Before July 1776, There Was Rhode Island

Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes back guest historian Bjorn Bruckshaw

By the spring of 1776, the people of Rhode Island no longer needed to speculate about their relationship with Great Britain—they were already living in open resistance to it. War had begun the previous year, British naval power remained a constant threat along the coast, and the colony’s long history of defiance toward imperial authority had already brought confrontation to its shores. The destruction of His Majesty’s schooner Gaspee in 1772 had marked a decisive escalation, transforming protest into direct action against the Crown.¹ Now, as members of the Rhode Island General Assembly made their way to Providence in early May 1776, they did so with the reality of war firmly in mind. The question before them was no longer whether they opposed British authority, but whether that authority could continue to exist at all within their government.

Rhode Island Independence Document

Inside the Assembly chamber on May 4, 1776, that question was answered with clarity and finality. Without issuing a sweeping declaration or engaging in extended philosophical argument, the legislature passed an act that removed King George III from every function of governance within the colony. The law ordered that “in all commissions, writs, and other proceedings in the courts of law,” the name and authority of the king be omitted.² In their place stood the authority of the colony itself. The act further directed that royal authority was to be “totally suppressed.”³ Courts would continue to function, but under a new source of legitimacy. Officials would take new oaths. The government would proceed without reference to the Crown. Rhode Island did not simply declare independence—it enacted it.

This action did not emerge suddenly. For years, Rhode Island had been among the most resistant of the colonies to British imperial control, particularly in matters of trade and enforcement. British officials repeatedly complained of the colony’s defiance, noting the difficulty of imposing authority in a place where regulations were often ignored.⁴ That resistance became unmistakable with the Gaspee affair, and the Crown’s response—threatening to transport suspects to England for trial—provoked widespread alarm. Colonial critics warned that such measures would undermine “that great bulwark of English liberty,” the right to trial by a local jury.⁵ By the time hostilities began in 1775, many Rhode Islanders had already concluded that reconciliation with Britain was increasingly unlikely.

That understanding was reflected not only in legislative action, but in the colonial press. The Providence Gazette soon reported the Assembly’s proceedings, noting that the legislature had taken measures removing the authority of the Crown from government functions, a step consistent with the colony’s wartime posture and political condition.⁶ While not framed in celebratory or rhetorical language, the report treated the change as a matter of governance already in motion. Similarly, the Newport Mercury, writing amid growing military uncertainty, reflected a broader shift in tone, reporting colonial affairs in a way that assumed the imperial relationship was breaking down beyond repair.⁷

These accounts are significant not because they proclaim Rhode Island’s primacy, but because they demonstrate how independence was understood in real time—not as a single dramatic declaration, but as a series of actions already unfolding.

Continue reading “Before July 1776, There Was Rhode Island”

Review: “The Wandering Army: The Campaigns That Transformed the British Way of War” by Huw J. Davies

Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes back guest historian Ben Powers

Huw Davies’s work The Wandering Army: The Campaigns That Transformed the British Way of War posits that the British Army underwent a period of enlightenment during the late eighteenth century, inspired by its poor showing in the War of the Austrian Succession. Officers turned to continental Europe to study military art in the same spirit that enlightenment scholars studied moral philosophy. This period of military change, innovation, and adaptation encompassed what Davies refers to as “the interconnected relationship of these three areas: military thought, experience, and knowledge exchange, which together drove Britain’s accidental military enlightenment.”

Davies documents that the British Army in the 1700s entered a doldrums of intellectual and tactical stagnation in the early decades of the century, following its successful participation in the War of the Spanish Succession. Victory bred complacency, leading to a poor showing at Fontenoy in 1745. He goes on to demonstrate that defeat galvanized officers to undertake self-directed study of military theory and share lessons learned with other officers, forming a community of practice. Officers later combined these efforts with practical experience gained through active campaigns and peacetime training, resulting in cycles of learning throughout the latter half of the eighteenth century. Davies’s work contributes to the historiography of the British Army by demonstrating that officers actively sought to synthesize the latest military theories, their own combat experiences, and the ideas of their peers into innovative systems to address challenges across multiple theatres of war.

