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May 1, 1776
The Old Order Holds
May 1, 1776 – The Old Order Holds
Pennsylvania voted—while the ground beneath it was shifting.
Philadelphia felt restless in the spring of 1776. Pamphlets arguing for independence passed from hand to hand. Militia officers drilled in the commons. In Congress, delegates debated how far resistance should go. Elbridge Gerry, a delegate from Massachusetts, warned that divided colonies would “perplex the American machine.” War was already underway. The question was who would govern it—and how.
Pennsylvania still operated under a charter government—an elected assembly functioning under a colonial charter originally granted by the Crown. Its authority flowed from that legal framework. As long as the charter stood, so did a constitutional connection to British rule, and any move toward independence required altering that very foundation.
On May 1, voters went to the polls to elect new representatives. As a result, even Congress did not meet that day. Across city wards and rural counties, ballots were cast not only for candidates but for direction.
The result surprised some observers: moderates retained control. John Dickinson remained influential in both Congress and the Pennsylvania legislature, and he continued to urge caution on independence. Robert Morris of Philadelphia, serving in Congress, shared his view. Both men had supported resistance to British overreach and helped sustain defensive preparations. Yet they believed independence should come only with secure finances, foreign alliances, and a clear transfer of lawful authority. For that reason, the Pennsylvania House of Representatives had not authorized its delegates to support a vote for independence. For the moment, the old order held.
This did not mean Pennsylvanians were uninformed or indifferent. Voting qualifications favored property holders, and the established political networks remained strong. Many residents feared instability more than Parliament. Stability and lawful process mattered deeply in a colony whose prosperity rested on trade and order.
But outside the assembly chamber, another force was organizing. Committees of mechanics, tradesmen, militia officers, and county delegates—men who did not hold traditional office—were meeting, petitioning, and preparing to press for change. Their authority did not come from the charter, but from local organization and public support.
May 1 revealed Pennsylvania caught between two sources of authority: a charter government rooted in established law, and emerging committees claiming to speak for the people.
Within weeks, that tension would break into the open.
Source: Votes and Proceedings of the Pennsylvania House of Representatives, Vol. 6, Pennsylvania Archives, Vol. 4, Force, American Archives, Series 4, Vol. 5.
Additional background: Journals of Congress, Vol. 4.
Themes: Forging Unity; Loyalty or Independence
Tags: Pennsylvania Assembly, John Dickinson, Robert Morris, Elbridge Gerry, charter government, 1776
May 1, 1776 – The Old Order Holds
Pennsylvania voted—while the ground beneath it was shifting.
Philadelphia felt restless in the spring of 1776. Pamphlets arguing for independence passed from hand to hand. Militia officers drilled in the commons. In Congress, delegates debated how far resistance should go. Elbridge Gerry, a delegate from Massachusetts, warned that divided colonies would “perplex the American machine.” War was already underway. The question was who would govern it—and how.
Pennsylvania still operated under a charter government—an elected assembly functioning under a colonial charter originally granted by the Crown. Its authority flowed from that legal framework. As long as the charter stood, so did a constitutional connection to British rule, and any move toward independence required altering that very foundation.
On May 1, voters went to the polls to elect new representatives. As a result, even Congress did not meet that day. Across city wards and rural counties, ballots were cast not only for candidates but for direction.
The result surprised some observers: moderates retained control. John Dickinson remained influential in both Congress and the Pennsylvania legislature, and he continued to urge caution on independence. Robert Morris of Philadelphia, serving in Congress, shared his view. Both men had supported resistance to British overreach and helped sustain defensive preparations. Yet they believed independence should come only with secure finances, foreign alliances, and a clear transfer of lawful authority. For that reason, the Pennsylvania House of Representatives had not authorized its delegates to support a vote for independence. For the moment, the old order held.
This did not mean Pennsylvanians were uninformed or indifferent. Voting qualifications favored property holders, and the established political networks remained strong. Many residents feared instability more than Parliament. Stability and lawful process mattered deeply in a colony whose prosperity rested on trade and order.
But outside the assembly chamber, another force was organizing. Committees of mechanics, tradesmen, militia officers, and county delegates—men who did not hold traditional office—were meeting, petitioning, and preparing to press for change. Their authority did not come from the charter, but from local organization and public support.
May 1 revealed Pennsylvania caught between two sources of authority: a charter government rooted in established law, and emerging committees claiming to speak for the people.
Within weeks, that tension would break into the open.
Source: Votes and Proceedings of the Pennsylvania House of Representatives, Vol. 6, Pennsylvania Archives, Vol. 4, Force, American Archives, Series 4, Vol. 5.
Additional background: Journals of Congress, Vol. 4.
Themes: Forging Unity; Loyalty or Independence
Tags: Pennsylvania Assembly, John Dickinson, Robert Morris, Elbridge Gerry, charter government, 1776
May 2, 1776
The Chessboard Widens
May 2, 1776 – The Chessboard Widens
The Revolution was beginning to look dangerously familiar.
It felt like 1756 again. German troops were embarking in European ports. Warships were preparing to cross the Atlantic. Once again, a conflict in America was drawing the attention of Europe’s great powers.
Twenty years earlier, a European war spread across the globe and into the forests of North America, turning colonies into prizes on an imperial chessboard. That struggle between Britain and France had reshaped the New World and drawn Spain and Germany into the fight as well. The kings of France and Spain were close relatives, bound by family ties and long-standing agreements against Britain. When one confronted the empire, the other often weighed in as well.
In 1776, the pattern was beginning to reverse. Instead of Europe’s imperial struggle spreading to America, America’s rebellion was drawing Europe in. Thousands of German troops were preparing to sail. Congress would soon denounce Britain’s treaties with these “foreign mercenaries.” The struggle was no longer confined to the colonies. It was widening into a contest of empires again.
But while Britain hired German mercenaries (known as Hessians), France considered another path.
On May 2, 1776, the French foreign minister, Comte de Vergennes, submitted a proposal to King Louis XVI to furnish one million livres in French currency “for the use of the English colonies.” France had not forgotten its defeat in the last war, nor the loss of Canada to Britain. But the aid would not be public. It would move quietly through a commercial front, the firm of Roderigue Hortalez & Company, organized by the playwright Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais. Arms and powder would be shipped as merchandise, and France could deny direct involvement.
Spain watched closely and would cooperate cautiously, though neither kingdom was yet ready for open war. Both preferred to see Britain’s power diminished, but they did not need to declare war to weaken it.
In 1756, Europe’s rivalries had turned a conflict on American soil into a world war. In 1776, America’s rebellion drew Europe back toward war. But this time the colonies were not merely a battlefield between empires. They had become players on a wider chessboard, with allies to court and supplies to secure. The next moves would be made in Philadelphia as well as abroad.
Sources: Wharton, Revolutionary Diplomatic Correspondence, Vol. 2; Journals of Congress, Vol. 4.
Additional Background: The Adams Papers; Lossing, Field Book of the Revolution, Vol. 1; Parkman, Montcalm and Wolfe.
Themes: Diplomacy.
Tags: Beaumarchais, Vergennes, King Louis XVI, Hessians, Seven Years’ War, French and Indian War, 1776.
May 2, 1776 – The Chessboard Widens
The Revolution was beginning to look dangerously familiar.
It felt like 1756 again. German troops were embarking in European ports. Warships were preparing to cross the Atlantic. Once again, a conflict in America was drawing the attention of Europe’s great powers.
Twenty years earlier, a European war spread across the globe and into the forests of North America, turning colonies into prizes on an imperial chessboard. That struggle between Britain and France had reshaped the New World and drawn Spain and Germany into the fight as well. The kings of France and Spain were close relatives, bound by family ties and long-standing agreements against Britain. When one confronted the empire, the other often weighed in as well.
In 1776, the pattern was beginning to reverse. Instead of Europe’s imperial struggle spreading to America, America’s rebellion was drawing Europe in. Thousands of German troops were preparing to sail. Congress would soon denounce Britain’s treaties with these “foreign mercenaries.” The struggle was no longer confined to the colonies. It was widening into a contest of empires again.
But while Britain hired German mercenaries (known as Hessians), France considered another path.
On May 2, 1776, the French foreign minister, Comte de Vergennes, submitted a proposal to King Louis XVI to furnish one million livres in French currency “for the use of the English colonies.” France had not forgotten its defeat in the last war, nor the loss of Canada to Britain. But the aid would not be public. It would move quietly through a commercial front, the firm of Roderigue Hortalez & Company, organized by the playwright Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais. Arms and powder would be shipped as merchandise, and France could deny direct involvement.
Spain watched closely and would cooperate cautiously, though neither kingdom was yet ready for open war. Both preferred to see Britain’s power diminished, but they did not need to declare war to weaken it.
In 1756, Europe’s rivalries had turned a conflict on American soil into a world war. In 1776, America’s rebellion drew Europe back toward war. But this time the colonies were not merely a battlefield between empires. They had become players on a wider chessboard, with allies to court and supplies to secure. The next moves would be made in Philadelphia as well as abroad.
Sources: Wharton, Revolutionary Diplomatic Correspondence, Vol. 2; Journals of Congress, Vol. 4.
Additional Background: The Adams Papers; Lossing, Field Book of the Revolution, Vol. 1; Parkman, Montcalm and Wolfe.
Themes: Diplomacy.
Tags: Beaumarchais, Vergennes, King Louis XVI, Hessians, Seven Years’ War, French and Indian War, 1776.
May 3, 1776
Sails on the Horizon
May 3, 1776 – Sails on the Horizon
Rumor outran cannon—and the province prepared accordingly.
No fleet leaves England unnoticed. Dockyards talk. Merchants write. Packet boats run ahead of convoys. By the first days of May 1776, North Carolina’s leaders were acting as if British sails were already on the horizon.
The Loyalist rising at Moore’s Creek Bridge had failed in February, but no one believed the story was finished. Britain had already marked New York for attack. The southern coast lay exposed. If imperial commanders meant to regain control, Cape Fear was a natural door.
On May 2 and 3, the Provincial Congress moved with urgency. Provisions and ammunition were ordered to General James Moore at Wilmington. Ten field pieces were sent toward headquarters “on Cape-Fear River.” Militia brigades were directed to draft men and “march as quick as possible” to reinforce the coast. Light cavalry were raised. Powder and lead were hurried south.
Precautions reached beyond cannon and enlistments. Leaders feared that once British ships anchored in the Cape Fear, manpower of any kind near the coast might be drawn into imperial service. The riverbanks were not merely waterlines—they were vulnerable ground.
In Philadelphia, the tension was evident as well. Papers from North Carolina were laid before the Continental Congress. Within days, another battalion was authorized for the southern department, a deputy quartermaster appointed, and twelve field pieces ordered forward. What North Carolina expected, Congress was preparing to support.
Then the waiting ended.
On May 5, from aboard the transport Pallas in the Cape Fear River, Major-General Henry Clinton gave voice to the storm gathering offshore. He denounced a “most unprovoked and wicked Rebellion,” condemned those “usurping the powers of Government,” and offered pardon to any who would lay down their arms—except for certain Patriot leaders.
It was not merely a warning. It was an ultimatum. Submit and be forgiven. Resist—and meet the force of an empire.
The sails North Carolina had anticipated now anchored in the Cape Fear. The King’s general had spoken from the river. Cannon waited inland. Militia were already marching. Between proclamation and powder lay only time—and very little of it. The province, already in motion, would answer on land.
Sources: Force, American Archives, Vol. 5; Journals of Congress, Vol. 4.
Additional background: Colonial Records of North Carolina, Vol. 10.
Themes: Campaigns of the War; Loyalty or Independence
Tags: Cape Fear, Henry Clinton, James Moore, Southern Campaign, North Carolina, 1776
May 3, 1776 – Sails on the Horizon
Rumor outran cannon—and the province prepared accordingly.
No fleet leaves England unnoticed. Dockyards talk. Merchants write. Packet boats run ahead of convoys. By the first days of May 1776, North Carolina’s leaders were acting as if British sails were already on the horizon.
The Loyalist rising at Moore’s Creek Bridge had failed in February, but no one believed the story was finished. Britain had already marked New York for attack. The southern coast lay exposed. If imperial commanders meant to regain control, Cape Fear was a natural door.
On May 2 and 3, the Provincial Congress moved with urgency. Provisions and ammunition were ordered to General James Moore at Wilmington. Ten field pieces were sent toward headquarters “on Cape-Fear River.” Militia brigades were directed to draft men and “march as quick as possible” to reinforce the coast. Light cavalry were raised. Powder and lead were hurried south.
Precautions reached beyond cannon and enlistments. Leaders feared that once British ships anchored in the Cape Fear, manpower of any kind near the coast might be drawn into imperial service. The riverbanks were not merely waterlines—they were vulnerable ground.
In Philadelphia, the tension was evident as well. Papers from North Carolina were laid before the Continental Congress. Within days, another battalion was authorized for the southern department, a deputy quartermaster appointed, and twelve field pieces ordered forward. What North Carolina expected, Congress was preparing to support.
Then the waiting ended.
On May 5, from aboard the transport Pallas in the Cape Fear River, Major-General Henry Clinton gave voice to the storm gathering offshore. He denounced a “most unprovoked and wicked Rebellion,” condemned those “usurping the powers of Government,” and offered pardon to any who would lay down their arms—except for certain Patriot leaders.
It was not merely a warning. It was an ultimatum. Submit and be forgiven. Resist—and meet the force of an empire.
The sails North Carolina had anticipated now anchored in the Cape Fear. The King’s general had spoken from the river. Cannon waited inland. Militia were already marching. Between proclamation and powder lay only time—and very little of it. The province, already in motion, would answer on land.
Sources: Force, American Archives, Vol. 5; Journals of Congress, Vol. 4.
Additional background: Colonial Records of North Carolina, Vol. 10.
Themes: Campaigns of the War; Loyalty or Independence
Tags: Cape Fear, Henry Clinton, James Moore, Southern Campaign, North Carolina, 1776
May 4, 1776
Erasing the King’s Name
May 4, 1776 – Erasing the King’s Name
Rhode Island officially removed King George III from its laws.
In Providence, a clerk lifted his pen and carefully struck the name of George III from a colonial commission and set it aside. He reached for another from the stack of writs and again drew his pen through the royal name. The words did not disappear in smoke or thunder. They were simply crossed out, line by line, replaced with the authority of Rhode Island itself.
On May 4, 1776, the General Assembly of Rhode Island repealed its oath of allegiance to the King of Great Britain. An earlier act requiring loyalty to the Crown was formally struck down. In its place, the colony ordered that wherever “the name and authority” of the king appeared in commissions, court writs, or legal processes, it should be omitted and replaced with the authority of “the governor and company of this colony.” The measure passed without dissent.
The change was legal, not theatrical. Rhode Island did not draft a new constitution that day. It continued to govern under its 1663 charter. But the source of authority had shifted. No longer would justice be carried out in the king’s name. No longer would officers hold commissions by royal favor. Government would proceed under the colony’s own civil authority.
The same session gave Rhode Island’s congressional delegates, Stephen Hopkins and William Ellery, permission to consult with the other colonies and enter into treaties with foreign powers to secure their “rights and liberties, both civil and religious.” The Assembly described the conflict as a “just and necessary war,” language that framed resistance not as rebellion but as defense.
Rhode Island’s action did not come from sudden impulse. Founded by Roger Williams as a refuge for liberty of conscience, the colony had long guarded religious freedom and practiced local self-government. Its charter had protected dissenters for more than a century. Now, with British authority dissolved in practice as well as theory, its leaders put into writing what events had already made clear.
Congress had not yet declared independence. That moment would come in July. But in a quiet chamber in Providence, a colony assumed responsibility for itself. The Revolution advanced not with fireworks, but with ink—and with the steady crossing out of a king’s name.
Sources: Force, American Archives, Series 4, Vol. 5; Journals of Congress, Vol. 4.
Themes: Themes: Loyalty or Independence; Self-Government; Moral Foundations.
Tags: Rhode Island, Stephen Hopkins, William Ellery, General Assembly, allegiance, 1776.
May 4, 1776 – Erasing the King’s Name
Rhode Island officially removed King George III from its laws.
In Providence, a clerk lifted his pen and carefully struck the name of George III from a colonial commission and set it aside. He reached for another from the stack of writs and again drew his pen through the royal name. The words did not disappear in smoke or thunder. They were simply crossed out, line by line, replaced with the authority of Rhode Island itself.
On May 4, 1776, the General Assembly of Rhode Island repealed its oath of allegiance to the King of Great Britain. An earlier act requiring loyalty to the Crown was formally struck down. In its place, the colony ordered that wherever “the name and authority” of the king appeared in commissions, court writs, or legal processes, it should be omitted and replaced with the authority of “the governor and company of this colony.” The measure passed without dissent.
The change was legal, not theatrical. Rhode Island did not draft a new constitution that day. It continued to govern under its 1663 charter. But the source of authority had shifted. No longer would justice be carried out in the king’s name. No longer would officers hold commissions by royal favor. Government would proceed under the colony’s own civil authority.
