullets each, if they were lucky, and Congress had proven unable to supply more.

Wolcott collected the salvageable pieces and arranged for a ship to take the heavy material by sea to the port of Norwalk, Connecticut. It was then loaded onto oxcarts and hauled sixty miles to his house in Litchfield. There, in the family orchard behind his house, he enlisted the help of his wife, children, and the local ladies to smelt and mold the rubble into ammunition.

The Oliver Wolcott House, Litchfield, CT, front

The Oliver Wolcott House, Litchfield, CT, front/side

Wolcott’s son, Frederick Wolcott, would later attest that his father—tall, muscular, and still in the prime of life—took an axe to the larger portions himself, dividing them into manageable pieces for Mrs. Wolcott’s great cauldrons, which were themselves sacrificed for the cause. Frederick also kept careful accounts of the production rate of their merry little band of melters, reporting a grand total of 42,088 bullets formed from the statue. It was recorded that Laura Wolcott, age fifteen, made 8,378; Mary Ann Wolcott, age eleven, made 10,790; and Frederick himself, at age nine, a respectable 936.

Proud papa Wolcott took these bullets with him into the Battle of Saratoga, furnishing his men with them and thus helping to defeat General John Burgoyne’s army with “hot blasts of His Melted Majesty.”

Wolcott would eventually sign the Declaration of Independence in October 1776 and later added his name to the Articles of Confederation in 1777. He survived the war, as did his wife and children. This most industrious and utilitarian Founding Father then took a well-deserved retirement at his home in Litchfield, although he remained active as Lieutenant Governor and took an enthusiastic part in local deliberations on the formation of our Constitution.

Coat of arms of Oliver Wolcott

He was pulled from his ease in 1796 upon being elected Governor. Himself the fifteenth child of a previous governor of Connecticut, he was proud to step into the office his father had held forty-five years earlier—but now within a radically different and sovereign nation that he had helped to create. Of Wolcott’s character, which produced his own great contributions and those of his distinguished family, his biographer Sanderson wrote this glowing summation:

“As a patriot and statesman, a Christian and a man, Governor Wolcott presented a bright example; for inflexibility, virtue, piety and integrity, were his prominent characteristics. His integrity was inflexible, his morals were strictly pure, and his faith that of a humble Christian, untainted by bigotry or intolerance. Mr. Wolcott was personally acquainted with, and esteemed by, most of the great actors of the American Revolution, and his name is recorded in connexion with many of its most important events. It is the glory of our country, that the fabric of American greatness was reared by the united toils and exertions of patriots in every state, supported by a virtuous and intelligent people. It is peculiar to our revolution, and distinguishes it from every other, that it was recommended, commenced, conducted, and terminated under the auspices of men, who, with few exceptions, enjoyed the public confidence during every vicissitude of fortune. It is therefore sufficient for any individual to say of him, that he was distinguished for his virtues, his talents, and his services.”

Grave of Oliver Wolcott, Sr. and his wife, Laura

Image Credits: 1 Oliver Wolcott, Sr. (wikipedia.org) 2 Signature of Oliver Wolcott (wikipedia.org) 3 Toppling King George III (wikipedia.org) 4 Wolcott House, front (wikipedia.org) 5 Wolcott House, front/side (wikipedia.org) 6 Wolcott Coat of Arms (wikipedia.org) 7 Oliver & Laura Wolcott Grave (wikipedia.org)

John Dunlap | Profiles of 1776

he distribution of truth has been labeled a treasonous act many times throughout the ages. Publishers have often been persecuted—whether for printing Bibles, tracts, or treatises—and have been executed, exiled, or otherwise had their livelihoods destroyed, not for material they themselves crafted, but for daring to propagate another’s words in the common tongue.

In her colonial days, America had already faced the issue of certain banned works, with treatises like Thomas Morton’s New English Canaan (1637) being forcibly suppressed by the colony of Massachusetts. Likewise, one of our most prestigious Founding Fathers, Benjamin Franklin, was himself a newspaper printer, and his brother James, under whom he apprenticed, was arrested for seditious libel in the 1720s.

Arrest of Thomas Morton, author of the first banned book in our nation’s history, New English Canaan

Such measures against the free press were not particularly common, nor were their sentences as severe as in England, but the cost had been proven to the colonists long before the need arose for someone to print the most seditious article ever seen in North America—the Declaration of Independence.

The final unanimous vote for secession from England was held by Congress on July 2. On July 3, John Adams predicted in a letter home that this day would enjoy all the fanfare of future celebrations, which July 4 now holds. On July 4 itself, Congress made small alterations to the text of the document, and once approved later that day, representatives began to affix their names.

By the evening of the 4th, the handwritten final draft was taken four blocks down the road to the print shop to be set for dispersal.

