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June 1, 1776
His Tyrannic Majesty
June 1, 1776 – His Tyrannic Majesty
The “Tyrant of Britain” was so unrelenting that Americans named a warship for him.
In October 1774, Congress addressed the king as heir to a line that had rescued and secured Britain from tyranny. His right to the crown, they wrote, rested on “the title of your people to liberty.” As their rightful king, he was honored as a protector.
By late spring of 1776, the language had cooled. Congress no longer called him their king, but “his Britannic Majesty.” The change was formal, measured, and public. But a shift in thinking appeared in the delegates’ letters that first week of June.
When the king answered petitions—both from London and the colonies—his words made clear that he saw not grievances, but rebellion, and would only accept submission. Congress read his reply carefully. Then the delegates began to describe it.
Richard Henry Lee of Virginia wrote of “his Tyrannic answer.” Joseph Hewes of North Carolina concluded, “Nothing but a total, unconditioned submission will satisfy the Tyrant.” Robert Morris of Pennsylvania admitted, “I never lost hopes of reconciliation until I saw this answer.” Elbridge Gerry of Massachusetts agreed, calling it “the coup de grâce to all expectations of reconciliation in the middle colonies.”
Even John Hancock, the president of Congress, called him “the Tyrant of Britain” in private. If a king demanded submission rather than justice, he was no longer the guardian of liberty they had once praised. He had become the thing their history had taught them to resist.
Oliver Wolcott of Connecticut gave voice to what that meant. Losing the war, he warned, would leave to their children not liberty, but “slavery and misery through endless generations.” But he did not end in despair:
“God forbid! No, He who sitteth in the Heavens, who holds empires in His hands, who holds the Tyrant Worms of this earth in utter derision, He will crush the power of the oppressor . . . He will preserve his people like a flock . . . and he who fears not the justice of God shall perish forever.”
Within weeks, the word tyrant would appear—twice—in the Declaration itself. John Adams thought Congress might strike it out—but it remained in the final draft. And the word was already in common use. A Massachusetts sloop was even named the Tyrannicide.
Sources: Journals of Congress, Vol. 1 (October 26, 1774), US: Letters of Delegates to Congress;
Additional background: The Adams Papers, Journals of Congress, Vol. 5.
Themes: Loyalty or Independence; Faith and Providence.
Tags: Richard Henry Lee, John Hancock, Joseph Hewes, Robert Morris, Elbridge Gerry, Oliver Wolcott, 1776.
June 1, 1776 – His Tyrannic Majesty
The “Tyrant of Britain” was so unrelenting that Americans named a warship for him.
In October 1774, Congress addressed the king as heir to a line that had rescued and secured Britain from tyranny. His right to the crown, they wrote, rested on “the title of your people to liberty.” As their rightful king, he was honored as a protector.
By late spring of 1776, the language had cooled. Congress no longer called him their king, but “his Britannic Majesty.” The change was formal, measured, and public. But a shift in thinking appeared in the delegates’ letters that first week of June.
When the king answered petitions—both from London and the colonies—his words made clear that he saw not grievances, but rebellion, and would only accept submission. Congress read his reply carefully. Then the delegates began to describe it.
Richard Henry Lee of Virginia wrote of “his Tyrannic answer.” Joseph Hewes of North Carolina concluded, “Nothing but a total, unconditioned submission will satisfy the Tyrant.” Robert Morris of Pennsylvania admitted, “I never lost hopes of reconciliation until I saw this answer.” Elbridge Gerry of Massachusetts agreed, calling it “the coup de grâce to all expectations of reconciliation in the middle colonies.”
Even John Hancock, the president of Congress, called him “the Tyrant of Britain” in private. If a king demanded submission rather than justice, he was no longer the guardian of liberty they had once praised. He had become the thing their history had taught them to resist.
Oliver Wolcott of Connecticut gave voice to what that meant. Losing the war, he warned, would leave to their children not liberty, but “slavery and misery through endless generations.” But he did not end in despair:
“God forbid! No, He who sitteth in the Heavens, who holds empires in His hands, who holds the Tyrant Worms of this earth in utter derision, He will crush the power of the oppressor . . . He will preserve his people like a flock . . . and he who fears not the justice of God shall perish forever.”
Within weeks, the word tyrant would appear—twice—in the Declaration itself. John Adams thought Congress might strike it out—but it remained in the final draft. And the word was already in common use. A Massachusetts sloop was even named the Tyrannicide.