Davies uses a variety of evidence, including historical analysis, accounts of officer practices, and descriptions of training reforms. The bibliography of The Wandering Army contains almost 600 entries, ranging from period treatises, manuals, and official correspondence such as orderly books and military returns, to contemporary newspapers, to historical manuscripts. Davies traces a paper trail of British study of military art from 1745 to 1815, showing that officers studied war, applied what they learned, and discussed war in public forums and personal correspondence.  He cites examples of General Henry Clinton walking and studying old battlefields in 1774 to prepare himself for future challenges (Davies, 82–83); Lord Charles Cornwallis’ establishment of a standardized system of drill and equipage for his troops in India, based on lessons he had learned during the War for American Independence (Davies, 204); and the establishment of a camp for the training of light troops at Shorncliffe, England, to teach innovative tactics to light infantry, developed by Sir John Moore (Davies, 287–315).  

Continue reading “Review: “The Wandering Army: The Campaigns That Transformed the British Way of War” by Huw J. Davies”

“The Jeffersons & Alexandria”

On the anniversary of Thomas Jefferson’s birthday, Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes back guest historian Madeline Feierstein.

Alexandria, Virginia, is famous for its presidential native son: George Washington. The Old Town has maintained its colonial charm, in spite of raging warfare and demolition waves since its founding in 1749. This port city, however, has hosted numerous other American presidents – especially Thomas Jefferson. Our third president visited and stayed in Alexandria on several occasions, and his connections to this Northern Virginia locale extended past his death in 1826.

While enroute to Philadelphia, Jefferson typically went north of Alexandria to cross the Potomac into Maryland. It was not until after the Revolution, and with his emergent friendship with George Washington, that his visits to Alexandria became regular and expected. But as an Alexandrian, I’ve heard more “town lore” about Washington’s longstanding affiliation with the city than any other president. The following accounts are not exhaustive, but they aim to spotlight the reasons for Jefferson’s presence and his impact on the city itself.

1790 was a critical year for the region. The National Capital Act was hotly debated. Where would America’s main city be located? Mayor William Hunter extended an invitation to Jefferson in March 1790 for dinner in his honor at the Fountain Tavern, which no longer stands, and where he had previously stayed.[1] At this time, his passage through Alexandria coincided with his trip to New York to assume the role of Secretary of State.

Jefferson understood Alexandria’s importance as a thriving commercial and political center, especially since the next nearest urban hubs were days away in Richmond and Baltimore. Mayor Hunter hoped that Alexandria would be in the running for capital selection, and that this dinner would confirm the statesman’s opinion: “You have returned to your native Country [from France]. Permit us the inhabitants of Alexandria to join with the rest of our fellow citizens in the warmest congratulations to you on that happy event. As a commercial town, we feel ourselves particularly indebted to you for the indulgencies which your enlightened representations to the Court of France have secured to our trade. You have freed commerce from its shackles…”[2]

In September of that year, Jefferson met with George Washington back in Alexandria to continue the discussion of where to assign the new capital. He and James Madison, along with notable figures in the Georgetown and Great Falls neighborhoods, negotiated the boundaries of the new federal city. Jefferson and Madison stayed overnight in Alexandria on September 14 before turning homeward bound.[3]

Gadsby’s Tavern is one of the most famous spots in Old Town. Famous for being the site of Washington’s farewell (to the presidency in New York), and a general meeting spot for the city’s elites, it’s no wonder that Jefferson also frequented this establishment! In January 1801, he stayed at the Tavern before his first inauguration. Ten days later, the ceremony, a banquet was held for him at Gadsby’s – and it apparently had the honor of being the “largest event ever given in the city.”[4]

There is no evidence that Jefferson came back to Alexandria after this 1801 visit. Additionally, no business interests here are documented, which is odd considering Alexandria’s reputation for commerce and industry. He appeared to prefer to travel north of the city to and from Monticello at this point, once again taking the ferry across the Potomac from Georgetown and continuing through what is now Loudon County southward. But the Jefferson connection did not end with the President’s change of scenery.