The same session gave Rhode Island’s congressional delegates, Stephen Hopkins and William Ellery, permission to consult with the other colonies and enter into treaties with foreign powers to secure their “rights and liberties, both civil and religious.” The Assembly described the conflict as a “just and necessary war,” language that framed resistance not as rebellion but as defense.
Rhode Island’s action did not come from sudden impulse. Founded by Roger Williams as a refuge for liberty of conscience, the colony had long guarded religious freedom and practiced local self-government. Its charter had protected dissenters for more than a century. Now, with British authority dissolved in practice as well as theory, its leaders put into writing what events had already made clear.
Congress had not yet declared independence. That moment would come in July. But in a quiet chamber in Providence, a colony assumed responsibility for itself. The Revolution advanced not with fireworks, but with ink—and with the steady crossing out of a king’s name.
Sources: Force, American Archives, Series 4, Vol. 5; Journals of Congress, Vol. 4.
Themes: Themes: Loyalty or Independence; Self-Government; Moral Foundations.
Tags: Rhode Island, Stephen Hopkins, William Ellery, General Assembly, allegiance, 1776.
May 5, 1776
Sunday: The Voice That Carried Across the Colonies
May 5, 1776 – Sunday: The Voice That Carried Across the Colonies
A shared revival taught the colonies to think beyond their own borders.
Back in 1740, Benjamin Franklin stood in a crowd on Market Street in Philadelphia, listening to the traveling preacher George Whitefield. Curious how far his voice would carry, Franklin walked backward down the street toward the river, still hearing every word. By his calculation, more than thirty thousand people might have heard the sermon that day.
Whitefield was unlike most ministers the colonies had known. When churches closed their pulpits to him, he preached outdoors—on courthouse steps, in fields, and on town greens. Crowds gathered by the thousands. The message itself was clear: every person must examine his own heart, repent, and stand before God individually.
The experience did not end when the crowds dispersed. Printers quickly discovered that Whitefield’s words sold copies. Sermons and reports of his journeys appeared in newspapers from colony to colony. Readers who had never seen him could still follow his travels. May 5 marked the anniversary of his 1740 tour through New York. No one then could have known how important that shared experience would soon become.
Franklin himself had printed some of Whitefield’s work. Though the two men disagreed on theology, Franklin admired the preacher’s ability to reach ordinary people and was fascinated by the power of his voice.
The revival that followed, called the Great Awakening, did more than stir crowds. Across the colonies, people heard the message of salvation and committed their lives to Christ. Colonists spoke of the same experience of repentance, grace, and new life, and those shared convictions created a spiritual fellowship that stretched from Massachusetts to Georgia. Where each colony had once thought of itself as a separate political world, believers now recognized one another as part of a wider community of faith. News of sermons and revivals traveled along the Atlantic seaboard, helping to create something new: a common conversation that crossed colonial boundaries.
By 1776, the same printing presses that once carried revival news soon carried arguments about rights, liberty, and the limits of government. Pamphlets and essays could move quickly because colonists were already used to reading about events in other colonies and discussing them. A people who had learned to examine their own hearts could also begin to reason together about liberty.
Sources: Whitefield, Journals; Tracy, The Great Awakening; Franklin, Life of Benjamin Franklin.
Additional background: The Adams Papers.
Themes: Founding Principles; Religious Liberty; Moral Foundations.
Tags: George Whitefield, Great Awakening, Benjamin Franklin, Colonial America, Revival, 1740, 1776
May 5, 1776 – Sunday: The Voice That Carried Across the Colonies
A shared revival taught the colonies to think beyond their own borders.
Back in 1740, Benjamin Franklin stood in a crowd on Market Street in Philadelphia, listening to the traveling preacher George Whitefield. Curious how far his voice would carry, Franklin walked backward down the street toward the river, still hearing every word. By his calculation, more than thirty thousand people might have heard the sermon that day.
Whitefield was unlike most ministers the colonies had known. When churches closed their pulpits to him, he preached outdoors—on courthouse steps, in fields, and on town greens. Crowds gathered by the thousands. The message itself was clear: every person must examine his own heart, repent, and stand before God individually.
The experience did not end when the crowds dispersed. Printers quickly discovered that Whitefield’s words sold copies. Sermons and reports of his journeys appeared in newspapers from colony to colony. Readers who had never seen him could still follow his travels. May 5 marked the anniversary of his 1740 tour through New York. No one then could have known how important that shared experience would soon become.
Franklin himself had printed some of Whitefield’s work. Though the two men disagreed on theology, Franklin admired the preacher’s ability to reach ordinary people and was fascinated by the power of his voice.
The revival that followed, called the Great Awakening, did more than stir crowds. Across the colonies, people heard the message of salvation and committed their lives to Christ. Colonists spoke of the same experience of repentance, grace, and new life, and those shared convictions created a spiritual fellowship that stretched from Massachusetts to Georgia. Where each colony had once thought of itself as a separate political world, believers now recognized one another as part of a wider community of faith. News of sermons and revivals traveled along the Atlantic seaboard, helping to create something new: a common conversation that crossed colonial boundaries.
By 1776, the same printing presses that once carried revival news soon carried arguments about rights, liberty, and the limits of government. Pamphlets and essays could move quickly because colonists were already used to reading about events in other colonies and discussing them. A people who had learned to examine their own hearts could also begin to reason together about liberty.
Sources: Whitefield, Journals; Tracy, The Great Awakening; Franklin, Life of Benjamin Franklin.
Additional background: The Adams Papers.
Themes: Founding Principles; Religious Liberty; Moral Foundations.
Tags: George Whitefield, Great Awakening, Benjamin Franklin, Colonial America, Revival, 1740, 1776
May 6, 1776
Political Snares and the Art of Delay
May 6, 1776 – Political Snares and the Art of Delay
Congress navigated diplomatic traps, political maneuvers, and procedural delays.
On May 6, 1776, Congress faced a simple question that carried enormous consequences: what should be done if British commissioners arrived to negotiate peace?
Rumors had circulated for months that Britain might send representatives to negotiate with America. Some delegates hoped it could open the door to reconciliation. Others suspected negotiations were a political maneuver designed to stall the independence movement.
General Washington asked Congress: If commissioners appeared, should he receive them formally? Congress debated the matter carefully.
At first glance the resolution they adopted seemed cautious and procedural. If Britain truly intended to negotiate peace, Congress reasoned, it should follow customary practices of diplomacy and request passports. Only after such a request was made would Congress decide how they should be received.
But behind the restrained language lay a fierce political struggle. The wording of the resolution became a contest of strategy.
According to John Adams, those who opposed independence tried to insert language suggesting reconciliation. Adams’s side countered by insisting on the simpler word—peace. Others wanted Washington to receive the commissioners with formal honors. Congress ordered instead that nothing be done unless they requested passports.
That closed a subtle but important door. Britain had not recognized Congress as a lawful government. By requiring passports first, Congress denied the commissioners authority to negotiate unless Britain recognized Congress as a legitimate negotiating partner.
Adams later reflected that the struggle over this seemingly minor resolution had been exhausting. “We avoided the snare,” he wrote, “and brought the controversy to a close with some dignity.” He concluded, “It will never be known how much labor it cost us.”
Congress then turned to a wide-ranging debate over the state of the colonies. Adams later complained that generals’ letters, Indian affairs, revenue questions, naval arrangements, and many other matters were mixed together with “the great subjects of government, independence, and commerce.”
“Little things were designedly thrown in the way of great ones,” Adams complained. Time was consumed on trifles that “ought to have been consecrated to higher interests.” Delegates argued about the loss of time—yet the arguments consumed still more of it.
In such moments, Adams said, Congress could only “now and then snatch a transient glance at the promised land.”
Sources: Journals of Congress, Vol. 4; The Adams Papers.
Themes: Loyalty or Independence; Self-Government
Tags: John Adams, peace commissioners, reconciliation debate, Continental Congress, 1776
May 6, 1776 – Political Snares and the Art of Delay
Congress navigated diplomatic traps, political maneuvers, and procedural delays.
On May 6, 1776, Congress faced a simple question that carried enormous consequences: what should be done if British commissioners arrived to negotiate peace?
Rumors had circulated for months that Britain might send representatives to negotiate with America. Some delegates hoped it could open the door to reconciliation. Others suspected negotiations were a political maneuver designed to stall the independence movement.
General Washington asked Congress: If commissioners appeared, should he receive them formally? Congress debated the matter carefully.
At first glance the resolution they adopted seemed cautious and procedural. If Britain truly intended to negotiate peace, Congress reasoned, it should follow customary practices of diplomacy and request passports. Only after such a request was made would Congress decide how they should be received.
But behind the restrained language lay a fierce political struggle. The wording of the resolution became a contest of strategy.
According to John Adams, those who opposed independence tried to insert language suggesting reconciliation. Adams’s side countered by insisting on the simpler word—peace. Others wanted Washington to receive the commissioners with formal honors. Congress ordered instead that nothing be done unless they requested passports.
That closed a subtle but important door. Britain had not recognized Congress as a lawful government. By requiring passports first, Congress denied the commissioners authority to negotiate unless Britain recognized Congress as a legitimate negotiating partner.
Adams later reflected that the struggle over this seemingly minor resolution had been exhausting. “We avoided the snare,” he wrote, “and brought the controversy to a close with some dignity.” He concluded, “It will never be known how much labor it cost us.”
Congress then turned to a wide-ranging debate over the state of the colonies. Adams later complained that generals’ letters, Indian affairs, revenue questions, naval arrangements, and many other matters were mixed together with “the great subjects of government, independence, and commerce.”
“Little things were designedly thrown in the way of great ones,” Adams complained. Time was consumed on trifles that “ought to have been consecrated to higher interests.” Delegates argued about the loss of time—yet the arguments consumed still more of it.
In such moments, Adams said, Congress could only “now and then snatch a transient glance at the promised land.”
Sources: Journals of Congress, Vol. 4; The Adams Papers.
Themes: Loyalty or Independence; Self-Government
Tags: John Adams, peace commissioners, reconciliation debate, Continental Congress, 1776
May 7, 1776
The Retreat from Quebec
May 7, 1776 – The Retreat from Quebec
British warships shattered the ice on the river—and the American siege.
The bateaux began arriving at Deschambault in the dark hours before dawn. One after another the long river boats scraped against the muddy bank of the St. Lawrence, crowded with exhausted soldiers. Some staggered ashore barely able to stand. Others were wrapped in blankets, shivering with fever. A few had fled so suddenly that they came straight from their hospital beds.
Muskets, packs, and blankets lay heaped in the bottoms of the boats. Oars clattered against the gunwales as more fugitives struggled upstream against the current. Deschambault had descended, almost literally, into a shambles.
Just hours earlier the army had still been holding the lines before Quebec. For five long months the Americans had tried to force the city to surrender. After the failed assault on New Year’s Eve, they settled into a winter siege outside the walls. Smallpox spread through the camps. Supplies ran low. Still the army remained, hoping Quebec might eventually fall.
But everyone knew the siege had a clock. The St. Lawrence River had been frozen solid all winter, sealing Quebec off from Britain. Once the ice broke, warships would come.
On May 6, sails appeared below the city, led by the British frigate Surprise, a name that proved fitting. Soon the Isis and the sloop Martin followed her up the river as the ice cleared. Marines landed almost immediately. Sir Guy Carleton marched troops out of the gates of St. Louis and St. John to meet them.
The Americans, weakened by disease and dwindling enlistments, realized the danger at once. If reinforcements continued to arrive, the army would be trapped between the British garrison and fresh troops from the sea. The siege collapsed almost overnight.
Carleton reported that the rebels fled so quickly they abandoned artillery, tools, and supplies. Even loaded cannon were left behind as troops fled without firing. British ships pushed upriver to harass the retreat.
By morning, the American rear guard halted at Deschambault, trying to gather the scattered army. The campaign to capture Canada had not ended yet—but the siege of Quebec was over. What began that winter as an ambitious invasion was now turning into a long and uncertain retreat up the St. Lawrence.
Sources: Smith, Fourteenth Colony; Force, American Archives, Series 4, Vol. 6.
Additional background: Force, American Archives, Series 4, Vol. 5.
Themes: Campaigns of the War, Continental Army in Canada.
Tags: Quebec siege, Canada campaign, St. Lawrence River, Deschambault, Guy Carleton, retreat, 1776
May 7, 1776 – The Retreat from Quebec
British warships shattered the ice on the river—and the American siege.
The bateaux began arriving at Deschambault in the dark hours before dawn. One after another the long river boats scraped against the muddy bank of the St. Lawrence, crowded with exhausted soldiers. Some staggered ashore barely able to stand. Others were wrapped in blankets, shivering with fever. A few had fled so suddenly that they came straight from their hospital beds.
Muskets, packs, and blankets lay heaped in the bottoms of the boats. Oars clattered against the gunwales as more fugitives struggled upstream against the current. Deschambault had descended, almost literally, into a shambles.
Just hours earlier the army had still been holding the lines before Quebec. For five long months the Americans had tried to force the city to surrender. After the failed assault on New Year’s Eve, they settled into a winter siege outside the walls. Smallpox spread through the camps. Supplies ran low. Still the army remained, hoping Quebec might eventually fall.
But everyone knew the siege had a clock. The St. Lawrence River had been frozen solid all winter, sealing Quebec off from Britain. Once the ice broke, warships would come.
On May 6, sails appeared below the city, led by the British frigate Surprise, a name that proved fitting. Soon the Isis and the sloop Martin followed her up the river as the ice cleared. Marines landed almost immediately. Sir Guy Carleton marched troops out of the gates of St. Louis and St. John to meet them.
The Americans, weakened by disease and dwindling enlistments, realized the danger at once. If reinforcements continued to arrive, the army would be trapped between the British garrison and fresh troops from the sea. The siege collapsed almost overnight.
Carleton reported that the rebels fled so quickly they abandoned artillery, tools, and supplies. Even loaded cannon were left behind as troops fled without firing. British ships pushed upriver to harass the retreat.
By morning, the American rear guard halted at Deschambault, trying to gather the scattered army. The campaign to capture Canada had not ended yet—but the siege of Quebec was over. What began that winter as an ambitious invasion was now turning into a long and uncertain retreat up the St. Lawrence.
Sources: Smith, Fourteenth Colony; Force, American Archives, Series 4, Vol. 6.
Additional background: Force, American Archives, Series 4, Vol. 5.
Themes: Campaigns of the War, Continental Army in Canada.
Tags: Quebec siege, Canada campaign, St. Lawrence River, Deschambault, Guy Carleton, retreat, 1776
May 8, 1776
The Road to Vermont
May 8, 1776 – The Road to Vermont
Settlers from the New Hampshire Grants brought their land dispute to Congress.
The Allen family moved into the New Hampshire Grants as settlers, hoping to build farms in the wilderness. Like many others coming into the region, they bought land under grants issued by the colony of New Hampshire. Brothers Ethan and Herman Allen helped clear the forests, build homes, and establish farms among the growing settlements of the Green Mountains. Then the rules suddenly changed.
In 1764, the king ruled that the land belonged to New York. New York officials declared the settlers’ land titles invalid. If the farmers wished to keep their homes, they would have to buy their land again from New York.
The settlers refused. Many of them, including the Allen brothers, believed they should not be forced to pay twice. To defend their claims, they organized a militia that became known as the Green Mountain Boys. Ethan Allen soon emerged as one of their leaders and would later gain fame for helping capture Fort Ticonderoga in 1775.
But the dispute over the settlers’ land did not disappear. In 1776, Ethan’s brother, Captain Herman Allen, carried the settlers’ case to Philadelphia and the Continental Congress.
On May 8, 1776, the Continental Congress received the petition from the inhabitants of the New Hampshire Grants. The settlers asked Congress to hear their complaints about the long-running dispute with New York and the threat to their property. Congress referred the matter to a committee so that the claims and documents could be examined more carefully.
The question was a delicate one. The colonies were already fighting a war for independence, and Congress was cautious about interfering in a territorial dispute between two of them. Both New York and New Hampshire claimed authority over the same settlements, and Congress understood that any decision would anger one colony or the other. For the next month, the petition remained under consideration. On June 4, Captain Herman Allen asked permission to withdraw it temporarily, explaining that he had left some papers at home that were needed to support the settlers’ claims.
The land dispute would continue for many years. The settlers of the New Hampshire Grants would eventually become the independent Republic of Vermont, and later the fourteenth state of the United States.
Sources: Force, American Archives, Series 4, Vol. 6; Sparks, Life of Ethan Allen; Journals of Congress, Vol. 4.
Additional Background: The Papers of James Madison (US: Founders Online).
Themes: Self-Government; Forging Unity
Tags: Vermont, New Hampshire, New York, Ethan Allen, Herman Allen, Green Mountain Boys, 1776.
May 8, 1776 – The Road to Vermont
Settlers from the New Hampshire Grants brought their land dispute to Congress.