Sources: Journals of Congress, Vol. 1 (October 26, 1774), US: Letters of Delegates to Congress;
Additional background: The Adams Papers, Journals of Congress, Vol. 5.
Themes: Loyalty or Independence; Faith and Providence.
Tags: Richard Henry Lee, John Hancock, Joseph Hewes, Robert Morris, Elbridge Gerry, Oliver Wolcott, 1776.
June 2, 1776
Sunday: The Argument for Liberty
June 2, 1776 – Sunday: The Argument for Liberty
For years, Americans had been defining their rights—and what made them free.
By the beginning of June 1776, independence was on everyone’s lips. But the argument behind it was not new.
When Parliament ordered the port of Boston closed beginning June 1, 1774—punishing the town for the destruction of tea—the crisis spread beyond Massachusetts. In Virginia, the House of Burgesses set aside that very day as a time of “fasting, humiliation, and prayer,” seeking God’s help in a moment they believed threatened their liberties. The last such observance had come during the French and Indian War.
What had happened to Boston was not seen as an isolated punishment. It was a warning. If one colony could be singled out, governed by force, and economically crippled, then none were secure. Across the colonies, leaders began to speak with a growing sense of shared danger—and shared responsibility.
When royal governors dissolved the assemblies, they did not disappear—their members simply met without permission, coordinating their response across the colonies. The next step followed naturally: a call for a continental congress.
By October 1774, delegates from twelve colonies had gathered in Philadelphia. What they produced was not a declaration of independence, but something just as important: a clear statement of rights—and of the ways those rights had been violated. They grounded their case not in emotion, but in law: in the English constitution, in colonial charters, and in the principles of ordered government itself.
Their concerns reached far beyond taxation. The familiar phrase “taxation without representation” captured only part of the issue. Congress pointed to specific violations: property taken without consent, laws imposed without representation, trials removed from local juries, and authority exercised through arbitrary decrees. Standing armies were kept in times of peace, and judges were controlled by the crown.
They also spoke of “religion, laws, and liberties” as things that must not be subverted. In earlier writings, Americans had already described this more fully: the right to worship God according to the dictates of conscience. This freedom was granted by God, not government, and no earthly authority could justly take it away.
By 1776, the principles had been laid down. The moment had come to decide how they would be defended.
Sources: Journals of Congress, Vol. 1 (October 14, 1774), Virginia, Journals of the House of Burgesses.
Additional background: Massachusetts, Votes and Proceedings of … Boston.
Themes: Religious Liberty, Moral Foundations
Tags: First Continental Congress, fasting and prayer, life liberty and property, constitutional rights, 1774, 1776.
June 2, 1776 – Sunday: The Argument for Liberty
For years, Americans had been defining their rights—and what made them free.
By the beginning of June 1776, independence was on everyone’s lips. But the argument behind it was not new.
When Parliament ordered the port of Boston closed beginning June 1, 1774—punishing the town for the destruction of tea—the crisis spread beyond Massachusetts. In Virginia, the House of Burgesses set aside that very day as a time of “fasting, humiliation, and prayer,” seeking God’s help in a moment they believed threatened their liberties. The last such observance had come during the French and Indian War.
What had happened to Boston was not seen as an isolated punishment. It was a warning. If one colony could be singled out, governed by force, and economically crippled, then none were secure. Across the colonies, leaders began to speak with a growing sense of shared danger—and shared responsibility.
When royal governors dissolved the assemblies, they did not disappear—their members simply met without permission, coordinating their response across the colonies. The next step followed naturally: a call for a continental congress.
By October 1774, delegates from twelve colonies had gathered in Philadelphia. What they produced was not a declaration of independence, but something just as important: a clear statement of rights—and of the ways those rights had been violated. They grounded their case not in emotion, but in law: in the English constitution, in colonial charters, and in the principles of ordered government itself.
Their concerns reached far beyond taxation. The familiar phrase “taxation without representation” captured only part of the issue. Congress pointed to specific violations: property taken without consent, laws imposed without representation, trials removed from local juries, and authority exercised through arbitrary decrees. Standing armies were kept in times of peace, and judges were controlled by the crown.
They also spoke of “religion, laws, and liberties” as things that must not be subverted. In earlier writings, Americans had already described this more fully: the right to worship God according to the dictates of conscience. This freedom was granted by God, not government, and no earthly authority could justly take it away.
By 1776, the principles had been laid down. The moment had come to decide how they would be defended.
Sources: Journals of Congress, Vol. 1 (October 14, 1774), Virginia, Journals of the House of Burgesses.