Earlier in the year, Irish-born printer John Dunlap had secured a lucrative—if somewhat risky—contract with the outlawed Continental Congress.

Strabane Fair (center square), Strabane, County Tyrone, Ireland, hometown of John Dunlap

At age twenty-nine, Dunlap owned his own press and had made himself successful by printing sermons. Now he printed the Congress’ various entreaties and proclamations that preceded the drastic breaking with the mother country. And then, on the 4th, there came into his hands the most significant article of writing in our nation’s history—the publishing of which could bring down upon him an easy death sentence for crime of treason in the Americas.

Dunlap and his crew worked tirelessly throughout the night of the 4th. It is assumed that one or more members of the Committee of Five charged with drafting the document—these being Adams, Jefferson, Franklin, Sherman, and Livingston—superintended the work in some capacity.

The Committee of Five—Adams, Sherman, Livingston, Jefferson and Franklin

There is no official record of just how many broadsides Dunlap produced in this first prestigious effort, but the general consensus is around 150 to 200 copies. The ink smudges and off-kilter settings of some of them remain as indelible proof of the haste with which they were dried and then bundled for couriers to take to each corner of the thirteen newly free and independent states.

By the morning of July 5th, President Hancock was industriously sending out what became known as the Dunlap Broadsides with his own personal notes. To General Washington at New York he enclosed this note:

“The Congress, for some Time past, have had their Attention occupied by one of the most interesting and important Subjects, that could possibly come before them, or any other Assembly of Men. Altho it is not possible to foresee the Consequences of Human Actions, yet it is nevertheless a Duty we owe ourselves and Posterity, in all our public Counsels, to decide in the best Manner we are able, and to leave the Event to that Being who controuls both Causes and Events to bring about his own Determination. Impressed with this Sentiment, and at the same Time fully convinced, that our Affairs may take a more favourable Turn, the Congress have judged it necessary to dissolve the Connection between Great Britain and the American Colonies, and to declare them free & independent States; as you will perceive by the enclosed Declaration, which I am directed to transmit to you, and to request you will have it proclaimed at the Head of the Army in the Way you shall think most proper.”

When President Hancock ran out of broadsides, Dunlap eagerly complied with the printing of more. Soon every town in America had heard it read aloud.

A Dunlap Broadside, held by the Library of Congress

It is important to remember the timeline when considering the impact the dispersal of this momentous document had on the populace in general and Washington’s army in particular. Major land battles had been fought, martial law imposed, New York was on the brink of being leveled, and foreign mercenaries had been sent in to repress what was deemed a wholesale rebellion.

Up to that point, the men fighting these invaders and the populace enduring their rapacity felt a great sense of aimlessness. Were they fighting for redress of grievances? Were they fighting to keep their homes from being burned? Was all this expenditure of lives and fortunes only to result in submitting yet again to King George’s yoke? Reports from Congress up until now had hardly heartened them; all seemed bogged down in endless discussion and gridlock. One can only imagine the encouragement and resolve that receiving this firm “expression of the American mind,” as Thomas Jefferson called it, produced in patriot hearts.

But Dunlap’s story does not end with his momentous role in publishing our founding document. In the true Spirit of 1776, later that year the printer threw off his printing leathers and took up the uniform, serving in the cavalry at the rank of captain. In this capacity Dunlap led a troop at Trenton and later at Princeton, closing out the year with a miraculous victory and was observed to “boldly demand the surrender” of a group of Hessians.

When freedom had been won, John Dunlap fittingly resumed his work at the press and was aptly chosen to print the final ratified version of our glorious Constitution. Despite being responsible for proliferating the works of America’s greatest minds, Dunlap left behind no written letters or memoirs of his own, only business records.

Original broadside printing of the United States Constitution, printed by Dunlap & Claypoole, 1787

In eulogy of him, Founding Father and signer of the Declaration Benjamin Rush wrote:

“From small beginnings as a printer he acquired by his business, but chiefly by speculation, an estate of perhaps three or four thousand dollars. So humble was his beginning in life that he slept upon a blanket under his counter and ate pepper-pot only bought in the market from his inability to purchase a bed or any other food. He was a staunch Revolutionary Whig, and active as a dragoon in the most perilous stages of the war. In the parties which divided his country he was always moderate, candid and just to both sides. To public institutions he was liberal, to the poor charitable and to his friends kind and affectionate. In his family he was less amiable and respectable than in society. He was early and uniformly my friend.”

Image Credits: 1 Arrest of Thomas Morton (wikipedia.org) 2 Strabane, Ireland (wikipedia.org) 3 Committee of Five (wikipedia.org) 4 Dunlap Broadside—Declaration of Independence (wikipedia.org) 5 Dunlap Broadside—Constitution (wikipedia.org)