The Allen family moved into the New Hampshire Grants as settlers, hoping to build farms in the wilderness. Like many others coming into the region, they bought land under grants issued by the colony of New Hampshire. Brothers Ethan and Herman Allen helped clear the forests, build homes, and establish farms among the growing settlements of the Green Mountains. Then the rules suddenly changed.
In 1764, the king ruled that the land belonged to New York. New York officials declared the settlers’ land titles invalid. If the farmers wished to keep their homes, they would have to buy their land again from New York.
The settlers refused. Many of them, including the Allen brothers, believed they should not be forced to pay twice. To defend their claims, they organized a militia that became known as the Green Mountain Boys. Ethan Allen soon emerged as one of their leaders and would later gain fame for helping capture Fort Ticonderoga in 1775.
But the dispute over the settlers’ land did not disappear. In 1776, Ethan’s brother, Captain Herman Allen, carried the settlers’ case to Philadelphia and the Continental Congress.
On May 8, 1776, the Continental Congress received the petition from the inhabitants of the New Hampshire Grants. The settlers asked Congress to hear their complaints about the long-running dispute with New York and the threat to their property. Congress referred the matter to a committee so that the claims and documents could be examined more carefully.
The question was a delicate one. The colonies were already fighting a war for independence, and Congress was cautious about interfering in a territorial dispute between two of them. Both New York and New Hampshire claimed authority over the same settlements, and Congress understood that any decision would anger one colony or the other. For the next month, the petition remained under consideration. On June 4, Captain Herman Allen asked permission to withdraw it temporarily, explaining that he had left some papers at home that were needed to support the settlers’ claims.
The land dispute would continue for many years. The settlers of the New Hampshire Grants would eventually become the independent Republic of Vermont, and later the fourteenth state of the United States.
Sources: Force, American Archives, Series 4, Vol. 6; Sparks, Life of Ethan Allen; Journals of Congress, Vol. 4.
Additional Background: The Papers of James Madison (US: Founders Online).
Themes: Self-Government; Forging Unity
Tags: Vermont, New Hampshire, New York, Ethan Allen, Herman Allen, Green Mountain Boys, 1776.
May 9, 1776
Cannon Along the Coast
May 9, 1776 – Cannon Along the Coast
The sound of war carried from harbor to harbor.
Cannon fire thundered across the water. At the entrance to Boston Harbor, Boston Light—the first lighthouse built in North America—fired its signal guns. American privateers had seized merchant vessels in full view of a British warship.
In Braintree, Abigail Adams heard the news soon afterward. Writing to her husband on May 9, she added a hurried postscript. American cruisers, she reported, had captured two brigs “in fair sight of the man of war.” The prizes were carried away “in triumph” to nearby Lynn.
James Warren, across Boston Harbor in Cambridge, wrote to John Adams about the same event. As Warren finished his letter, the guns continued in the distance. “While I am writing there is a firing of cannon below,” he noted. “What that is I know not.”
That same week, hundreds of miles to the south, cannon fire was echoing along the Delaware River as well. British warships had appeared near the mouth of the bay, and word spread quickly that enemy vessels might attempt to push toward Philadelphia itself.
The alarm reached the city almost at once. Militiamen hurried to their posts. The Pennsylvania Committee of Safety prepared river defenses. Row galleys pushed downstream to meet the approaching ships, while crews readied floating batteries in case the British tried to force the channel.
Soon the cannonade began. For nearly two hours American boats and British warships exchanged fire near the lower reaches of the Delaware. Shots passed back and forth across the river. At one point the British ship Roebuck ran aground along the Jersey shore, forcing her consort to anchor nearby to protect her while the engagement continued.
The fighting eventually slackened as the American vessels withdrew into shallower water where the larger warships could not easily follow. The British ships remained in the bay, but the sudden appearance of armed resistance on the river showed that Philadelphia would not be taken without a fight.
From Boston Harbor to the Delaware River, the same sound marked the widening war. Signal guns from the lighthouse, cannon near the harbor entrance, and the distant thunder rolling up the Delaware all told the same story: the struggle for American independence was now spreading along every coast and river of the colonies.
Sources: The Adams Papers; Naval Documents of the American Revolution, Vol. 4.
Themes: American Armed Services; Campaigns of the War.
Tags: Abigail Adams, James Warren, Boston Light, Delaware River, HMS Roebuck, 1776.
May 9, 1776 – Cannon Along the Coast
The sound of war carried from harbor to harbor.
Cannon fire thundered across the water. At the entrance to Boston Harbor, Boston Light—the first lighthouse built in North America—fired its signal guns. American privateers had seized merchant vessels in full view of a British warship.
In Braintree, Abigail Adams heard the news soon afterward. Writing to her husband on May 9, she added a hurried postscript. American cruisers, she reported, had captured two brigs “in fair sight of the man of war.” The prizes were carried away “in triumph” to nearby Lynn.
James Warren, across Boston Harbor in Cambridge, wrote to John Adams about the same event. As Warren finished his letter, the guns continued in the distance. “While I am writing there is a firing of cannon below,” he noted. “What that is I know not.”
That same week, hundreds of miles to the south, cannon fire was echoing along the Delaware River as well. British warships had appeared near the mouth of the bay, and word spread quickly that enemy vessels might attempt to push toward Philadelphia itself.
The alarm reached the city almost at once. Militiamen hurried to their posts. The Pennsylvania Committee of Safety prepared river defenses. Row galleys pushed downstream to meet the approaching ships, while crews readied floating batteries in case the British tried to force the channel.
Soon the cannonade began. For nearly two hours American boats and British warships exchanged fire near the lower reaches of the Delaware. Shots passed back and forth across the river. At one point the British ship Roebuck ran aground along the Jersey shore, forcing her consort to anchor nearby to protect her while the engagement continued.
The fighting eventually slackened as the American vessels withdrew into shallower water where the larger warships could not easily follow. The British ships remained in the bay, but the sudden appearance of armed resistance on the river showed that Philadelphia would not be taken without a fight.
From Boston Harbor to the Delaware River, the same sound marked the widening war. Signal guns from the lighthouse, cannon near the harbor entrance, and the distant thunder rolling up the Delaware all told the same story: the struggle for American independence was now spreading along every coast and river of the colonies.
Sources: The Adams Papers; Naval Documents of the American Revolution, Vol. 4.
Themes: American Armed Services; Campaigns of the War.
Tags: Abigail Adams, James Warren, Boston Light, Delaware River, HMS Roebuck, 1776.
May 10, 1776
The Engine of Independence
May 10, 1776 – The Engine of Independence
Congress clears the path to break with Britain.
By the spring of 1776, the American colonies faced a constitutional problem as serious as the war itself. Congress could not simply declare independence on its own authority. Delegates in Philadelphia acted under instructions from the governments that had sent them. If those governments still operated under royal charters, their representatives could not easily vote for independence from the Crown.
On May 10, Congress took a decisive step to resolve the dilemma. It recommended that colonies lacking governments “sufficient to the exigencies of their affairs” should establish new ones. These governments, Congress advised, should be chosen by representatives of the people and designed to promote “the happiness and safety of their constituents in particular, and America in general.” The resolution stopped short of declaring independence, but its meaning was clear: colonies could replace royal governments with new authorities grounded in the will of their people.
Congress immediately appointed a committee to explain the measure. John Adams of Massachusetts, Edward Rutledge of South Carolina, and Richard Henry Lee of Virginia were tasked with preparing a preamble. Five days later, Congress adopted their explanation, mostly written by Adams. The preamble argued that loyalty to the Crown had become “irreconcilable to reason and good conscience.” Britain had rejected the colonies’ petitions and was waging war against them with the aid of foreign mercenaries. Under such circumstances, the document concluded, “every kind of authority under the said crown” must be suppressed and the powers of government exercised under the authority of the people.
The implications were not lost on the delegates. As the measure was ordered published, Pennsylvania’s James Duane remarked to Adams that it looked like “a machine for the fabrication of independence.” Adams replied, smiling, that he believed it was independence itself—“but we must have it with more formality yet.”
Writing to James Warren that same day, Adams declared that Congress had passed “the most important resolution that ever was taken in America.”
The resolution did not yet proclaim independence. But by encouraging the colonies to establish governments of their own, Congress had removed the constitutional barrier that had held many back. Within days, one colony would act on that recommendation. Virginia’s convention was already in session.
Sources: Journals of Congress, Vol. 4; The Adams Papers.
Additional background: The Papers of Thomas Jefferson (US: Founders Online).
Themes: Self-Government, Founding Principles.
Tags: John Adams, Richard Henry Lee, Edward Rutledge, James Duane, Independence, State Constitutions, 1776.
May 10, 1776 – The Engine of Independence
Congress clears the path to break with Britain.
By the spring of 1776, the American colonies faced a constitutional problem as serious as the war itself. Congress could not simply declare independence on its own authority. Delegates in Philadelphia acted under instructions from the governments that had sent them. If those governments still operated under royal charters, their representatives could not easily vote for independence from the Crown.
On May 10, Congress took a decisive step to resolve the dilemma. It recommended that colonies lacking governments “sufficient to the exigencies of their affairs” should establish new ones. These governments, Congress advised, should be chosen by representatives of the people and designed to promote “the happiness and safety of their constituents in particular, and America in general.” The resolution stopped short of declaring independence, but its meaning was clear: colonies could replace royal governments with new authorities grounded in the will of their people.
Congress immediately appointed a committee to explain the measure. John Adams of Massachusetts, Edward Rutledge of South Carolina, and Richard Henry Lee of Virginia were tasked with preparing a preamble. Five days later, Congress adopted their explanation, mostly written by Adams. The preamble argued that loyalty to the Crown had become “irreconcilable to reason and good conscience.” Britain had rejected the colonies’ petitions and was waging war against them with the aid of foreign mercenaries. Under such circumstances, the document concluded, “every kind of authority under the said crown” must be suppressed and the powers of government exercised under the authority of the people.
The implications were not lost on the delegates. As the measure was ordered published, Pennsylvania’s James Duane remarked to Adams that it looked like “a machine for the fabrication of independence.” Adams replied, smiling, that he believed it was independence itself—“but we must have it with more formality yet.”
Writing to James Warren that same day, Adams declared that Congress had passed “the most important resolution that ever was taken in America.”
The resolution did not yet proclaim independence. But by encouraging the colonies to establish governments of their own, Congress had removed the constitutional barrier that had held many back. Within days, one colony would act on that recommendation. Virginia’s convention was already in session.
Sources: Journals of Congress, Vol. 4; The Adams Papers.
Additional background: The Papers of Thomas Jefferson (US: Founders Online).
Themes: Self-Government, Founding Principles.
Tags: John Adams, Richard Henry Lee, Edward Rutledge, James Duane, Independence, State Constitutions, 1776.
May 11, 1776
Letters from Congress
May 11, 1776 – Letters from Congress
Three delegates explain the pressures shaping Congress during a decisive spring.
The debates of Congress dominated Philadelphia news, but another record of the Revolution was written quietly in letters. After the day’s business ended, delegates often took up their pens—writing to friends, colleagues, and leaders across the colonies, explaining events and weighing what might come next.
Congress met on Saturday, May 11, 1776, and attended to its usual business. That same day, several delegates also wrote letters describing the moment. Three of those letters offer different windows into a Congress standing on the edge of independence.
William Whipple of New Hampshire, a former merchant sea captain who had spent years trading across the Atlantic, wrote with practical clarity about the political climate. Rising from a life at sea to a seat in Congress, he had seen the reach of British trade firsthand. Most of the colonies, he explained, had already begun forming new governments to replace royal authority. Only Pennsylvania and Maryland still hesitated. If the colonies hoped to secure foreign alliances, Whipple believed, they would soon need something more—a confederation that could act together before the world.
Oliver Wolcott’s letter revealed a more personal side of the struggle. A Yale graduate and militia officer who had already served his colony in war and government, Wolcott paused to reflect on the strange contrast between God’s creation outside and the turmoil within Congress. Spring was unfolding in beauty, he wrote, yet the political world seemed “all convulsed.” Like many delegates, he was trying to understand what the unfolding conflict would mean for his family in Connecticut.
Richard Henry Lee, the Virginia delegate whose eloquence would soon help move Congress toward independence, described the forces slowing the process. Some colonies, he wrote, continued to “obstruct and perplex the American machine.” Those who wished delay insisted Congress must not act first but wait for the colonies themselves to begin. Yet Lee believed the path forward would come when the other colonies issued clear instructions to their delegates. Once that happened, he predicted, even the hesitant provinces would be “obliged to pursue the right road.”
Within months, Whipple, Wolcott, and Lee would all sign the Declaration of Independence. But on that day in Philadelphia, they were simply three men writing letters—trying to explain a revolution still unfolding.
Sources: US: Letters of Delegates to Congress; Goodrich, Lives of the Signers.
Themes: Voices of the Revolution
Tags: William Whipple, Oliver Wolcott, Richard Henry Lee, independence debate, Congress, 1776
May 11, 1776 – Letters from Congress
Three delegates explain the pressures shaping Congress during a decisive spring.
The debates of Congress dominated Philadelphia news, but another record of the Revolution was written quietly in letters. After the day’s business ended, delegates often took up their pens—writing to friends, colleagues, and leaders across the colonies, explaining events and weighing what might come next.
Congress met on Saturday, May 11, 1776, and attended to its usual business. That same day, several delegates also wrote letters describing the moment. Three of those letters offer different windows into a Congress standing on the edge of independence.
William Whipple of New Hampshire, a former merchant sea captain who had spent years trading across the Atlantic, wrote with practical clarity about the political climate. Rising from a life at sea to a seat in Congress, he had seen the reach of British trade firsthand. Most of the colonies, he explained, had already begun forming new governments to replace royal authority. Only Pennsylvania and Maryland still hesitated. If the colonies hoped to secure foreign alliances, Whipple believed, they would soon need something more—a confederation that could act together before the world.
Oliver Wolcott’s letter revealed a more personal side of the struggle. A Yale graduate and militia officer who had already served his colony in war and government, Wolcott paused to reflect on the strange contrast between God’s creation outside and the turmoil within Congress. Spring was unfolding in beauty, he wrote, yet the political world seemed “all convulsed.” Like many delegates, he was trying to understand what the unfolding conflict would mean for his family in Connecticut.
Richard Henry Lee, the Virginia delegate whose eloquence would soon help move Congress toward independence, described the forces slowing the process. Some colonies, he wrote, continued to “obstruct and perplex the American machine.” Those who wished delay insisted Congress must not act first but wait for the colonies themselves to begin. Yet Lee believed the path forward would come when the other colonies issued clear instructions to their delegates. Once that happened, he predicted, even the hesitant provinces would be “obliged to pursue the right road.”
Within months, Whipple, Wolcott, and Lee would all sign the Declaration of Independence. But on that day in Philadelphia, they were simply three men writing letters—trying to explain a revolution still unfolding.
Sources: US: Letters of Delegates to Congress; Goodrich, Lives of the Signers.
Themes: Voices of the Revolution
Tags: William Whipple, Oliver Wolcott, Richard Henry Lee, independence debate, Congress, 1776
May 12, 1776
Sunday: No Time for Sinecures
May 12, 1776 – Sunday: No Time for Sinecures
Public office was not a prize to collect, but a duty to fulfill.
John Adams wanted to be in Boston—but the Revolution required him in Philadelphia. From Congress, he watched events in Massachusetts with growing frustration. The royal government had collapsed the year before, and the colony was now building its own. Leadership questions remained unsettled, Boston Harbor still needed stronger defenses, and political disagreements threatened unity.
Adams still held two offices there. Massachusetts had chosen him for the Council, helping guide the colony’s government, and also appointed him Chief Justice of the Superior Court. Both were honors. But Adams could not serve them while Congress labored toward independence.
On May 12, 1776, his letters revealed a man wrestling with that reality. Writing to his friend James Warren, Adams described the crushing responsibilities he faced in Congress. “My mind is overborne with burdens,” he admitted. News and cares arrived from every direction—Boston, Canada, other colonies, Indian nations, even Europe.
Yet his concern for Massachusetts remained strong. The colony would soon choose a governor or president, and Adams urged unity: “Don’t divide . . . If you divide you will split the province into factions.”
To John Winthrop, he outlined the path Congress was preparing to take. The colonies must first establish their own governments, then form a confederation. Only then should independence be declared—so that foreign nations would recognize the new states and support their cause.
Meanwhile, Adams confided to Abigail his anger at delays in defending Boston Harbor. If he were there, he said, he would “storm and thunder” until action was taken. He even urged Abigail to encourage local ministers to preach about the danger and stir the people to vigilance.
But Adams knew he could not guide Massachusetts and lead in Congress at the same time.
He had already decided to resign his seat on the Council, and he would soon relinquish the judgeship as well. The moment demanded focus.
Public office, Adams believed, was not an honor to be collected, a “sinecure” as he called it. It was a trust to be fulfilled. In 1776, the trust that mattered most was the struggle for American liberty. So from Philadelphia, integrity demanded he set aside other titles—and give himself wholly to the cause of liberty.
Themes: Voices of the Revolution, Moral Foundations.