Additional background: Massachusetts, Votes and Proceedings of … Boston.
Themes: Religious Liberty, Moral Foundations
Tags: First Continental Congress, fasting and prayer, life liberty and property, constitutional rights, 1774, 1776.
June 3, 1776
Spies of the Caribbean
June 3, 1776 – Spies of the Caribbean
Under cover of trade, Congress sent a merchant to gather intelligence.
The instructions William Bingham received on June 3, 1776, read like a spy novel. Perhaps that was to be expected, since the senders were congressional delegates assigned to “The Committee of Secret Correspondence.”
His orders were to go to Martinique, an island in the West Indies, “in character of a merchant.” He was to form connections, move goods, and write through commercial channels. But alongside that, he was told to procure “ten thousand good muskets,” to convey “the speediest Intelligence,” and to be “constantly on the Watch.” In the words of the committee, “An appearance of commercial views will effectually cover the political.”
He was to write “under cover” to contacts in Bordeaux or Paris. Funds from cargoes were to be used for arms. If shipments were too risky, they were to be broken up. He was to distinguish between reliable and doubtful intelligence. Above all, they wrote, “observe the strictest Secrecy.”
Other letters from the same day filled in the structure around him. Merchants were instructed to handle funds and extend credit. Proceeds of cargoes were to be routed toward arms purchases. Trade was not separate from the mission—it was the means of carrying it out.
The choice of Martinique placed him in the middle of a wider network. From there, information and goods could move between the Caribbean and France through ordinary trade routes. On the same day, John Adams noted the need to reach the French court and thanked Patrick Henry for suggesting a route by the Mississippi—an indirect way into the same sphere.
The events surrounding June 3 show why this mattered. Only the day before, Congress had allowed a Bermudian vessel to trade for provisions, requiring only that it avoid British warships on its return. At the same time, it began considering how to deal with those “giving intelligence to the enemy.” Trade, supply, and information were already intertwined. On June 6, Congress resolved to send vessels to Bermuda not only to supply provisions but to “discover the state of those islands and the disposition of their inhabitants.”
Taken together, these measures show a pattern. Trade was used as cover. Ships carried goods and information. And a young merchant in Martinique was expected to watch, report, and supply.
Sources: US: Letters of Delegates (June 3, 1776); Journals of Congress, Vol. 5 (June 2 and 6, 1776).
Themes: Diplomacy, Courage and Ingenuity.
Tags: William Bingham, John Adams, Patrick Henry, Committee of Secret Correspondence, 1776.
June 3, 1776 – Spies of the Caribbean
Under cover of trade, Congress sent a merchant to gather intelligence.
The instructions William Bingham received on June 3, 1776, read like a spy novel. Perhaps that was to be expected, since the senders were congressional delegates assigned to “The Committee of Secret Correspondence.”
His orders were to go to Martinique, an island in the West Indies, “in character of a merchant.” He was to form connections, move goods, and write through commercial channels. But alongside that, he was told to procure “ten thousand good muskets,” to convey “the speediest Intelligence,” and to be “constantly on the Watch.” In the words of the committee, “An appearance of commercial views will effectually cover the political.”
He was to write “under cover” to contacts in Bordeaux or Paris. Funds from cargoes were to be used for arms. If shipments were too risky, they were to be broken up. He was to distinguish between reliable and doubtful intelligence. Above all, they wrote, “observe the strictest Secrecy.”
Other letters from the same day filled in the structure around him. Merchants were instructed to handle funds and extend credit. Proceeds of cargoes were to be routed toward arms purchases. Trade was not separate from the mission—it was the means of carrying it out.
The choice of Martinique placed him in the middle of a wider network. From there, information and goods could move between the Caribbean and France through ordinary trade routes. On the same day, John Adams noted the need to reach the French court and thanked Patrick Henry for suggesting a route by the Mississippi—an indirect way into the same sphere.
The events surrounding June 3 show why this mattered. Only the day before, Congress had allowed a Bermudian vessel to trade for provisions, requiring only that it avoid British warships on its return. At the same time, it began considering how to deal with those “giving intelligence to the enemy.” Trade, supply, and information were already intertwined. On June 6, Congress resolved to send vessels to Bermuda not only to supply provisions but to “discover the state of those islands and the disposition of their inhabitants.”
Taken together, these measures show a pattern. Trade was used as cover. Ships carried goods and information. And a young merchant in Martinique was expected to watch, report, and supply.
Sources: US: Letters of Delegates (June 3, 1776); Journals of Congress, Vol. 5 (June 2 and 6, 1776).
Themes: Diplomacy, Courage and Ingenuity.
Tags: William Bingham, John Adams, Patrick Henry, Committee of Secret Correspondence, 1776.
June 4, 1776
The Thirteen Clocks
June 4, 1776 – The Thirteen Clocks
Some colonies had already struck the hour—now the others must answer the bell.
When a grandfather clock announces the noon hour, each deep note hovers in the air. John Adams had that in mind in June 1776, when he wrote that the colonies were already separated from Britain; the only remaining question was the proper time to declare it. “But remember,” he cautioned, “you can’t make thirteen clocks strike precisely alike, at the same second.”
Massachusetts had been the first to feel the wrath of the King—and the first to respond. In 1772, Boston claimed the natural rights of life, liberty, and property, and wrote that no power could justly take those without consent. These were not new ideas, but they were being asserted with new urgency, as Parliament claimed authority “in all cases whatsoever.”
By 1774, protest had given way to organized resistance. The resolves of Suffolk County spoke for a people under pressure, declaring themselves “aggrieved and oppressed by the late acts of Parliament” and “resolved, by Divine assistance, never to submit to them.” When those resolves reached Congress, they were approved with a growing sense that Massachusetts spoke for more than itself.
Massachusetts’ delegates carried that urgency into every meeting of Congress, and none more so than John Adams. He would later reflect that he had made himself “obnoxious for my early and constant Zeal in promoting the Measure.” He had pressed the case for independence long before it was popular to do so.
By January 19, 1776, Massachusetts had moved beyond argument altogether. In a proclamation issued by its General Court, it declared that “the Consent of the People is the only Foundation” of government and that any authority exercised without that consent was “Injustice, Usurpation, and Tyranny.” Royal authority had already been set aside. Power now rested with the people themselves. Massachusetts had tolled the first bell.
Other colonies followed, each in its own time and way. South Carolina established a new government in March. North Carolina’s Halifax Resolves authorized independence in April. Rhode Island erased the king’s name from its laws in May. Virginia called for independence later that same month. Georgia’s delegates, arriving in Congress on May 20, were free to vote their conscience.
Six clocks had already struck. The only question was how soon the others would follow.
Sources: The Adams Papers; US: Letters of Delegates to Congress; Journals of Congress, Vol. 1 (Sept. 17, 1774).
Additional background: Massachusetts, Votes and Proceedings of … Boston.
Themes: Forging Unity; Loyalty or Independence.
Tags: John Adams, Suffolk Resolves, consent of the governed, Continental Congress, 1774, 1776.
June 4, 1776 – The Thirteen Clocks
Some colonies had already struck the hour—now the others must answer the bell.
When a grandfather clock announces the noon hour, each deep note hovers in the air. John Adams had that in mind in June 1776, when he wrote that the colonies were already separated from Britain; the only remaining question was the proper time to declare it. “But remember,” he cautioned, “you can’t make thirteen clocks strike precisely alike, at the same second.”
Massachusetts had been the first to feel the wrath of the King—and the first to respond. In 1772, Boston claimed the natural rights of life, liberty, and property, and wrote that no power could justly take those without consent. These were not new ideas, but they were being asserted with new urgency, as Parliament claimed authority “in all cases whatsoever.”
By 1774, protest had given way to organized resistance. The resolves of Suffolk County spoke for a people under pressure, declaring themselves “aggrieved and oppressed by the late acts of Parliament” and “resolved, by Divine assistance, never to submit to them.” When those resolves reached Congress, they were approved with a growing sense that Massachusetts spoke for more than itself.
Massachusetts’ delegates carried that urgency into every meeting of Congress, and none more so than John Adams. He would later reflect that he had made himself “obnoxious for my early and constant Zeal in promoting the Measure.” He had pressed the case for independence long before it was popular to do so.
By January 19, 1776, Massachusetts had moved beyond argument altogether. In a proclamation issued by its General Court, it declared that “the Consent of the People is the only Foundation” of government and that any authority exercised without that consent was “Injustice, Usurpation, and Tyranny.” Royal authority had already been set aside. Power now rested with the people themselves. Massachusetts had tolled the first bell.
Other colonies followed, each in its own time and way. South Carolina established a new government in March. North Carolina’s Halifax Resolves authorized independence in April. Rhode Island erased the king’s name from its laws in May. Virginia called for independence later that same month. Georgia’s delegates, arriving in Congress on May 20, were free to vote their conscience.