Tags: John Adams, Abigail Adams, James Warren, John Winthrop, Massachusetts, sinecure, independence, 1776.
May 12, 1776 – Sunday: No Time for Sinecures
Public office was not a prize to collect, but a duty to fulfill.
John Adams wanted to be in Boston—but the Revolution required him in Philadelphia. From Congress, he watched events in Massachusetts with growing frustration. The royal government had collapsed the year before, and the colony was now building its own. Leadership questions remained unsettled, Boston Harbor still needed stronger defenses, and political disagreements threatened unity.
Adams still held two offices there. Massachusetts had chosen him for the Council, helping guide the colony’s government, and also appointed him Chief Justice of the Superior Court. Both were honors. But Adams could not serve them while Congress labored toward independence.
On May 12, 1776, his letters revealed a man wrestling with that reality. Writing to his friend James Warren, Adams described the crushing responsibilities he faced in Congress. “My mind is overborne with burdens,” he admitted. News and cares arrived from every direction—Boston, Canada, other colonies, Indian nations, even Europe.
Yet his concern for Massachusetts remained strong. The colony would soon choose a governor or president, and Adams urged unity: “Don’t divide . . . If you divide you will split the province into factions.”
To John Winthrop, he outlined the path Congress was preparing to take. The colonies must first establish their own governments, then form a confederation. Only then should independence be declared—so that foreign nations would recognize the new states and support their cause.
Meanwhile, Adams confided to Abigail his anger at delays in defending Boston Harbor. If he were there, he said, he would “storm and thunder” until action was taken. He even urged Abigail to encourage local ministers to preach about the danger and stir the people to vigilance.
But Adams knew he could not guide Massachusetts and lead in Congress at the same time.
He had already decided to resign his seat on the Council, and he would soon relinquish the judgeship as well. The moment demanded focus.
Public office, Adams believed, was not an honor to be collected, a “sinecure” as he called it. It was a trust to be fulfilled. In 1776, the trust that mattered most was the struggle for American liberty. So from Philadelphia, integrity demanded he set aside other titles—and give himself wholly to the cause of liberty.
Themes: Voices of the Revolution, Moral Foundations.
Tags: John Adams, Abigail Adams, James Warren, John Winthrop, Massachusetts, sinecure, independence, 1776.
May 13, 1776
Waiting for Instructions
May 13, 1776 – Waiting for Instructions
New York’s delegates could not move toward independence without instructions.
In May 1776, while the Continental Congress urged the colonies to establish independent governments, New York’s own Provincial Congress struggled simply to conduct business. When they met in New York City, the members present could not proceed “for want of a sufficient number.”
The colony faced mounting pressures. Loyalist sentiment remained strong in parts of Long Island, and some inhabitants were expected to join the king’s troops if they arrived. British warships were gathering, and New York City itself would probably be the next major battleground of the war.
Those difficulties followed the colony’s delegates to Philadelphia. Even after Congress passed the recommendation for colonies to form new governments, the argument continued for days. On May 13, James Duane rose in Congress to continue the debate. “Why all this haste? Why this urging? Why this driving?” he asked. Independence, he reminded his colleagues, remained disputed across the colonies.
Duane insisted that the delegates could not move beyond the authority granted to them by their constituents. “A maxim, that all government originates from the people,” he said. “We are the servants of the people sent here to act under a delegated authority.” Some delegates, he explained, had been placed under strict limits by those who sent them. “They cannot vote, without transgressing this line.”
Duane also warned that moving too quickly could produce dangerous consequences in his own colony. If Congress adopted the proposed preamble urging new governments, he cautioned, “in this province . . . there will be an immediate dissolution of every kind of authority. The people will be instantly in a state of nature,” without any government at all.
A week later, another colony approached the problem very differently. Georgia’s Lyman Hall and Button Gwinnett arrived in Congress on May 20 with credentials from Savannah. Instead of detailed instructions, the Georgia Provincial Congress deliberately did not give any. The delegates were told that their leaders relied upon their “patriotism, abilities, firmness, and integrity” to support whatever measures they believed would be best.
Across the colonies, the path toward independence was not perfectly uniform. Georgia relied upon its delegates to support whatever best served the colony. New York’s representatives believed they must wait for instructions. Supporters of independence would have to convince both.
Sources: US: Letters of Delegates to Congress; The Adams Papers, Journals of Congress, Vol. 4.
Additional background: Force, American Archives, Series 4, Vol. 5 and 6.
Themes: Loyalty or Independence; Forging Unity.
Tags: James Duane, Lyman Hall, Button Gwinnett, New York Provincial Congress, Georgia delegation, 1776.
May 13, 1776 – Waiting for Instructions
New York’s delegates could not move toward independence without instructions.
In May 1776, while the Continental Congress urged the colonies to establish independent governments, New York’s own Provincial Congress struggled simply to conduct business. When they met in New York City, the members present could not proceed “for want of a sufficient number.”
The colony faced mounting pressures. Loyalist sentiment remained strong in parts of Long Island, and some inhabitants were expected to join the king’s troops if they arrived. British warships were gathering, and New York City itself would probably be the next major battleground of the war.
Those difficulties followed the colony’s delegates to Philadelphia. Even after Congress passed the recommendation for colonies to form new governments, the argument continued for days. On May 13, James Duane rose in Congress to continue the debate. “Why all this haste? Why this urging? Why this driving?” he asked. Independence, he reminded his colleagues, remained disputed across the colonies.
Duane insisted that the delegates could not move beyond the authority granted to them by their constituents. “A maxim, that all government originates from the people,” he said. “We are the servants of the people sent here to act under a delegated authority.” Some delegates, he explained, had been placed under strict limits by those who sent them. “They cannot vote, without transgressing this line.”
Duane also warned that moving too quickly could produce dangerous consequences in his own colony. If Congress adopted the proposed preamble urging new governments, he cautioned, “in this province . . . there will be an immediate dissolution of every kind of authority. The people will be instantly in a state of nature,” without any government at all.
A week later, another colony approached the problem very differently. Georgia’s Lyman Hall and Button Gwinnett arrived in Congress on May 20 with credentials from Savannah. Instead of detailed instructions, the Georgia Provincial Congress deliberately did not give any. The delegates were told that their leaders relied upon their “patriotism, abilities, firmness, and integrity” to support whatever measures they believed would be best.
Across the colonies, the path toward independence was not perfectly uniform. Georgia relied upon its delegates to support whatever best served the colony. New York’s representatives believed they must wait for instructions. Supporters of independence would have to convince both.
Sources: US: Letters of Delegates to Congress; The Adams Papers, Journals of Congress, Vol. 4.
Additional background: Force, American Archives, Series 4, Vol. 5 and 6.
Themes: Loyalty or Independence; Forging Unity.
Tags: James Duane, Lyman Hall, Button Gwinnett, New York Provincial Congress, Georgia delegation, 1776.
May 14, 1776
Tuesday: A Masterly Pen
May 14, 1776 – A Masterly Pen
A quiet Virginian known more for writing than speeches returned to Congress.
Most colonial protests appealed to Parliament. A young Virginia lawyer went further. In a bold pamphlet, Thomas Jefferson addressed the king himself—and denied Parliament’s authority over America. The claim was so dramatic that Lord Dunmore reportedly threatened to have him arrested. Now, on May 14, 1776, Jefferson returned to Congress—his opinions unchanged.
In some ways, Jefferson was reflecting ideas he had absorbed years earlier from Patrick Henry. As a young law student, he had stood in the doorway during Henry’s famous speech against the Stamp Act, when Henry declared that Caesar had his Brutus and George III might profit by their example. Cries of treason filled the chamber—but Henry stood firm. Jefferson never forgot the moment or the power of words in defense of liberty. The lesson was clear: a single speech—or a single page—could shape the course of public debate.
When he published A Summary View of the Rights of British America in 1774, that pamphlet quickly made his name known beyond Virginia. Printed and circulated widely in the colonies, it was read as one of the clearest statements yet of the American constitutional case against Parliament. Written for the public debate already sweeping the colonies, it argued that American liberties rested on ancient rights and natural law, and it warned that continued encroachments from Britain threatened both constitutional order and colonial self-government.
From these pages emerged several bold principles. First, the rights of the colonists came from God, not from government: “The God who gave us life gave us liberty at the same time.” Second, Parliament had no rightful authority over the colonies, which had long governed themselves through their own legislatures. And third, repeated violations of those rights revealed not accidents of policy but a deliberate system of oppression.
Jefferson rarely spoke at length in Congress when he first attended in 1775, but as John Adams later recalled, he already had “the reputation of a masterly pen.”
Virginia already knew the strength of that pen. As one historian later observed, three Virginians were instrumental in the cause of independence: Patrick Henry was its voice, George Washington its sword, and Thomas Jefferson its pen.
Sources: Jefferson, A Summary View; The Adams Papers; Dunaway, “The Virginia Conventions.”
Additional background: Journals of Congress, Vol. 4; Goodrich, Lives of the Signers.
Themes: Moral Foundations, Founding Principles.
Tags: Thomas Jefferson, Patrick Henry, George Washington, John Adams, natural rights, 1776.
May 14, 1776 – A Masterly Pen
A quiet Virginian known more for writing than speeches returned to Congress.
Most colonial protests appealed to Parliament. A young Virginia lawyer went further. In a bold pamphlet, Thomas Jefferson addressed the king himself—and denied Parliament’s authority over America. The claim was so dramatic that Lord Dunmore reportedly threatened to have him arrested. Now, on May 14, 1776, Jefferson returned to Congress—his opinions unchanged.
In some ways, Jefferson was reflecting ideas he had absorbed years earlier from Patrick Henry. As a young law student, he had stood in the doorway during Henry’s famous speech against the Stamp Act, when Henry declared that Caesar had his Brutus and George III might profit by their example. Cries of treason filled the chamber—but Henry stood firm. Jefferson never forgot the moment or the power of words in defense of liberty. The lesson was clear: a single speech—or a single page—could shape the course of public debate.
When he published A Summary View of the Rights of British America in 1774, that pamphlet quickly made his name known beyond Virginia. Printed and circulated widely in the colonies, it was read as one of the clearest statements yet of the American constitutional case against Parliament. Written for the public debate already sweeping the colonies, it argued that American liberties rested on ancient rights and natural law, and it warned that continued encroachments from Britain threatened both constitutional order and colonial self-government.
From these pages emerged several bold principles. First, the rights of the colonists came from God, not from government: “The God who gave us life gave us liberty at the same time.” Second, Parliament had no rightful authority over the colonies, which had long governed themselves through their own legislatures. And third, repeated violations of those rights revealed not accidents of policy but a deliberate system of oppression.
Jefferson rarely spoke at length in Congress when he first attended in 1775, but as John Adams later recalled, he already had “the reputation of a masterly pen.”
Virginia already knew the strength of that pen. As one historian later observed, three Virginians were instrumental in the cause of independence: Patrick Henry was its voice, George Washington its sword, and Thomas Jefferson its pen.
Sources: Jefferson, A Summary View; The Adams Papers; Dunaway, “The Virginia Conventions.”
Additional background: Journals of Congress, Vol. 4; Goodrich, Lives of the Signers.
Themes: Moral Foundations, Founding Principles.
Tags: Thomas Jefferson, Patrick Henry, George Washington, John Adams, natural rights, 1776.
May 15, 1776
Virginia Sets Independence in Motion
May 15, 1776 – Virginia Sets Independence in Motion
They confronted a question the colonies could no longer avoid.
“In this state of extreme danger,” the Virginia Convention declared, “we have no alternative left but an abject submission . . . or a total separation from the crown and government of Great Britain.”
The delegates meeting in the old capital of Williamsburg had not reached that conclusion lightly. For months the colonies had sent petitions and appeals asking Britain to restore peace and respect their rights within the empire. Instead, Parliament had declared the colonies in rebellion and sent fleets and armies to suppress them. Virginia’s royal governor, Lord Dunmore, had fled the capital and was waging war from British ships along the coast.
Faced with the collapse of royal authority, Virginia’s Patriot leaders had already begun governing through a revolutionary convention and the Committee of Safety. Now the convention confronted the larger constitutional question: whether the colonies should remain connected to Britain at all.
The preamble adopted on May 15 explained the delegates’ reasoning. The colonies, it said, had sought reconciliation “by the most decent representations and petitions,” but those efforts had been met with oppression and war. Appealing to the “Searcher of Hearts” as witness to their motives, the convention declared that necessity and the “eternal laws of self-preservation” now compelled them toward separation.
The resolution that followed was adopted unanimously. Virginia’s delegates to the Continental Congress were instructed to propose that the United Colonies be declared “free and independent states,” free from all allegiance to the British crown. The same instructions also authorized Congress to pursue foreign alliances and a confederation of the colonies.
Other colonies had already taken steps toward independence. North Carolina, for example, had authorized its delegates to support a declaration if Congress chose to make one. Virginia went further. Its convention instructed its representatives not merely to vote for independence, but to propose it themselves, placing the initiative directly before Congress.
The Virginia Gazette reported that a “Union Flag of the American states” waved over the Capitol in Williamsburg as artillery fired and “illuminations” lit the night in celebration of the resolution.
Congress had just recommended that colonies lacking governments suited to wartime conditions establish new ones of their own. Virginia had already gone further. Even before they learned of Congress’s resolves, Virginia had begun to enact them.
Sources: The Jefferson Papers (US: Founders Online); Wirt, Life of Patrick Henry.
Additional background: Journals of Congress, Vol. 4; Dunaway, “The Virginia Conventions.”
Themes: Self-Government, Founding Principles.
Tags: Virginia Convention, Williamsburg, Independence, State Constitutions, 1776
May 15, 1776 – Virginia Sets Independence in Motion
They confronted a question the colonies could no longer avoid.
“In this state of extreme danger,” the Virginia Convention declared, “we have no alternative left but an abject submission . . . or a total separation from the crown and government of Great Britain.”
The delegates meeting in the old capital of Williamsburg had not reached that conclusion lightly. For months the colonies had sent petitions and appeals asking Britain to restore peace and respect their rights within the empire. Instead, Parliament had declared the colonies in rebellion and sent fleets and armies to suppress them. Virginia’s royal governor, Lord Dunmore, had fled the capital and was waging war from British ships along the coast.
Faced with the collapse of royal authority, Virginia’s Patriot leaders had already begun governing through a revolutionary convention and the Committee of Safety. Now the convention confronted the larger constitutional question: whether the colonies should remain connected to Britain at all.
The preamble adopted on May 15 explained the delegates’ reasoning. The colonies, it said, had sought reconciliation “by the most decent representations and petitions,” but those efforts had been met with oppression and war. Appealing to the “Searcher of Hearts” as witness to their motives, the convention declared that necessity and the “eternal laws of self-preservation” now compelled them toward separation.
The resolution that followed was adopted unanimously. Virginia’s delegates to the Continental Congress were instructed to propose that the United Colonies be declared “free and independent states,” free from all allegiance to the British crown. The same instructions also authorized Congress to pursue foreign alliances and a confederation of the colonies.
Other colonies had already taken steps toward independence. North Carolina, for example, had authorized its delegates to support a declaration if Congress chose to make one. Virginia went further. Its convention instructed its representatives not merely to vote for independence, but to propose it themselves, placing the initiative directly before Congress.
The Virginia Gazette reported that a “Union Flag of the American states” waved over the Capitol in Williamsburg as artillery fired and “illuminations” lit the night in celebration of the resolution.
Congress had just recommended that colonies lacking governments suited to wartime conditions establish new ones of their own. Virginia had already gone further. Even before they learned of Congress’s resolves, Virginia had begun to enact them.
Sources: The Jefferson Papers (US: Founders Online); Wirt, Life of Patrick Henry.
Additional background: Journals of Congress, Vol. 4; Dunaway, “The Virginia Conventions.”
Themes: Self-Government, Founding Principles.
Tags: Virginia Convention, Williamsburg, Independence, State Constitutions, 1776
May 16, 1776
United We Stand
May 16, 1776 – United We Stand
Late in the night, the printing office of the Virginia Gazette was still at work.
The press was already running. Ink was spread across the type, damp sheets of paper laid carefully in place, and the heavy screw turned again and again. Each pull of the press made another impression, and the next day’s issue began to stack, sheet by sheet, to dry before morning distribution. But those pages had not been made in a moment.
For days beforehand, the issue had been built by hand. In the composing room, each line of text had been set piece by piece. A compositor stood before a case of type, selecting small metal letters—each one reversed—and placing them into a composing stick, forming words, then lines, then full columns. Those lines were transferred into a larger frame, tightened and locked so they would not shift under pressure. Only when the page was complete could it be carried to the press.
At the top of that page, the masthead required special care. The title was familiar: Virginia Gazette. Beneath it, a newer line declared: Thirteen United Colonies. That phrase alone told readers how much had changed. And beneath that, another line had been set: “United, we stand—Divided, we fall.”
Now, as the press ran, those words were the first thing impressed onto every sheet. Before any article was read, before any notice considered, every reader would see them.