Six clocks had already struck. The only question was how soon the others would follow.
Sources: The Adams Papers; US: Letters of Delegates to Congress; Journals of Congress, Vol. 1 (Sept. 17, 1774).
Additional background: Massachusetts, Votes and Proceedings of … Boston.
Themes: Forging Unity; Loyalty or Independence.
Tags: John Adams, Suffolk Resolves, consent of the governed, Continental Congress, 1774, 1776.
June 5, 1776
Supplying the Enemy
June 5, 1776 – Supplying the Enemy
What was left unguarded could be lost, unless the colonies acted together.
On June 5, 1776, the Continental Congress confronted a problem that could not be solved on the battlefield alone. Reports had reached Philadelphia that British forces were being supplied with provisions—not always by open Loyalists, but sometimes through carelessness, necessity, or quiet cooperation. Congress responded by appointing a committee to consider what should be done about it. The danger was no longer only invasion, but the support the British were receiving from within the colonies.
Accidental loss was always a risk, especially along exposed coasts and waterways. Just two days earlier, Congress recommended that “stocks, grain, and meal” be removed from areas where British forces could easily take them.
Trade could also reduce needed supplies. When General Washington warned that the army needed provisions, local governments in New York began to restrict the sale of preserved meat. Within days, Congress extended those efforts into a general rule: no salted beef or pork was to be exported from any colony. John Hancock made sure the order was published at once, so that no port or merchant could claim ignorance.
Yet the demands of Congress weren’t followed uniformly. “Why are the stocks . . . suffered to remain?” Elbridge Gerry wrote, frustrated that vulnerable livestock still lay within reach of the enemy. His concern was not only loss to the farmers, but its wider consequence: what fed British troops could also weaken the American cause.
All of this unfolded against a backdrop of scarcity. Goods were becoming difficult to obtain, prices were rising, and paper currency appeared to fall in value as supplies grew scarce. Every barrel of meat or bushel of grain lost to the enemy deepened the strain. Protecting provisions was not only a military necessity, but an economic one.
Yet there were signs of resilience. New efforts in manufacturing began to take hold, and some saw in them a path forward. “I have much faith in the ingenuity of the Americans,” John Adams wrote, pointing to the growing ability of the colonies to supply themselves.
The war for independence would not be won by muskets alone. It required vigilance, restraint, and a shared resolve across the colonies to guard what remained and deny it to the enemy.
Sources: Journals of Congress, Vol. 4 and 5 (June 3 and 5, 1776); US: Letters of Delegates to Congress.
Themes: Forging Unity; Campaigns of the War
Tags: John Hancock, Elbridge Gerry, export ban, shortages, inflation, manufacturing, logistics, 1776.
June 5, 1776 – Supplying the Enemy
What was left unguarded could be lost, unless the colonies acted together.
On June 5, 1776, the Continental Congress confronted a problem that could not be solved on the battlefield alone. Reports had reached Philadelphia that British forces were being supplied with provisions—not always by open Loyalists, but sometimes through carelessness, necessity, or quiet cooperation. Congress responded by appointing a committee to consider what should be done about it. The danger was no longer only invasion, but the support the British were receiving from within the colonies.
Accidental loss was always a risk, especially along exposed coasts and waterways. Just two days earlier, Congress recommended that “stocks, grain, and meal” be removed from areas where British forces could easily take them.
Trade could also reduce needed supplies. When General Washington warned that the army needed provisions, local governments in New York began to restrict the sale of preserved meat. Within days, Congress extended those efforts into a general rule: no salted beef or pork was to be exported from any colony. John Hancock made sure the order was published at once, so that no port or merchant could claim ignorance.
Yet the demands of Congress weren’t followed uniformly. “Why are the stocks . . . suffered to remain?” Elbridge Gerry wrote, frustrated that vulnerable livestock still lay within reach of the enemy. His concern was not only loss to the farmers, but its wider consequence: what fed British troops could also weaken the American cause.
All of this unfolded against a backdrop of scarcity. Goods were becoming difficult to obtain, prices were rising, and paper currency appeared to fall in value as supplies grew scarce. Every barrel of meat or bushel of grain lost to the enemy deepened the strain. Protecting provisions was not only a military necessity, but an economic one.
Yet there were signs of resilience. New efforts in manufacturing began to take hold, and some saw in them a path forward. “I have much faith in the ingenuity of the Americans,” John Adams wrote, pointing to the growing ability of the colonies to supply themselves.
The war for independence would not be won by muskets alone. It required vigilance, restraint, and a shared resolve across the colonies to guard what remained and deny it to the enemy.
Sources: Journals of Congress, Vol. 4 and 5 (June 3 and 5, 1776); US: Letters of Delegates to Congress.
Themes: Forging Unity; Campaigns of the War
Tags: John Hancock, Elbridge Gerry, export ban, shortages, inflation, manufacturing, logistics, 1776.
June 6, 1776
Privateers and the Coin of War
June 6, 1776 – Privateers and the Coin of War
Privateers captured more than cargo, and Congress quickly saw its value.
Citizens came running toward the docks. The news had reached the town before the ships were fully in view, carried from one voice to the next. When asked what had happened, the answer came quickly: “Our privateers have taken prizes!”
Soon, the first one could be seen—a tall-masted merchant ship, no longer sailing under British control. Taken at sea only days before, it had been bound from Jamaica to London, its holds filled with West India cargo. Now it was being brought into an American harbor.
Three in all had been taken, and rumors of the cargoes grew with each retelling—sugar, molasses, and heavy casks of trade goods—and something more valuable still. On board was a large sum in actual silver coins, along with plate—valuable household items made of silver. The ships would be sent north into New England ports. But the money would not remain with them.
Instead, the coins were taken out at once. The captains of the Congress and the Chance had divided it between them for safety. It was carried separately to shore and landed at Egg Harbor, New Jersey. From there, it began the journey inland.
By June 6, the news had reached Philadelphia. John Hancock wrote that the money was already in the city. The captains, he reported, had offered it to Congress.
Other delegates were hearing the same reports. The details varied slightly as the news traveled—three ships, large cargoes, tens of thousands of dollars in hard money—but the essential facts were clear, and Congress did not hesitate. On June 12, the offer was formally accepted. The owners’ share of the captured coins—about twenty-two thousand dollars—was exchanged for continental paper currency, leaving their profits intact while placing silver specie in the hands of Congress. What had been British wealth, moving across the Atlantic, was now converted into support for the American cause.
The money did not remain long in Philadelphia. Within days, arrangements were made to move it under guard. Six boxes of hard money were prepared for transport north, where they would be delivered for the use of the army and sent on toward the campaign in Canada. The ships had gone one way. The money had gone another.
Sources: US: Letters of Delegates to Congress; Journals of Congress, Vol. 5 (June 12, 1776)
Additional background: Naval Documents of the American Revolution, Vol. 5.
Themes: Campaigns of the War; American Armed Services.
Tags: John Hancock, privateers, maritime capture, Egg Harbor, New Jersey, specie shortage, Congress, 1776
June 6, 1776 – Privateers and the Coin of War
Privateers captured more than cargo, and Congress quickly saw its value.
Citizens came running toward the docks. The news had reached the town before the ships were fully in view, carried from one voice to the next. When asked what had happened, the answer came quickly: “Our privateers have taken prizes!”
Soon, the first one could be seen—a tall-masted merchant ship, no longer sailing under British control. Taken at sea only days before, it had been bound from Jamaica to London, its holds filled with West India cargo. Now it was being brought into an American harbor.
Three in all had been taken, and rumors of the cargoes grew with each retelling—sugar, molasses, and heavy casks of trade goods—and something more valuable still. On board was a large sum in actual silver coins, along with plate—valuable household items made of silver. The ships would be sent north into New England ports. But the money would not remain with them.
Instead, the coins were taken out at once. The captains of the Congress and the Chance had divided it between them for safety. It was carried separately to shore and landed at Egg Harbor, New Jersey. From there, it began the journey inland.
By June 6, the news had reached Philadelphia. John Hancock wrote that the money was already in the city. The captains, he reported, had offered it to Congress.
Other delegates were hearing the same reports. The details varied slightly as the news traveled—three ships, large cargoes, tens of thousands of dollars in hard money—but the essential facts were clear, and Congress did not hesitate. On June 12, the offer was formally accepted. The owners’ share of the captured coins—about twenty-two thousand dollars—was exchanged for continental paper currency, leaving their profits intact while placing silver specie in the hands of Congress. What had been British wealth, moving across the Atlantic, was now converted into support for the American cause.
The money did not remain long in Philadelphia. Within days, arrangements were made to move it under guard. Six boxes of hard money were prepared for transport north, where they would be delivered for the use of the army and sent on toward the campaign in Canada. The ships had gone one way. The money had gone another.