Those words at the top of the page were not new. In 1768, John Dickinson had written in The Liberty Song, “By uniting we stand, by dividing we fall,” a line sung and widely reprinted across the colonies.
By the spring of 1776, its meaning had sharpened. The colonies were engaged in a war. Committees enforced loyalty. Armies depended on coordination across colonies that had once acted separately. Division was not theoretical—it was a constant threat.
That is why the printer’s work that night mattered. As the press turned, the message was fixed in ink before independence itself was declared: If the colonies did not stand together, they would fall apart.
Within weeks, that same press would print the Declaration of Independence, but the principle it depended on had already been set in type.
Sources: Virginia Gazette, May 17, 1776; Dickinson, The Liberty Song.
Additional background: Force, American Archives, Series 4, Vol. 6; The Adams Papers.
Themes: Forging Unity, Voices of the Revolution
Tags: Virginia Gazette, Alexander Purdie, United We Stand, John Dickinson, Liberty Song, newspapers, 1776
May 16, 1776 – United We Stand
Late in the night, the printing office of the Virginia Gazette was still at work.
The press was already running. Ink was spread across the type, damp sheets of paper laid carefully in place, and the heavy screw turned again and again. Each pull of the press made another impression, and the next day’s issue began to stack, sheet by sheet, to dry before morning distribution. But those pages had not been made in a moment.
For days beforehand, the issue had been built by hand. In the composing room, each line of text had been set piece by piece. A compositor stood before a case of type, selecting small metal letters—each one reversed—and placing them into a composing stick, forming words, then lines, then full columns. Those lines were transferred into a larger frame, tightened and locked so they would not shift under pressure. Only when the page was complete could it be carried to the press.
At the top of that page, the masthead required special care. The title was familiar: Virginia Gazette. Beneath it, a newer line declared: Thirteen United Colonies. That phrase alone told readers how much had changed. And beneath that, another line had been set: “United, we stand—Divided, we fall.”
Now, as the press ran, those words were the first thing impressed onto every sheet. Before any article was read, before any notice considered, every reader would see them.
Those words at the top of the page were not new. In 1768, John Dickinson had written in The Liberty Song, “By uniting we stand, by dividing we fall,” a line sung and widely reprinted across the colonies.
By the spring of 1776, its meaning had sharpened. The colonies were engaged in a war. Committees enforced loyalty. Armies depended on coordination across colonies that had once acted separately. Division was not theoretical—it was a constant threat.
That is why the printer’s work that night mattered. As the press turned, the message was fixed in ink before independence itself was declared: If the colonies did not stand together, they would fall apart.
Within weeks, that same press would print the Declaration of Independence, but the principle it depended on had already been set in type.
Sources: Virginia Gazette, May 17, 1776; Dickinson, The Liberty Song.
Additional background: Force, American Archives, Series 4, Vol. 6; The Adams Papers.
Themes: Forging Unity, Voices of the Revolution
Tags: Virginia Gazette, Alexander Purdie, United We Stand, John Dickinson, Liberty Song, newspapers, 1776
May 17, 1776
Pharaoh and the Fast Day
May 17, 1776 – Pharaoh and the Fast Day
Ministers used the story of Israel to explain America’s fight for liberty.
In March, Congress had recommended the colonies observe Friday, May 17, as a day of “humiliation, fasting, and prayer.” The war had entered a dangerous stage, and the future of the colonies remained uncertain. Congress urged Americans to confess their sins, seek God’s favor, and ask for strength to defend their liberties.
When the day arrived, members of Congress set aside their usual debates and attended church. John Adams went as usual to the Third Presbyterian Church in Philadelphia. Rev. George Duffield’s sermon that morning drew on one of the Bible’s most powerful stories: Moses and Pharaoh.
According to Adams, the minister drew “a parallel between the case of Israel and that of America, and between the conduct of Pharaoh and that of [King] George.” Just as Pharaoh feared the growing strength of the Israelites and sought to oppress them, so the king of Great Britain was trying to tighten his control over the colonies. Yet in Scripture, the story did not end with bondage. God delivered His people.
The comparison was already familiar. Pamphlet writers argued over Israel and kings. Some warned against monarchy while others mocked the colonists for grumbling like the Israelites in the wilderness. Even Adams had used the image weeks earlier, cautioning that Americans must not “hanker after the leeks of Egypt.”
Duffield declared that the same Providence that once rescued Israel was now guiding events in America. The “course of events,” he said, showed that Providence intended the colonies to be separated from Great Britain.
Adams left the service deeply aware of the moment. The events of the past year had moved quickly—too quickly for any one person to control—yet they seemed to follow a direction larger than human planning. The colonies were moving rapidly toward a decision few had imagined only months before. Congress had just advised the colonies to form new governments independent of royal authority. Debate over complete independence was no longer theoretical.
Across the colonies that same day, churches filled with people seeking wisdom and courage for the uncertain path ahead. For many Americans, the language of Scripture offered a way to understand their struggle—not merely as a political dispute, but as a test of conscience, faith, and national destiny.
Sources: The Adams Papers; Journals of Congress, Vol. 4.
Additional background: Bancroft, History of the United States, Vol. 8; Force, American Archives, Vol. 5.
Themes: Faith and Providence, Moral Foundations.
Tags: John Adams, George Duffield, National Fast Day, Exodus imagery, Patriot clergy, Providence, 1776.
May 17, 1776 – Pharaoh and the Fast Day
Ministers used the story of Israel to explain America’s fight for liberty.
In March, Congress had recommended the colonies observe Friday, May 17, as a day of “humiliation, fasting, and prayer.” The war had entered a dangerous stage, and the future of the colonies remained uncertain. Congress urged Americans to confess their sins, seek God’s favor, and ask for strength to defend their liberties.
When the day arrived, members of Congress set aside their usual debates and attended church. John Adams went as usual to the Third Presbyterian Church in Philadelphia. Rev. George Duffield’s sermon that morning drew on one of the Bible’s most powerful stories: Moses and Pharaoh.
According to Adams, the minister drew “a parallel between the case of Israel and that of America, and between the conduct of Pharaoh and that of [King] George.” Just as Pharaoh feared the growing strength of the Israelites and sought to oppress them, so the king of Great Britain was trying to tighten his control over the colonies. Yet in Scripture, the story did not end with bondage. God delivered His people.
The comparison was already familiar. Pamphlet writers argued over Israel and kings. Some warned against monarchy while others mocked the colonists for grumbling like the Israelites in the wilderness. Even Adams had used the image weeks earlier, cautioning that Americans must not “hanker after the leeks of Egypt.”
Duffield declared that the same Providence that once rescued Israel was now guiding events in America. The “course of events,” he said, showed that Providence intended the colonies to be separated from Great Britain.
Adams left the service deeply aware of the moment. The events of the past year had moved quickly—too quickly for any one person to control—yet they seemed to follow a direction larger than human planning. The colonies were moving rapidly toward a decision few had imagined only months before. Congress had just advised the colonies to form new governments independent of royal authority. Debate over complete independence was no longer theoretical.
Across the colonies that same day, churches filled with people seeking wisdom and courage for the uncertain path ahead. For many Americans, the language of Scripture offered a way to understand their struggle—not merely as a political dispute, but as a test of conscience, faith, and national destiny.
Sources: The Adams Papers; Journals of Congress, Vol. 4.
Additional background: Bancroft, History of the United States, Vol. 8; Force, American Archives, Vol. 5.
Themes: Faith and Providence, Moral Foundations.
Tags: John Adams, George Duffield, National Fast Day, Exodus imagery, Patriot clergy, Providence, 1776.
May 18, 1776
The Battle of the Cedars
May 18, 1776 – The Battle of the Cedars
Weeks later, no one could say for certain what had happened at the outpost.
Les Cèdres stood along the St. Lawrence River in Canada, west of Montreal. The Cedars, as it was known in English, was part of the fragile American effort to hold ground north of the thirteen colonies. By mid-May, something had gone terribly wrong. But for weeks, no clear account reached those in command.
General Washington received only fragments. What came in was “imperfect and contradictory,” with no direct report from any officer who had been present. No official account had arrived at all. The defeat, he noted, was known only through rumor, for want of any reliable means of communication.
What could be gathered was troubling. A small American force under Major Isaac Butterfield had been left to guard the post. When British-led troops approached—along with allied Native forces—the position was surrounded. By May 18, the garrison was in the midst of the battle. Outnumbered and uncertain of relief, Butterfield ultimately chose to surrender the post. Nearly four hundred men were taken prisoner.
A second American force, sent to reinforce the post under Major Henry Sherburne, met the same fate soon after. Surrounded in turn, they also surrendered. What had begun as a single loss quickly became a larger disaster, leaving hundreds of American soldiers in enemy hands.
Beyond these basic facts, the story grew darker—and less certain. Reports circulated of threats against prisoners and harsh treatment after the surrender. Whether fully accurate or not, such accounts spread quickly, shaping opinion long before they could be confirmed.
Even in June, Washington admitted he was “still in the dark” about how the affair had ended or what terms had been agreed upon. When more details finally reached him, they did not come through normal military channels, but from others who had pieced together what they could.
The events at the Cedars revealed more than the loss of a remote outpost. They exposed deeper problems—weak communication, discouraged troops, and commanders forced to act without clear guidance. In a campaign already strained by illness and retreat, this breakdown made recovery even more difficult. More than just a defeat, it was a warning that the American effort in Canada was beginning to unravel.
Sources: Sparks, American Biography, Vol. 3; The Writings of Washington, Vol. 5.
Additional background: The Jefferson Papers (US: Founders Online); Carroll, Journal.
Themes: Campaigns of the War; Continental Army in Canada.
Tags: George Washington, Isaac Butterfield, Henry Sherburne, Battle of the Cedars, 1776.
May 18, 1776 – The Battle of the Cedars
Weeks later, no one could say for certain what had happened at the outpost.
Les Cèdres stood along the St. Lawrence River in Canada, west of Montreal. The Cedars, as it was known in English, was part of the fragile American effort to hold ground north of the thirteen colonies. By mid-May, something had gone terribly wrong. But for weeks, no clear account reached those in command.
General Washington received only fragments. What came in was “imperfect and contradictory,” with no direct report from any officer who had been present. No official account had arrived at all. The defeat, he noted, was known only through rumor, for want of any reliable means of communication.
What could be gathered was troubling. A small American force under Major Isaac Butterfield had been left to guard the post. When British-led troops approached—along with allied Native forces—the position was surrounded. By May 18, the garrison was in the midst of the battle. Outnumbered and uncertain of relief, Butterfield ultimately chose to surrender the post. Nearly four hundred men were taken prisoner.
A second American force, sent to reinforce the post under Major Henry Sherburne, met the same fate soon after. Surrounded in turn, they also surrendered. What had begun as a single loss quickly became a larger disaster, leaving hundreds of American soldiers in enemy hands.
Beyond these basic facts, the story grew darker—and less certain. Reports circulated of threats against prisoners and harsh treatment after the surrender. Whether fully accurate or not, such accounts spread quickly, shaping opinion long before they could be confirmed.
Even in June, Washington admitted he was “still in the dark” about how the affair had ended or what terms had been agreed upon. When more details finally reached him, they did not come through normal military channels, but from others who had pieced together what they could.
The events at the Cedars revealed more than the loss of a remote outpost. They exposed deeper problems—weak communication, discouraged troops, and commanders forced to act without clear guidance. In a campaign already strained by illness and retreat, this breakdown made recovery even more difficult. More than just a defeat, it was a warning that the American effort in Canada was beginning to unravel.
Sources: Sparks, American Biography, Vol. 3; The Writings of Washington, Vol. 5.
Additional background: The Jefferson Papers (US: Founders Online); Carroll, Journal.
Themes: Campaigns of the War; Continental Army in Canada.
Tags: George Washington, Isaac Butterfield, Henry Sherburne, Battle of the Cedars, 1776.
May 19, 1776
Sunday: The Dominion of Providence Over Nations
May 19, 1776 – Sunday: The Dominion of Providence Over Nations
A Scottish minister defended American liberty as both a civil and sacred duty.
The Reverend John Witherspoon came to America in 1768 to head the College of New Jersey. Little did he realize how pivotal his role in American independence would be. Born in Scotland, he was descended from the famous Reformer John Knox, of whom Mary, Queen of Scots, once said she feared Knox’s prayers “more than an army of ten thousand men.” Now Knox’s heir had made his own place among the Black-Robed Regiment of the American Revolution.
On the fast day of May 17, 1776, he stepped into the pulpit to speak about liberty, Providence, and the American cause. The fast had been proclaimed by Congress, and many treated the day like a national Sabbath—sometimes called “Congress Sunday.” Witherspoon himself admitted that he had never before introduced politics into the pulpit.
He began with a text from the Psalms: “Surely the wrath of man shall praise Thee.” Even the anger and ambition of rulers, he said, could be turned by God toward purposes they never intended. Tyrants often awakened the very resistance that overthrew them. The conflict with Britain, he argued, had not arisen from rebellion, but from a growing conviction that American liberties were in danger. The cause in which they now stood was clear. It was, he declared, “the cause of justice, of liberty, and of human nature.”
Liberty was not merely a political question, either. History showed, he warned, that once civil liberty was lost, religious liberty soon followed. A government strong enough to rule without restraint could also control the conscience. For that reason, the defense of liberty touched both the rights of citizens and the freedom of the church.
Finally, Witherspoon pointed to what he called the “singular interposition of Providence in behalf of the American colonies.” Unexpected turns in the war—the survival of the army, the failure of British plans, and other unlikely events—revealed the guiding hand of God.
The fast day ended as it had begun—with prayer. But the sermon had done more than comfort the faithful. It helped explain why many Americans now believed their struggle for liberty was part of a larger design of Providence. Soon Witherspoon himself would sit in Congress, able to vote for the liberty he now defended.
Sources: Witherspoon, The Dominion of Providence; Holy Bible, King James Version, Psalm 76:10; Goodrich, Lives of the Signers.
Additional background: Journals of Congress, Vol. 4; The Adams Papers.
Themes: Religious Liberty; Moral Foundations; Faith and Providence.
Tags: John Witherspoon, Black Robed Regiment, Princeton, John Knox, National Fast Day, Providence, 1776.
May 19, 1776 – Sunday: The Dominion of Providence Over Nations
A Scottish minister defended American liberty as both a civil and sacred duty.
The Reverend John Witherspoon came to America in 1768 to head the College of New Jersey. Little did he realize how pivotal his role in American independence would be. Born in Scotland, he was descended from the famous Reformer John Knox, of whom Mary, Queen of Scots, once said she feared Knox’s prayers “more than an army of ten thousand men.” Now Knox’s heir had made his own place among the Black-Robed Regiment of the American Revolution.
On the fast day of May 17, 1776, he stepped into the pulpit to speak about liberty, Providence, and the American cause. The fast had been proclaimed by Congress, and many treated the day like a national Sabbath—sometimes called “Congress Sunday.” Witherspoon himself admitted that he had never before introduced politics into the pulpit.
He began with a text from the Psalms: “Surely the wrath of man shall praise Thee.” Even the anger and ambition of rulers, he said, could be turned by God toward purposes they never intended. Tyrants often awakened the very resistance that overthrew them. The conflict with Britain, he argued, had not arisen from rebellion, but from a growing conviction that American liberties were in danger. The cause in which they now stood was clear. It was, he declared, “the cause of justice, of liberty, and of human nature.”
Liberty was not merely a political question, either. History showed, he warned, that once civil liberty was lost, religious liberty soon followed. A government strong enough to rule without restraint could also control the conscience. For that reason, the defense of liberty touched both the rights of citizens and the freedom of the church.
Finally, Witherspoon pointed to what he called the “singular interposition of Providence in behalf of the American colonies.” Unexpected turns in the war—the survival of the army, the failure of British plans, and other unlikely events—revealed the guiding hand of God.
The fast day ended as it had begun—with prayer. But the sermon had done more than comfort the faithful. It helped explain why many Americans now believed their struggle for liberty was part of a larger design of Providence. Soon Witherspoon himself would sit in Congress, able to vote for the liberty he now defended.
Sources: Witherspoon, The Dominion of Providence; Holy Bible, King James Version, Psalm 76:10; Goodrich, Lives of the Signers.
Additional background: Journals of Congress, Vol. 4; The Adams Papers.
Themes: Religious Liberty; Moral Foundations; Faith and Providence.
Tags: John Witherspoon, Black Robed Regiment, Princeton, John Knox, National Fast Day, Providence, 1776.
May 20, 1776
A Voice in the Rain
May 20, 1776 – A Voice in the Rain
The people of Pennsylvania stepped forward to claim their own government.
In a steady rain outside the Pennsylvania State House, a crowd gathered to hear words that could not be contained indoors. The scene was as striking as the message: the meeting stood exposed to the elements—no chamber, no walls, no formal assembly to restrain it.
That morning, the citizens of Philadelphia were summoned by a city committee to consider Congress’s May 15 resolve: to form a new governing body, independent of the Crown. The weather was poor, but the moment would not wait. A platform was hastily raised, and Colonel Daniel Roberdeau, chosen as moderator, read the resolve aloud. His voice carried through the wet air, reaching even those a quarter of a mile away at the edges of the crowd.