Sources: US: Letters of Delegates to Congress; Journals of Congress, Vol. 5 (June 12, 1776)
Additional background: Naval Documents of the American Revolution, Vol. 5.
Themes: Campaigns of the War; American Armed Services.
Tags: John Hancock, privateers, maritime capture, Egg Harbor, New Jersey, specie shortage, Congress, 1776
June 7, 1776
The Resolution for Independence
June 7, 1776 – The Resolution for Independence
A Virginia delegate formally placed independence before the Continental Congress.
Richard Henry Lee was an uncommonly persuasive speaker. One writer compared his speeches to a beautiful river flowing through a flowered meadow—graceful, steady, and controlled. On June 7, 1776, he rose in Congress and spoke the words that set American independence in motion:
“That these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent States; that they are absolved from all allegiance to the British Crown; and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain is, and ought to be, totally dissolved.”
Lee had not come to this moment lightly. Born into one of Virginia’s leading families, he had spent years defending colonial rights in the House of Burgesses and later in the Continental Congress, where he became known as one of Virginia’s clearest and most persistent voices for resistance. When Virginia’s convention met in May, it instructed its delegates to go further than any colony had yet dared—to propose independence itself. Lee now carried those instructions into the chamber and placed the question squarely before the assembled delegates.
His resolution did more than declare separation. It also called for alliances with foreign powers and for a confederation to unite the colonies—three steps that together outlined the course toward independence. Congress immediately began debating the proposal, the weight of Lee’s words settling over the chamber as delegates measured the cost of what had just been set before them. Even Samuel Adams called the motion “the most important ever agitated in America,” and trusted that “if America is virtuous, she will . . . establish her Liberty.” The direction was clear, even as the final decision still lay ahead.
Lee, however, did not remain to guide the next steps. Later that month, he returned to Virginia, where his presence was needed as the colony drafted a declaration of rights and a new frame of government—work that would help shape the principles of the new nation he had just urged Congress to declare.
Yet the words he had spoken shaped the debates that followed. When the Declaration of Independence was finally adopted, Richard Henry Lee returned to Philadelphia and signed for the cause he had first set before Congress.
Sources: Journals of Congress, Vol. 5; Goodrich, Signers of the Declaration, US: Letters of Delegates to Congress.
Additional background: Letters of Richard Henry Lee, The Adams Papers.
Themes: Loyalty or Independence, Self-Government
Tags: Richard Henry Lee, Thomas Jefferson, Virginia Convention, Declaration of Independence, 1776
June 7, 1776 – The Resolution for Independence
A Virginia delegate formally placed independence before the Continental Congress.
Richard Henry Lee was an uncommonly persuasive speaker. One writer compared his speeches to a beautiful river flowing through a flowered meadow—graceful, steady, and controlled. On June 7, 1776, he rose in Congress and spoke the words that set American independence in motion:
“That these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent States; that they are absolved from all allegiance to the British Crown; and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain is, and ought to be, totally dissolved.”
Lee had not come to this moment lightly. Born into one of Virginia’s leading families, he had spent years defending colonial rights in the House of Burgesses and later in the Continental Congress, where he became known as one of Virginia’s clearest and most persistent voices for resistance. When Virginia’s convention met in May, it instructed its delegates to go further than any colony had yet dared—to propose independence itself. Lee now carried those instructions into the chamber and placed the question squarely before the assembled delegates.
His resolution did more than declare separation. It also called for alliances with foreign powers and for a confederation to unite the colonies—three steps that together outlined the course toward independence. Congress immediately began debating the proposal, the weight of Lee’s words settling over the chamber as delegates measured the cost of what had just been set before them. Even Samuel Adams called the motion “the most important ever agitated in America,” and trusted that “if America is virtuous, she will . . . establish her Liberty.” The direction was clear, even as the final decision still lay ahead.
Lee, however, did not remain to guide the next steps. Later that month, he returned to Virginia, where his presence was needed as the colony drafted a declaration of rights and a new frame of government—work that would help shape the principles of the new nation he had just urged Congress to declare.
Yet the words he had spoken shaped the debates that followed. When the Declaration of Independence was finally adopted, Richard Henry Lee returned to Philadelphia and signed for the cause he had first set before Congress.
Sources: Journals of Congress, Vol. 5; Goodrich, Signers of the Declaration, US: Letters of Delegates to Congress.
Additional background: Letters of Richard Henry Lee, The Adams Papers.