When the resolve was read, the crowd cheered. Hats flew into the air despite the rain, and the response rolled outward like the voice that had summoned it. What had been debated in Congress was now claimed in the street—not as theory, but as something to be acted upon at once, in full view of the people.
Around the platform stood the chief speakers, among them Colonel Thomas McKean, a Delaware delegate long active in Pennsylvania’s legal and political life. Born and trained in Pennsylvania, he had spent years in its courts and had once served as clerk of the very assembly now under question. Yet he represented Delaware in Congress, having lived and practiced law there as well. He was claimed by both colonies and held authority in each. In this moment, he stood as a bridge between Congress and the people of Pennsylvania.
The question before them quickly took shape: whether the Pennsylvania House of Representatives, created under the authority of the king, was fit to guide the colony any longer. If it was not, then another body must take its place. By the close of the meeting, the crowd had moved beyond reaction to decision. They called for a convention to form a new government suited to the times—one that would reflect the people’s will.
In the rain outside the State House, authority began to shift toward the people.
Sources: US: Letters of Delegates to Congress; Goodrich, Lives of the Signers.
Additional background: The Adams Papers; Journals of Congress, Vol. 4 (May 10 and 15, 1776).
Themes: Self-Government; Loyalty or Independence.
Tags: Thomas McKean, Daniel Roberdeau, Pennsylvania State House, representative government, 1776.
May 20, 1776 – A Voice in the Rain
The people of Pennsylvania stepped forward to claim their own government.
In a steady rain outside the Pennsylvania State House, a crowd gathered to hear words that could not be contained indoors. The scene was as striking as the message: the meeting stood exposed to the elements—no chamber, no walls, no formal assembly to restrain it.
That morning, the citizens of Philadelphia were summoned by a city committee to consider Congress’s May 15 resolve: to form a new governing body, independent of the Crown. The weather was poor, but the moment would not wait. A platform was hastily raised, and Colonel Daniel Roberdeau, chosen as moderator, read the resolve aloud. His voice carried through the wet air, reaching even those a quarter of a mile away at the edges of the crowd.
When the resolve was read, the crowd cheered. Hats flew into the air despite the rain, and the response rolled outward like the voice that had summoned it. What had been debated in Congress was now claimed in the street—not as theory, but as something to be acted upon at once, in full view of the people.
Around the platform stood the chief speakers, among them Colonel Thomas McKean, a Delaware delegate long active in Pennsylvania’s legal and political life. Born and trained in Pennsylvania, he had spent years in its courts and had once served as clerk of the very assembly now under question. Yet he represented Delaware in Congress, having lived and practiced law there as well. He was claimed by both colonies and held authority in each. In this moment, he stood as a bridge between Congress and the people of Pennsylvania.
The question before them quickly took shape: whether the Pennsylvania House of Representatives, created under the authority of the king, was fit to guide the colony any longer. If it was not, then another body must take its place. By the close of the meeting, the crowd had moved beyond reaction to decision. They called for a convention to form a new government suited to the times—one that would reflect the people’s will.
In the rain outside the State House, authority began to shift toward the people.
Sources: US: Letters of Delegates to Congress; Goodrich, Lives of the Signers.
Additional background: The Adams Papers; Journals of Congress, Vol. 4 (May 10 and 15, 1776).
Themes: Self-Government; Loyalty or Independence.
Tags: Thomas McKean, Daniel Roberdeau, Pennsylvania State House, representative government, 1776.
May 21, 1776
The Fleet, Commanded from Shore
May 21, 1776 – The Fleet, Commanded from Shore
The American fleet was not fully at sea—but it was not idle.
In Providence, Rhode Island, Commodore Esek Hopkins spent May 21 at his desk instead of on deck, writing letters in every direction. Requests went north to Connecticut Governor Trumbull for cannon. Others went to agents to release those guns to waiting carriers. He wrote to officers to gather crews, prepare vessels, and move supplies where they were needed. Reports moved toward Congress and General Washington. The work of the fleet continued—but from shore.
Beyond the harbor, the war still moved. One American vessel had been chased by what was believed to be the British ship Cerberus. Another had captured a small vessel sailing from Nova Scotia. Yet even in these small successes, there were signs of strain. Ships lost contact with one another at sea and took separate courses to avoid danger. Some returned early. Some pressed on alone. Some of the ships were active, but the fleet was not operating together at full strength. Most remained motionless in Narragansett Bay.
Closer to home, Hopkins faced a more immediate problem: cannon. Congress had ordered twenty of the heaviest guns taken from the fleet and sent to Philadelphia for the city’s defense. Hopkins had held some back, believing he had “a discretionary power” to keep what was necessary “for the benefit of the fleet.” The ships, he explained, were still being careened and refitted—hauled over, repaired, and not yet ready for action—and it was “not safe to part with the cannon before the ships are in a posture of defense.” Some of the guns were not even with the fleet, but still in Connecticut, requiring further coordination to collect and send them on.
Now the order was explicit. The guns were to go. Hopkins wrote firmly to ensure compliance, directing that they be delivered “without delay,” even though it would take weeks to fully comply.
The situation was made harder by a shortage of men. Many sailors were sick, and others had been drawn into service with the army, leaving ships undermanned and slowing repairs.
By the end of the day, Hopkins had not moved his fleet—but he had set many things in motion. Decisions were being made that would shape what came next. Within days, Congress would begin questioning those decisions.
Sources: Force, American Archives, Series 4, Vol. 6.
Additional background: Journals of Congress, Vol. 4 (May 22, 1776).
Themes: American Armed Services; Campaigns of the War
Tags: Esek Hopkins, Continental Navy, Jonathan Trumbull, American Fleet, 1776.
May 21, 1776 – The Fleet, Commanded from Shore
The American fleet was not fully at sea—but it was not idle.
In Providence, Rhode Island, Commodore Esek Hopkins spent May 21 at his desk instead of on deck, writing letters in every direction. Requests went north to Connecticut Governor Trumbull for cannon. Others went to agents to release those guns to waiting carriers. He wrote to officers to gather crews, prepare vessels, and move supplies where they were needed. Reports moved toward Congress and General Washington. The work of the fleet continued—but from shore.
Beyond the harbor, the war still moved. One American vessel had been chased by what was believed to be the British ship Cerberus. Another had captured a small vessel sailing from Nova Scotia. Yet even in these small successes, there were signs of strain. Ships lost contact with one another at sea and took separate courses to avoid danger. Some returned early. Some pressed on alone. Some of the ships were active, but the fleet was not operating together at full strength. Most remained motionless in Narragansett Bay.
Closer to home, Hopkins faced a more immediate problem: cannon. Congress had ordered twenty of the heaviest guns taken from the fleet and sent to Philadelphia for the city’s defense. Hopkins had held some back, believing he had “a discretionary power” to keep what was necessary “for the benefit of the fleet.” The ships, he explained, were still being careened and refitted—hauled over, repaired, and not yet ready for action—and it was “not safe to part with the cannon before the ships are in a posture of defense.” Some of the guns were not even with the fleet, but still in Connecticut, requiring further coordination to collect and send them on.
Now the order was explicit. The guns were to go. Hopkins wrote firmly to ensure compliance, directing that they be delivered “without delay,” even though it would take weeks to fully comply.
The situation was made harder by a shortage of men. Many sailors were sick, and others had been drawn into service with the army, leaving ships undermanned and slowing repairs.
By the end of the day, Hopkins had not moved his fleet—but he had set many things in motion. Decisions were being made that would shape what came next. Within days, Congress would begin questioning those decisions.
Sources: Force, American Archives, Series 4, Vol. 6.
Additional background: Journals of Congress, Vol. 4 (May 22, 1776).
Themes: American Armed Services; Campaigns of the War
Tags: Esek Hopkins, Continental Navy, Jonathan Trumbull, American Fleet, 1776.
May 22, 1776
The Same Room, But Different
May 22, 1776 – The Same Room, But Different
In a single room, power quietly shifted as the people reshaped their government.
Inside the Pennsylvania State House stood a wide, familiar room. Wooden chairs, painted dark green, lined the tables where legislators had met for years. It was here the Pennsylvania House of Representatives had long conducted business under the colony’s charter, often gathering in the late afternoon.
In 1775, another body had begun to use the same space. The Second Continental Congress met there in the mornings, taking their seats at the same tables, speaking from the same place of authority. In that room, only days earlier, Congress had declared that it was no longer reasonable or consistent with good conscience for the colonies to exercise authority under the Crown.
On May 20, the meaning of that declaration reached outside the State House windows. Citizens gathered in the rain and answered Congress’s call for change.
That very afternoon, the House of Representatives attempted to meet, but too few members came, so they adjourned. The same happened the next day.
When the representatives finally met on May 22, they received a printed document, its title set in bold type: “The PROTEST of divers of the INHABITANTS of this Province.”
The protestors cited Congress’s recent resolve and applied it directly to Pennsylvania. If authority under the Crown was to be “totally suppressed,” then a legislature deriving its power from the King’s charter was no longer valid. Its authority, they argued, was “derived from our mortal Enemy.”
They pressed further. The representatives had been elected by those who had sworn or affirmed allegiance to the King. Many inhabitants had not been able to vote for that reason. If authority now rested in the people, those once excluded must now be counted.
The argument left little room for compromise. The assembly might continue to meet in that room, but its claim to authority was no longer secure.
In the months that followed, events moved quickly. A provincial convention, formed more broadly from the people, would take up the work of creating a new government. By the fall of 1776, the old assembly had not been overthrown in battle. It had simply been set aside.
The room remained. But the authority once exercised there did not. Meeting in that very room, Congress had already voted it away.
Sources: Pennsylvania, Votes and Proceedings, Vol. 6; Journals of Congress, Vol. 4 (May 10 and 15, 1776).
Additional background: Pennsylvania Archives, Vol. 4; Pennsylvania, Provincial Conference of Committees.
Themes: Self-Government; Founding Principles.
Tags: Pennsylvania Assembly, May 15 Resolve, citizen protest, Committee of Safety, 1776
May 22, 1776 – The Same Room, But Different
In a single room, power quietly shifted as the people reshaped their government.
Inside the Pennsylvania State House stood a wide, familiar room. Wooden chairs, painted dark green, lined the tables where legislators had met for years. It was here the Pennsylvania House of Representatives had long conducted business under the colony’s charter, often gathering in the late afternoon.
In 1775, another body had begun to use the same space. The Second Continental Congress met there in the mornings, taking their seats at the same tables, speaking from the same place of authority. In that room, only days earlier, Congress had declared that it was no longer reasonable or consistent with good conscience for the colonies to exercise authority under the Crown.
On May 20, the meaning of that declaration reached outside the State House windows. Citizens gathered in the rain and answered Congress’s call for change.
That very afternoon, the House of Representatives attempted to meet, but too few members came, so they adjourned. The same happened the next day.
When the representatives finally met on May 22, they received a printed document, its title set in bold type: “The PROTEST of divers of the INHABITANTS of this Province.”
The protestors cited Congress’s recent resolve and applied it directly to Pennsylvania. If authority under the Crown was to be “totally suppressed,” then a legislature deriving its power from the King’s charter was no longer valid. Its authority, they argued, was “derived from our mortal Enemy.”
They pressed further. The representatives had been elected by those who had sworn or affirmed allegiance to the King. Many inhabitants had not been able to vote for that reason. If authority now rested in the people, those once excluded must now be counted.
The argument left little room for compromise. The assembly might continue to meet in that room, but its claim to authority was no longer secure.
In the months that followed, events moved quickly. A provincial convention, formed more broadly from the people, would take up the work of creating a new government. By the fall of 1776, the old assembly had not been overthrown in battle. It had simply been set aside.
The room remained. But the authority once exercised there did not. Meeting in that very room, Congress had already voted it away.
Sources: Pennsylvania, Votes and Proceedings, Vol. 6; Journals of Congress, Vol. 4 (May 10 and 15, 1776).
Additional background: Pennsylvania Archives, Vol. 4; Pennsylvania, Provincial Conference of Committees.
Themes: Self-Government; Founding Principles.
Tags: Pennsylvania Assembly, May 15 Resolve, citizen protest, Committee of Safety, 1776
May 23, 1776
Lady Washington’s Choice
May 23, 1776 – Lady Washington’s Choice
By late April 1776, Martha Washington was still in New York—and still undecided.
“Mrs. Washington is still here,” the general wrote on April 29, “and talks of taking the Small Pox, but I doubt her resolution.” The hesitation was understandable. Inoculation was not undertaken lightly. It meant weeks of illness, strict isolation, and real risk. Martha had already lost children to disease. Caution was not fear; it was experience.
Inoculation meant the deliberate introduction of smallpox itself—later known as variolation—followed by quarantine during recovery. It was not the same as vaccination, a different method developed decades later using cowpox. Even when carefully managed, inoculation carried the chance of developing severe disease.
In New York, the danger of contracting smallpox was not theoretical. Records from the hospital showed a steady stream of suffering. New patients were admitted each week. The disease remained present: lingering, unpredictable, and deadly enough to demand constant vigilance. This was the threat General Washington feared most: not a single case, but uncontrolled spread.
That fear shaped his orders. In late May, as summer campaigns loomed, Washington strictly forbade inoculation within the army. Too many men sick at once would leave the army vulnerable. Worse still, an outbreak sparked by careless exposure could cripple the force entirely. Discipline and timing mattered. The following year, he authorized inoculating new soldiers before they arrived at camp.
Martha’s situation was different. She could be isolated, cared for, and spared the risk of spreading infection among the troops. When Congress urged Washington to come to Philadelphia, John Hancock offered his own home, assuring him that Mrs. Washington would receive careful attention should she choose to undergo inoculation there.
On May 23, Martha decided. The illness followed its course quietly. The fever passed. Few pustules appeared. Washington reported with relief that she was doing well, though letters were delayed out of caution. For nearly two weeks, she remained separated from the army and from her husband’s daily work.
The decision proved decisive. As her son later wrote with gratitude, she could now attend her husband “to any part of the Continent,” no longer shadowed by the fear of smallpox.
It was not a choice made lightly—but in a war where disease could decide campaigns, it was one that restored both freedom of movement and peace of mind.
Sources: The Writings of George Washington, Vol. 4–5.
Additional background: MountVernon.org.
Themes: American Armed Services, Voices of the Revolution.
Tags: Martha Washington, George Washington, smallpox, inoculation, Continental Army, quarantine, 1776.
May 23, 1776 – Lady Washington’s Choice
By late April 1776, Martha Washington was still in New York—and still undecided.
“Mrs. Washington is still here,” the general wrote on April 29, “and talks of taking the Small Pox, but I doubt her resolution.” The hesitation was understandable. Inoculation was not undertaken lightly. It meant weeks of illness, strict isolation, and real risk. Martha had already lost children to disease. Caution was not fear; it was experience.
Inoculation meant the deliberate introduction of smallpox itself—later known as variolation—followed by quarantine during recovery. It was not the same as vaccination, a different method developed decades later using cowpox. Even when carefully managed, inoculation carried the chance of developing severe disease.
In New York, the danger of contracting smallpox was not theoretical. Records from the hospital showed a steady stream of suffering. New patients were admitted each week. The disease remained present: lingering, unpredictable, and deadly enough to demand constant vigilance. This was the threat General Washington feared most: not a single case, but uncontrolled spread.
That fear shaped his orders. In late May, as summer campaigns loomed, Washington strictly forbade inoculation within the army. Too many men sick at once would leave the army vulnerable. Worse still, an outbreak sparked by careless exposure could cripple the force entirely. Discipline and timing mattered. The following year, he authorized inoculating new soldiers before they arrived at camp.
Martha’s situation was different. She could be isolated, cared for, and spared the risk of spreading infection among the troops. When Congress urged Washington to come to Philadelphia, John Hancock offered his own home, assuring him that Mrs. Washington would receive careful attention should she choose to undergo inoculation there.
On May 23, Martha decided. The illness followed its course quietly. The fever passed. Few pustules appeared. Washington reported with relief that she was doing well, though letters were delayed out of caution. For nearly two weeks, she remained separated from the army and from her husband’s daily work.
The decision proved decisive. As her son later wrote with gratitude, she could now attend her husband “to any part of the Continent,” no longer shadowed by the fear of smallpox.
It was not a choice made lightly—but in a war where disease could decide campaigns, it was one that restored both freedom of movement and peace of mind.
Sources: The Writings of George Washington, Vol. 4–5.
Additional background: MountVernon.org.
Themes: American Armed Services, Voices of the Revolution.
Tags: Martha Washington, George Washington, smallpox, inoculation, Continental Army, quarantine, 1776.
May 24, 1776
Holding the Line in Canada
May 24, 1776 – Holding the Line in Canada
News arrived in Philadelphia that changed the way Congress was thinking about the war.
By late May, reports from Canada had turned grim. Delegates spoke of “dismals from Canada,” of defeat, retreat, and an army no longer able to hold its ground. What had once seemed a promising campaign was now uncertain, and Congress could no longer plan as if success were assured.
Only weeks earlier, American forces had pressed deep into Canada, hoping to secure the province and draw it into the cause. Now, letters told a different story. Troops were scattered, supplies strained, and the enemy advancing. The northern campaign, once full of possibility, had become a test of endurance.
On May 22, Congress acknowledged the change. An “alteration of our affairs in Canada,” they wrote, required immediate reconsideration. Plans were adjusted, supplies redirected, and positions reevaluated. The goal was no longer simple advance, but survival. Even so, Congress did not abandon the campaign but redefined what success would mean. Particular attention turned to the line of lakes and forts between Quebec and New York. If the Americans could hold Lake Champlain and Fort Ticonderoga, they might still block the British from moving into the interior of New York and New England.
A revised set of instructions also outlined “two great objects”: to protect and assist their Canadian allies, and to prevent communication between British forces and Native nations. The language marked a shift. Holding ground and limiting the enemy now took precedence over sweeping victories.
Two days later, on May 24, Congress reinforced its resolve. Canada, they insisted, remained vital to the American cause. The army there was expected to “contest every foot of the ground,” resisting the enemy as long as possible. Reinforcements were urged forward, and commanders were reminded of the stakes. If Britain secured the province, it could open the north to coordinated attacks and draw additional allies into the fight.
The situation had changed, but Congress had not withdrawn. Instead, it adapted. Faced with the real possibility of loss, its leaders chose to delay, defend, and hold what they could. The campaign in Canada had not yet been decided—but by late May, its outcome was no longer taken for granted.
Sources: US: Letters of Delegates to Congress, Journals of Congress, Vol. 4 (May 22 and 24, 1776).
Themes: Continental Army in Canada; Campaigns of the War.
Tags: Lake Champlain corridor, Fort Ticonderoga, Quebec, Canada campaign, retreat, 1776.
May 24, 1776 – Holding the Line in Canada
News arrived in Philadelphia that changed the way Congress was thinking about the war.
By late May, reports from Canada had turned grim. Delegates spoke of “dismals from Canada,” of defeat, retreat, and an army no longer able to hold its ground. What had once seemed a promising campaign was now uncertain, and Congress could no longer plan as if success were assured.
Only weeks earlier, American forces had pressed deep into Canada, hoping to secure the province and draw it into the cause. Now, letters told a different story. Troops were scattered, supplies strained, and the enemy advancing. The northern campaign, once full of possibility, had become a test of endurance.
On May 22, Congress acknowledged the change. An “alteration of our affairs in Canada,” they wrote, required immediate reconsideration. Plans were adjusted, supplies redirected, and positions reevaluated. The goal was no longer simple advance, but survival. Even so, Congress did not abandon the campaign but redefined what success would mean. Particular attention turned to the line of lakes and forts between Quebec and New York. If the Americans could hold Lake Champlain and Fort Ticonderoga, they might still block the British from moving into the interior of New York and New England.
A revised set of instructions also outlined “two great objects”: to protect and assist their Canadian allies, and to prevent communication between British forces and Native nations. The language marked a shift. Holding ground and limiting the enemy now took precedence over sweeping victories.
Two days later, on May 24, Congress reinforced its resolve. Canada, they insisted, remained vital to the American cause. The army there was expected to “contest every foot of the ground,” resisting the enemy as long as possible. Reinforcements were urged forward, and commanders were reminded of the stakes. If Britain secured the province, it could open the north to coordinated attacks and draw additional allies into the fight.
The situation had changed, but Congress had not withdrawn. Instead, it adapted. Faced with the real possibility of loss, its leaders chose to delay, defend, and hold what they could. The campaign in Canada had not yet been decided—but by late May, its outcome was no longer taken for granted.
Sources: US: Letters of Delegates to Congress, Journals of Congress, Vol. 4 (May 22 and 24, 1776).
Themes: Continental Army in Canada; Campaigns of the War.
Tags: Lake Champlain corridor, Fort Ticonderoga, Quebec, Canada campaign, retreat, 1776.
May 25, 1776
Revising the Prayer Book
May 25, 1776 – Revising the Prayer Book
In Maryland, a small change in public worship revealed a larger shift already underway.
Only days earlier, the colony’s convention had hesitated. After reading Congress’s May 15 resolution and preamble, delegates concluded it was “not necessary” to suppress every form of authority under the Crown. The language was careful, measured, and deliberate. Maryland was not ready to say what some other colonies were already beginning to declare.
By May 25, the same convention turned from words to action. In Annapolis, delegates took steps that quietly reshaped government within the province. They established courts to try maritime cases, continued organizing civil governance, and appointed a Council of Safety to act on behalf of the people between sessions. Regardless of what they were willing to call their resolutions, Maryland was no longer waiting on royal approval. They were already exercising authority.
Then came a decision that reached beyond government and into daily life.
In the eighteenth century, Maryland still maintained an established church, following the forms of the Church of England. Public worship was not entirely separate from public authority, and the Book of Common Prayer included regular petitions for the king. Yet the Great Awakening had already stirred new patterns of faith across the colonies, with many Protestants worshiping outside the established church and emphasizing personal conviction over formal structure.
Against that backdrop, the convention ordered that prayers for the king be omitted in all churches and chapels “until our unhappy differences are ended.” For generations, those prayers had been more than ritual. They were a public acknowledgment of loyalty, spoken week after week in the presence of the congregation. To remove them was to alter not only worship, but allegiance.
The change was careful in wording, temporary in appearance, and decisive in effect. Maryland had not yet renounced the Crown. Its leaders still spoke of reconciliation and proceeded with caution. But in its courts, its councils, and even its churches, royal authority was already being set aside.
The colony would take longer than most to support independence. When it did, the decision would carry the weight of weeks of hesitation, debate, and restraint. But by late May, the break with the Crown had begun—not in a single declaration, but in a series of quiet acts that made the old order harder to sustain with each passing day.
Sources: Force, American Archives, Series 4, Vol. 6.
Additional background: US: Letters of Delegates to Congress.
Themes: Loyalty or Independence; Self-Government, Religious Liberty.
Tags: Annapolis, Maryland, Book of Common Prayer, Anglican Church, Great Awakening, 1776.
May 25, 1776 – Revising the Prayer Book
In Maryland, a small change in public worship revealed a larger shift already underway.
Only days earlier, the colony’s convention had hesitated. After reading Congress’s May 15 resolution and preamble, delegates concluded it was “not necessary” to suppress every form of authority under the Crown. The language was careful, measured, and deliberate. Maryland was not ready to say what some other colonies were already beginning to declare.
By May 25, the same convention turned from words to action. In Annapolis, delegates took steps that quietly reshaped government within the province. They established courts to try maritime cases, continued organizing civil governance, and appointed a Council of Safety to act on behalf of the people between sessions. Regardless of what they were willing to call their resolutions, Maryland was no longer waiting on royal approval. They were already exercising authority.
Then came a decision that reached beyond government and into daily life.
In the eighteenth century, Maryland still maintained an established church, following the forms of the Church of England. Public worship was not entirely separate from public authority, and the Book of Common Prayer included regular petitions for the king. Yet the Great Awakening had already stirred new patterns of faith across the colonies, with many Protestants worshiping outside the established church and emphasizing personal conviction over formal structure.
Against that backdrop, the convention ordered that prayers for the king be omitted in all churches and chapels “until our unhappy differences are ended.” For generations, those prayers had been more than ritual. They were a public acknowledgment of loyalty, spoken week after week in the presence of the congregation. To remove them was to alter not only worship, but allegiance.
The change was careful in wording, temporary in appearance, and decisive in effect. Maryland had not yet renounced the Crown. Its leaders still spoke of reconciliation and proceeded with caution. But in its courts, its councils, and even its churches, royal authority was already being set aside.
The colony would take longer than most to support independence. When it did, the decision would carry the weight of weeks of hesitation, debate, and restraint. But by late May, the break with the Crown had begun—not in a single declaration, but in a series of quiet acts that made the old order harder to sustain with each passing day.
Sources: Force, American Archives, Series 4, Vol. 6.
Additional background: US: Letters of Delegates to Congress.
Themes: Loyalty or Independence; Self-Government, Religious Liberty.
Tags: Annapolis, Maryland, Book of Common Prayer, Anglican Church, Great Awakening, 1776.
May 26, 1776
Sunday: When It All Came Together
May 26, 1776 – Sunday: When It All Came Together
It took centuries for Scripture and reason to align into action.
For centuries, religion and civil authority were closely linked. In the ancient world, Greece and Rome both tied worship to the state, and after Emperor Constantine converted, Christianity filled that same role. Over time, church and government often reinforced one another, and passages like Romans 13 were commonly read as strong calls to obedience.
The Protestant Reformation began to loosen that alignment. By placing Scripture above human authority, it taught believers to test all claims by a higher standard. Conscience before God began to matter more. Authority was no longer beyond question—it could be cautiously examined.
The Great Awakening carried that shift further. Its preaching emphasized personal responsibility before God, training ordinary people to think in moral terms about their own lives—and eventually about authority itself. Obedience was not rejected, but it was no longer automatic. It had to be right.
At the same time, Enlightenment thinkers like John Locke supplied a language of natural rights, consent, and the purpose of government. In America, voices like James Otis argued that natural law flowed from God’s law and set the boundaries of all human authority. Any government claiming legitimacy must act within those bounds—making justice and reason inseparable from true political authority.
By May 1776, those strands came together in Samuel West’s sermon before the Massachusetts assembly on its annual election day. West did not dismiss Scripture’s call to obey rulers—he defined it. Rulers, he argued, are “ministers of God for good,” meant to punish evil and protect what is right. That purpose set the limit of their authority.
If rulers instead rewarded evil and oppressed the good, they ceased to act as God’s ministers in that sense. Obedience was no longer required. In fact, resisting tyranny could become a duty—not a rejection of Scripture, but a fulfillment of it.
That conclusion mattered. Across the colonies, people shaped by the same influences were asking the same question: Were British authorities still acting as just rulers? Sermons like West’s gave a clear answer. Scripture, conscience, and political reasoning were no longer separate lines of thought. The Reformation, the Great Awakening, and the Enlightenment were no longer separate influences. They had locked together.
Sources: West, Election Sermon, May 29, 1776; Otis, Rights of British Colonies (1764), Holy Bible, King James Version, Romans 13:1–7 and 1 Peter 2: 13–17.
Additional background: Locke, Second Treatise (1689).
Themes: Faith and Providence, Moral Foundations.
Tags: Samuel West, James Otis, John Locke, Massachusetts Council Elections, 1776.
May 26, 1776 – Sunday: When It All Came Together
It took centuries for Scripture and reason to align into action.
For centuries, religion and civil authority were closely linked. In the ancient world, Greece and Rome both tied worship to the state, and after Emperor Constantine converted, Christianity filled that same role. Over time, church and government often reinforced one another, and passages like Romans 13 were commonly read as strong calls to obedience.
The Protestant Reformation began to loosen that alignment. By placing Scripture above human authority, it taught believers to test all claims by a higher standard. Conscience before God began to matter more. Authority was no longer beyond question—it could be cautiously examined.
The Great Awakening carried that shift further. Its preaching emphasized personal responsibility before God, training ordinary people to think in moral terms about their own lives—and eventually about authority itself. Obedience was not rejected, but it was no longer automatic. It had to be right.
At the same time, Enlightenment thinkers like John Locke supplied a language of natural rights, consent, and the purpose of government. In America, voices like James Otis argued that natural law flowed from God’s law and set the boundaries of all human authority. Any government claiming legitimacy must act within those bounds—making justice and reason inseparable from true political authority.
By May 1776, those strands came together in Samuel West’s sermon before the Massachusetts assembly on its annual election day. West did not dismiss Scripture’s call to obey rulers—he defined it. Rulers, he argued, are “ministers of God for good,” meant to punish evil and protect what is right. That purpose set the limit of their authority.
If rulers instead rewarded evil and oppressed the good, they ceased to act as God’s ministers in that sense. Obedience was no longer required. In fact, resisting tyranny could become a duty—not a rejection of Scripture, but a fulfillment of it.
That conclusion mattered. Across the colonies, people shaped by the same influences were asking the same question: Were British authorities still acting as just rulers? Sermons like West’s gave a clear answer. Scripture, conscience, and political reasoning were no longer separate lines of thought. The Reformation, the Great Awakening, and the Enlightenment were no longer separate influences. They had locked together.
Sources: West, Election Sermon, May 29, 1776; Otis, Rights of British Colonies (1764), Holy Bible, King James Version, Romans 13:1–7 and 1 Peter 2: 13–17.
Additional background: Locke, Second Treatise (1689).
Themes: Faith and Providence, Moral Foundations.
Tags: Samuel West, James Otis, John Locke, Massachusetts Council Elections, 1776.
May 27, 1776
Power Follows Property
May 27, 1776 – Power Follows Property
Liberty depended on whether land was owned by a few people or many.
Across the Atlantic, power and land had long been joined. Great estates anchored great families, and great families governed nations. Titles passed from father to son, and with them the authority to rule.
The American colonies had cast off the authority of a king—but they had not yet answered a harder question: what would prevent power from gathering again in the hands of a few?
More than a century earlier, the English writer James Harrington had argued that such patterns were no accident. “Equality of estates,” he wrote, “causes equality of power.” Where land was held by a few, power followed. Where it was broadly shared, liberty could endure.
John Adams was thinking along those same lines in May 1776 as Congress moved closer to independence and the colonies began forming governments of their own. The question was no longer simply how to resist British authority, but how to structure a new nation so that liberty would endure. Writing to James Sullivan, he stated the principle plainly: “Power always follows property.” The balance of power in any society, he believed, would reflect the balance of property within it—especially land.
A generation before, John Locke had argued that the chief end of government was the preservation of property—by which he meant not only land, but “lives, liberties, and estates.” Adams accepted that foundation but pressed the question further. If property was the basis of liberty, then its distribution would determine whether that liberty could last.
The answer, he believed, lay not only in laws, but in land. The surest way to preserve “equal liberty and public virtue” was to make the acquisition of land easy and its ownership widespread. If the multitude held the balance of real estate, then the multitude would hold the balance of power—and so would guard their own freedom.
The aim was not simply to cast off a king, but to avoid the old European pattern altogether: a nation without kings or titled ranks, where land was not confined to a few great estates, but spread wide enough that the people themselves would guard their own liberty.
In that vision lay more than independence. It was a plan for preserving it.
Sources: The Adams Papers (May 26, 1776); Harrington, Oceana (1656); Locke, Second Treatise (1689).
Additional background: Smith, Wealth of Nations (1776).
Themes: Moral Foundations; Founding Principles.
Tags: John Adams, James Harrington, John Locke, Liberty, Property, Land Ownership, 1776.
May 27, 1776 – Power Follows Property
Liberty depended on whether land was owned by a few people or many.
Across the Atlantic, power and land had long been joined. Great estates anchored great families, and great families governed nations. Titles passed from father to son, and with them the authority to rule.
The American colonies had cast off the authority of a king—but they had not yet answered a harder question: what would prevent power from gathering again in the hands of a few?
More than a century earlier, the English writer James Harrington had argued that such patterns were no accident. “Equality of estates,” he wrote, “causes equality of power.” Where land was held by a few, power followed. Where it was broadly shared, liberty could endure.
John Adams was thinking along those same lines in May 1776 as Congress moved closer to independence and the colonies began forming governments of their own. The question was no longer simply how to resist British authority, but how to structure a new nation so that liberty would endure. Writing to James Sullivan, he stated the principle plainly: “Power always follows property.” The balance of power in any society, he believed, would reflect the balance of property within it—especially land.
A generation before, John Locke had argued that the chief end of government was the preservation of property—by which he meant not only land, but “lives, liberties, and estates.” Adams accepted that foundation but pressed the question further. If property was the basis of liberty, then its distribution would determine whether that liberty could last.
The answer, he believed, lay not only in laws, but in land. The surest way to preserve “equal liberty and public virtue” was to make the acquisition of land easy and its ownership widespread. If the multitude held the balance of real estate, then the multitude would hold the balance of power—and so would guard their own freedom.
The aim was not simply to cast off a king, but to avoid the old European pattern altogether: a nation without kings or titled ranks, where land was not confined to a few great estates, but spread wide enough that the people themselves would guard their own liberty.
In that vision lay more than independence. It was a plan for preserving it.
Sources: The Adams Papers (May 26, 1776); Harrington, Oceana (1656); Locke, Second Treatise (1689).
Additional background: Smith, Wealth of Nations (1776).
Themes: Moral Foundations; Founding Principles.
Tags: John Adams, James Harrington, John Locke, Liberty, Property, Land Ownership, 1776.
May 28, 1776
Economics as a Weapon
May 28, 1776 – Economics as a Weapon
As prices rose and value wavered, the marketplace became the next battlefield.