Themes: Loyalty or Independence, Self-Government
Tags: Richard Henry Lee, Thomas Jefferson, Virginia Convention, Declaration of Independence, 1776
June 8, 1776
The Great Debate
June 8, 1776 – The Great Debate
Congress faced the question that could unite the colonies—or divide them.
The official record says little. Behind that brief entry, Congress spent the day in debate, sitting late into the evening, weighing a decision that might unite the colonies—or divide them.
On June 7, Richard Henry Lee had placed before Congress a bold resolution: that the colonies “are, and of right ought to be, free and independent states.” The question now was not whether tensions with Britain had reached a breaking point, but whether to declare that break openly—and immediately.
When Congress resumed the next day, the arguments came from men who agreed on much, yet differed on timing. As Thomas Jefferson later recorded, it was argued by James Wilson, Edward Rutledge, John Dickinson, and others “that tho’ they were friends to the measures themselves . . . yet they were against adopting them at this time.” They did not deny independence might come. But they warned it must come together.
The middle colonies, they said, were “not yet ripe for bidding adieu to British connection,” though “fast ripening.” Some delegates were bound by instructions forbidding such a declaration; others had none at all. If Congress moved too quickly, those delegates must step down, and “possibly their colonies might secede from the Union.” Unity, once broken, might not be restored.
John Dickinson, one of the leading voices of caution, pressed the matter further. Independence, he argued, was not merely a declaration—it was a commitment. To claim it would be to assume the full responsibilities of a sovereign state: entering alliances, guaranteeing neutrality, and engaging in the wider conflicts of nations. “Let us act with a dignified reserve,” he urged, warning against going “begging ‘round the World . . . to coax States into a War for it.”
Yet others—including John Adams and Richard Henry Lee—saw the matter differently. Delay, they argued, risked more than haste. The colonies were already at war; the old bonds had been broken in fact, if not yet in form. The question was not whether to become independent, but whether to declare “a fact which already exists.”
The debate stretched on. No resolution was reached. But the lines had been drawn—not between liberty and loyalty, but between caution and urgency, between waiting for unity and stepping forward to claim it.
Sources: US: Letters of Delegates to Congress.
Additional background: Journals of Congress, Vol. 5 (June 8, 1776).
Themes: Forging Unity, Self-Government.
Tags: John Dickinson, James Wilson, Edward Rutledge, Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Richard Henry Lee, 1776.
June 8, 1776 – The Great Debate
Congress faced the question that could unite the colonies—or divide them.
The official record says little. Behind that brief entry, Congress spent the day in debate, sitting late into the evening, weighing a decision that might unite the colonies—or divide them.
On June 7, Richard Henry Lee had placed before Congress a bold resolution: that the colonies “are, and of right ought to be, free and independent states.” The question now was not whether tensions with Britain had reached a breaking point, but whether to declare that break openly—and immediately.
When Congress resumed the next day, the arguments came from men who agreed on much, yet differed on timing. As Thomas Jefferson later recorded, it was argued by James Wilson, Edward Rutledge, John Dickinson, and others “that tho’ they were friends to the measures themselves . . . yet they were against adopting them at this time.” They did not deny independence might come. But they warned it must come together.
The middle colonies, they said, were “not yet ripe for bidding adieu to British connection,” though “fast ripening.” Some delegates were bound by instructions forbidding such a declaration; others had none at all. If Congress moved too quickly, those delegates must step down, and “possibly their colonies might secede from the Union.” Unity, once broken, might not be restored.
John Dickinson, one of the leading voices of caution, pressed the matter further. Independence, he argued, was not merely a declaration—it was a commitment. To claim it would be to assume the full responsibilities of a sovereign state: entering alliances, guaranteeing neutrality, and engaging in the wider conflicts of nations. “Let us act with a dignified reserve,” he urged, warning against going “begging ‘round the World . . . to coax States into a War for it.”
Yet others—including John Adams and Richard Henry Lee—saw the matter differently. Delay, they argued, risked more than haste. The colonies were already at war; the old bonds had been broken in fact, if not yet in form. The question was not whether to become independent, but whether to declare “a fact which already exists.”
The debate stretched on. No resolution was reached. But the lines had been drawn—not between liberty and loyalty, but between caution and urgency, between waiting for unity and stepping forward to claim it.
Sources: US: Letters of Delegates to Congress.
Additional background: Journals of Congress, Vol. 5 (June 8, 1776).
Themes: Forging Unity, Self-Government.
Tags: John Dickinson, James Wilson, Edward Rutledge, Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Richard Henry Lee, 1776.