Reports began to surface in Congress that some merchants were demanding extravagant prices for salt. Having imported large quantities before the tightening of trade, they were now taking “undue advantage” as salt—essential for both households and armies—had grown scarce.
The problem did not stand alone. Continental currency, issued to sustain the war, depended on public confidence. If its value could be weakened—by raising the nominal value of gold and silver or unsettling exchange—then the economy itself could be thrown into disorder. What could not be defeated in the field might yet be undermined in the marketplace, and the “enemies of American liberty” were taking advantage of it. Just days earlier, Congress had warned of their “pernicious artifices” to impair the credit of the bills it had issued.
By May 28, the connection was becoming clear. When the value of money wavered, prices followed. Goods grew harder to obtain at steady rates, and necessities became opportunities for gain. What began as a distant threat to currency now appeared in the cost of daily provisions, where the burden fell most heavily upon ordinary families.
Congress would soon speak more plainly, condemning “avaricious, ill designing men” who had taken advantage of the earlier withdrawal of price regulations to extort “a most exorbitant price for salt.” It urged local committees of inspection to resume regulating the price of salt, restraining unreasonable demands while allowing for the risks of trade. Those who manipulated prices or currency, Congress warned, struck at the liberties of the colonies as surely as any armed enemy.
At the same time, letters from delegates reflected the same pressure. Richard Henry Lee urged that no consideration should interrupt the making of “common salt, saltpetre, and arms,” as shortages tightened and necessity pressed from every side. Elbridge Gerry likewise warned of the scarcity of salt, an item “essential to existence.”
The war for independence, it was becoming clear, would not be fought by muskets alone. It would be fought in the value of money, in the fairness of trade, and in the supply of daily necessities. Economics itself had become a field of conflict. To defend liberty, the colonies would need to guard not only their shores, but their money and their markets.
Sources: Journals of Congress, Vol. 4 (May 22, 28, and 30, 1776), US: Letters of Delegates to Congress.
Themes: Self-Government, Moral Foundations.
Tags: Richard Henry Lee, Elbridge Gerry, Continental currency, price gouging, economics, salt shortage, 1776.
May 28, 1776 – Economics as a Weapon
As prices rose and value wavered, the marketplace became the next battlefield.
Reports began to surface in Congress that some merchants were demanding extravagant prices for salt. Having imported large quantities before the tightening of trade, they were now taking “undue advantage” as salt—essential for both households and armies—had grown scarce.
The problem did not stand alone. Continental currency, issued to sustain the war, depended on public confidence. If its value could be weakened—by raising the nominal value of gold and silver or unsettling exchange—then the economy itself could be thrown into disorder. What could not be defeated in the field might yet be undermined in the marketplace, and the “enemies of American liberty” were taking advantage of it. Just days earlier, Congress had warned of their “pernicious artifices” to impair the credit of the bills it had issued.
By May 28, the connection was becoming clear. When the value of money wavered, prices followed. Goods grew harder to obtain at steady rates, and necessities became opportunities for gain. What began as a distant threat to currency now appeared in the cost of daily provisions, where the burden fell most heavily upon ordinary families.
Congress would soon speak more plainly, condemning “avaricious, ill designing men” who had taken advantage of the earlier withdrawal of price regulations to extort “a most exorbitant price for salt.” It urged local committees of inspection to resume regulating the price of salt, restraining unreasonable demands while allowing for the risks of trade. Those who manipulated prices or currency, Congress warned, struck at the liberties of the colonies as surely as any armed enemy.
At the same time, letters from delegates reflected the same pressure. Richard Henry Lee urged that no consideration should interrupt the making of “common salt, saltpetre, and arms,” as shortages tightened and necessity pressed from every side. Elbridge Gerry likewise warned of the scarcity of salt, an item “essential to existence.”
The war for independence, it was becoming clear, would not be fought by muskets alone. It would be fought in the value of money, in the fairness of trade, and in the supply of daily necessities. Economics itself had become a field of conflict. To defend liberty, the colonies would need to guard not only their shores, but their money and their markets.
Sources: Journals of Congress, Vol. 4 (May 22, 28, and 30, 1776), US: Letters of Delegates to Congress.
Themes: Self-Government, Moral Foundations.
Tags: Richard Henry Lee, Elbridge Gerry, Continental currency, price gouging, economics, salt shortage, 1776.
May 29, 1776
Not Their King Anymore
May 29, 1776 – Not Their King Anymore
Across the Atlantic, the king demanded order while the colonies moved on.
Two weeks earlier, Congress had begun to speak of George III in a new way—not as their king, but as “his Britannic Majesty.” In the preamble adopted on May 15, they declared that he had excluded the United Colonies “from the protection of his crown,” refused their petitions for “redress of grievances and reconciliation,” and was now exerting force “for the destruction of the good people of these colonies.” They concluded that authority under the Crown must therefore be set aside.
Yet in London, only days later, the king described Americans as “my rebellious subjects” and insisted on the “constitutional subordination” of the colonies and the “re-establishment of order.” If they would not submit willingly, he made clear that submission would be obtained by force.
The two sides were no longer speaking the same political language.
Private letters written on May 29 reveal how far the shift had already gone in America. Writing from Philadelphia, John Adams urged his correspondent to observe the actions of the southern colonies. Though some regions moved more slowly than others, he insisted that “the Colonies are united indissolubly.”
Obstacles remained. Adams pointed to two in particular: Quaker influence, which moved steadfastly for peace, and what he called “proprietary” interests. These were colonies still operating under old charter governments, tied to the Crown and slower to break from it—the very systems Congress had urged be replaced. Together, he wrote, they “clog their operations a little.” But even here, he added with confidence, “these clogs are falling off.”
Caesar Rodney, writing the same day, described the change in more concrete terms. North Carolina and Virginia, he reported, had already voted unanimously for independence and had instructed their delegates to support it in Congress. Other colonies were moving in the same direction. As these developments became known, he believed, they would carry “great weight” with the people.
What had been debated through the winter was now settling into place. Congress had rejected the authority of the Crown. The king still called for submission. And across the colonies, leaders were beginning to recognize that they were no longer acting separately, but together.
The break was not yet declared. But it was already understood.
Sources: Force, American Archives, Series 4, Vol. 6; US: Letters of Delegates to Congress, Vol. 4.
Additional background: Journals of Congress, Vol. 4 (May 15, 1776).
Themes: Loyalty or Independence, Self-Government, Forging Unity.
Tags: John Adams, Caesar Rodney, George III, Parliament, Independence, 1776.
May 29, 1776 – Not Their King Anymore
Across the Atlantic, the king demanded order while the colonies moved on.
Two weeks earlier, Congress had begun to speak of George III in a new way—not as their king, but as “his Britannic Majesty.” In the preamble adopted on May 15, they declared that he had excluded the United Colonies “from the protection of his crown,” refused their petitions for “redress of grievances and reconciliation,” and was now exerting force “for the destruction of the good people of these colonies.” They concluded that authority under the Crown must therefore be set aside.
Yet in London, only days later, the king described Americans as “my rebellious subjects” and insisted on the “constitutional subordination” of the colonies and the “re-establishment of order.” If they would not submit willingly, he made clear that submission would be obtained by force.
The two sides were no longer speaking the same political language.
Private letters written on May 29 reveal how far the shift had already gone in America. Writing from Philadelphia, John Adams urged his correspondent to observe the actions of the southern colonies. Though some regions moved more slowly than others, he insisted that “the Colonies are united indissolubly.”
Obstacles remained. Adams pointed to two in particular: Quaker influence, which moved steadfastly for peace, and what he called “proprietary” interests. These were colonies still operating under old charter governments, tied to the Crown and slower to break from it—the very systems Congress had urged be replaced. Together, he wrote, they “clog their operations a little.” But even here, he added with confidence, “these clogs are falling off.”
Caesar Rodney, writing the same day, described the change in more concrete terms. North Carolina and Virginia, he reported, had already voted unanimously for independence and had instructed their delegates to support it in Congress. Other colonies were moving in the same direction. As these developments became known, he believed, they would carry “great weight” with the people.
What had been debated through the winter was now settling into place. Congress had rejected the authority of the Crown. The king still called for submission. And across the colonies, leaders were beginning to recognize that they were no longer acting separately, but together.
The break was not yet declared. But it was already understood.
Sources: Force, American Archives, Series 4, Vol. 6; US: Letters of Delegates to Congress, Vol. 4.
Additional background: Journals of Congress, Vol. 4 (May 15, 1776).
Themes: Loyalty or Independence, Self-Government, Forging Unity.
Tags: John Adams, Caesar Rodney, George III, Parliament, Independence, 1776.
May 30, 1776
Not Yet Prepared to Fight
May 30, 1776 – Not Yet Prepared to Fight
They planned the campaign, but lacked the means to fight it.
Congress called General George Washington to Philadelphia to plan the coming campaign. For the entire last week of May, he met with delegates and generals. He answered questions and helped shape a strategy for the war ahead.
Congress considered how many thousands of troops the enemy might send and how many American troops would be needed to oppose them. The answer was simple: more. Quotas of troops to raise were assigned to each province. Measures were proposed for defending New York and the Hudson River. By the end of May, Congress was still debating the details. But beneath these plans, a harder reality was emerging.
Delegates writing from different regions described the same conditions. Much of their time, Joseph Hewes reported, was spent raising men, muskets, and money, yet nearly half were to be found “nowhere but on paper.” Samuel Chase and Charles Carroll described the army in Canada as “broken and disheartened,” without pay, without discipline, and depending on “scanty and precarious supplies.” Elbridge Gerry framed the contrast plainly: “The men must be well fed, clothed, armed, and paid, or you can never oblige them to do their duty.”
Washington’s own letters told the same story in practical terms. He called for more powder, more lead, more tools. Supplies had been captured by the British. Reinforcements had been delayed. Regiments were, he reported, “extremely deficient in Arms, as are many other Regiments in Continental pay.” Even as Congress continued to draw up plans, he struggled to gather the means to carry them out. By the end of the month, the problem had come into focus at every level—Congress, delegates, and generals alike.
Writing privately to his brother on May 31, Washington gave the clearest summary. A major campaign was coming, likely centered on New York and Canada. The stakes were not in doubt. But neither was their condition:
“We expect a very bloody summer . . . and I am sorry to say that we are not, either in men, or arms, prepared for it; however, it is to be hoped, that if our cause is just, as I do most religiously believe it to be, the same Providence which has in many instances appeared for us, will still go on to afford its aid.”
Sources: Journals of Congress, Vol. 4 (May 23-30, 1776); The Writings of Washington, Vol. 5; US: Letters of Delegates, Vol. 4.
Themes: American Armed Services, Faith and Providence.
Tags: George Washington, Joseph Hewes, Samuel Chase, Charles Carroll, Elbridge Gerry, 1776.
May 30, 1776 – Not Yet Prepared to Fight
They planned the campaign, but lacked the means to fight it.
Congress called General George Washington to Philadelphia to plan the coming campaign. For the entire last week of May, he met with delegates and generals. He answered questions and helped shape a strategy for the war ahead.
Congress considered how many thousands of troops the enemy might send and how many American troops would be needed to oppose them. The answer was simple: more. Quotas of troops to raise were assigned to each province. Measures were proposed for defending New York and the Hudson River. By the end of May, Congress was still debating the details. But beneath these plans, a harder reality was emerging.
Delegates writing from different regions described the same conditions. Much of their time, Joseph Hewes reported, was spent raising men, muskets, and money, yet nearly half were to be found “nowhere but on paper.” Samuel Chase and Charles Carroll described the army in Canada as “broken and disheartened,” without pay, without discipline, and depending on “scanty and precarious supplies.” Elbridge Gerry framed the contrast plainly: “The men must be well fed, clothed, armed, and paid, or you can never oblige them to do their duty.”
Washington’s own letters told the same story in practical terms. He called for more powder, more lead, more tools. Supplies had been captured by the British. Reinforcements had been delayed. Regiments were, he reported, “extremely deficient in Arms, as are many other Regiments in Continental pay.” Even as Congress continued to draw up plans, he struggled to gather the means to carry them out. By the end of the month, the problem had come into focus at every level—Congress, delegates, and generals alike.
Writing privately to his brother on May 31, Washington gave the clearest summary. A major campaign was coming, likely centered on New York and Canada. The stakes were not in doubt. But neither was their condition:
“We expect a very bloody summer . . . and I am sorry to say that we are not, either in men, or arms, prepared for it; however, it is to be hoped, that if our cause is just, as I do most religiously believe it to be, the same Providence which has in many instances appeared for us, will still go on to afford its aid.”
Sources: Journals of Congress, Vol. 4 (May 23-30, 1776); The Writings of Washington, Vol. 5; US: Letters of Delegates, Vol. 4.
Themes: American Armed Services, Faith and Providence.
Tags: George Washington, Joseph Hewes, Samuel Chase, Charles Carroll, Elbridge Gerry, 1776.
May 31, 1776
Raising the Flying Camp
May 31, 1776 – Raising the Flying Camp
Independence required soldiers, arms, and a plan to use them.
Congress did not wait until the army was ready. As May ended, delegates moved from questions to decisions, assigning quotas and setting plans in motion for the war ahead.
The danger was not confined to a single front. While New York and Canada were expected targets, other threats remained uncertain—ships still lingered near Boston, British forces watched the southern coast, and even Philadelphia had begun preparing its own defenses.
At the center of military planning was a new force: a “flying camp” of ten thousand men, drawn from the middle colonies and intended to move quickly wherever needed. It was not tied to a single city or post, but designed as a reserve—able to reinforce, respond, and shift as the situation demanded. In a war without a fixed front, mobility itself was a form of strength.
Such a force would not assemble itself. Congress assigned quotas of soldiers to be raised by each colony, while it called for additional militia to reinforce New York. On paper, the army expanded quickly. In practice, those men still had to be recruited and enlisted.
To that end, Congress ordered an “animated address” to be published, meant to inspire the people to step forward at a moment when the need was urgent and the outcome uncertain. It appealed to old men for their wise counsel, and to young men for their valor and honor, asking, “What do men who know the value of liberty think too great a price to purchase it with?”
Nor could those men take the field without arms. Congress authorized the purchase of ten thousand stands of arms—each containing a musket, ammunition, and equipment—and directed that magazines of provisions and military stores be established where needed. Through its Secret Committee, instructions were sent to procure muskets, flints, powder, and other supplies from abroad, using every available means to secure what the army lacked. The work of equipping the army moved alongside the work of raising it.
Taken together, these measures formed a coordinated response. Congress called men into service, organized where they would go, and sought the means to arm them. The army was not yet at full strength, but it was being built—piece by piece—for the campaign ahead.
Sources: Journals of Congress, Vol. 4 (May 29–31, 1776); US: Letters of Delegates, Vol. 4.
Additional background: Force, American Archives, Series 4, Vol. 6; The Writings of Washington, Vol. 5.
Themes: American Armed Services, Campaigns of the War.
Tags: Flying Camp, Animated Address, Secret Committee, enlistment and supplies, Congress, 1776.
May 31, 1776 – Raising the Flying Camp
Independence required soldiers, arms, and a plan to use them.
Congress did not wait until the army was ready. As May ended, delegates moved from questions to decisions, assigning quotas and setting plans in motion for the war ahead.
The danger was not confined to a single front. While New York and Canada were expected targets, other threats remained uncertain—ships still lingered near Boston, British forces watched the southern coast, and even Philadelphia had begun preparing its own defenses.
At the center of military planning was a new force: a “flying camp” of ten thousand men, drawn from the middle colonies and intended to move quickly wherever needed. It was not tied to a single city or post, but designed as a reserve—able to reinforce, respond, and shift as the situation demanded. In a war without a fixed front, mobility itself was a form of strength.
Such a force would not assemble itself. Congress assigned quotas of soldiers to be raised by each colony, while it called for additional militia to reinforce New York. On paper, the army expanded quickly. In practice, those men still had to be recruited and enlisted.
To that end, Congress ordered an “animated address” to be published, meant to inspire the people to step forward at a moment when the need was urgent and the outcome uncertain. It appealed to old men for their wise counsel, and to young men for their valor and honor, asking, “What do men who know the value of liberty think too great a price to purchase it with?”
Nor could those men take the field without arms. Congress authorized the purchase of ten thousand stands of arms—each containing a musket, ammunition, and equipment—and directed that magazines of provisions and military stores be established where needed. Through its Secret Committee, instructions were sent to procure muskets, flints, powder, and other supplies from abroad, using every available means to secure what the army lacked. The work of equipping the army moved alongside the work of raising it.
Taken together, these measures formed a coordinated response. Congress called men into service, organized where they would go, and sought the means to arm them. The army was not yet at full strength, but it was being built—piece by piece—for the campaign ahead.
Sources: Journals of Congress, Vol. 4 (May 29–31, 1776); US: Letters of Delegates, Vol. 4.
Additional background: Force, American Archives, Series 4, Vol. 6; The Writings of Washington, Vol. 5.
Themes: American Armed Services, Campaigns of the War.
Tags: Flying Camp, Animated Address, Secret Committee, enlistment and supplies, Congress, 1776.