Granddaughter Virginia Jefferson Randolph Trist (1801-1882) and her husband moved to Alexandria in 1874. Her own daughter, Martha Burke, Jefferson’s great-granddaughter, resided in the city with her family. After Virginia’s husband died, she moved in with Martha until her own death.[5] Another granddaughter, Virginia’s sister, Cornelia Jefferson Randolph (1799–1871) joined niece Martha’s home, where she also died.[6]

Extensive family members of Thomas Jefferson are buried in Alexandria’s Ivy Hill Cemetery. Martha Burke’s daughter, Ellen Coolidge Burke, was quite active in the city’s civic causes. A reference and catalogue librarian, she is notable for expanding library services and opening branches in the surrounding neighborhoods.[7] A few miles away from where her great-great-grandfather wined and dined, a library was named in her honor before she died in 1975.


[1] “Washington, D.C.,” Thomas Jefferson Encyclopedia, Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello, n.d., https://www.monticello.org/encyclopedia/washington-dc.

[2] “Address of Welcome from the Mayor of Alexandria, 11 March 1790,” Founders Online, National Archives, https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Jefferson/01-16-02-0129.

[3] “Memorandum from Thomas Jefferson, 14 September 1790,” Founders Online, National Archives, https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Washington/05-06-02-0209.

 

[4] “George Taylor to Thomas Jefferson, 9 March 1801,” Founders Online, National Archives, https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Jefferson/01-33-02-0191.

 

[5] “Virginia Jefferson Randolph Trist,” Thomas Jefferson Encyclopedia, Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello, n.d., https://www.monticello.org/encyclopedia/virginia-jefferson-randolph-trist.

 

[6] “Cornelia Jefferson Randolph,” Thomas Jefferson Encyclopedia, Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello, n.d., https://www.monticello.org/encyclopedia/cornelia-jefferson-randolph.

 

[7] “Women’s History in Alexandria,” Office of Historic Alexandria, 19 November 2025, https://www.alexandriava.gov/historic-alexandria/womens-history-in-alexandria.

Bio:

Madeline Feierstein is an Alexandria, VA historian and founder of the educational and historical consulting company Rooted in Place, LLC. A native of Washington, D.C., her work has been showcased across the Capital Region. Madeline is a writer for Emerging Civil War and the National Museum of Civil War Medicine. She leads significant projects to document the sick, injured, and imprisoned soldiers that passed through Alexandria and Washington, D.C. Madeline holds a Bachelor of Science in Criminology from George Mason University and a Master’s in American History from Southern New Hampshire University. Explore her research at www.madelinefeierstein.com.

“Brave, Meritorious, Unrewarded Kirkwood”: Unrecognized Valor in the Continental Army

Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes back guest historian Ben Powers

If the Medal of Honor had existed during the American Revolution, which American soldiers might have received it? This is the kind of counterfactual question some of my history professors might eschew, but exactly the kind of thing I’ll debate endlessly with my pals over a burger after a day roaming a battlefield. As today is Medal of Honor Day, it’s appropriate that I share why I believe that, had the Medal of Honor existed at the time of the Revolution, there is no finer candidate for the honor than Delaware’s Robert Kirkwood.

Introduction

     I recently found myself on a Zoom call with two colleagues, discussing various aspects of the American Revolution, and the conversation turned to a trip one of them planned to take to Delaware to do some research. I immediately responded with “The Blue Hens!”, thinking of the First Delaware Regiment, and followed up by asking if he had heard of Kirkwood. My friend said he had not, thus launching me into a rundown of Captain Kirkwood’s impressive combat record. I concluded with my assessment that Kirkwood was the Continental Army’s answer to World War Two Medal of Honor recipient Audie Murphy.

     The Kirkwood/Murphy comparison is the kind of shorthand line that comes up in casual conversations about the War for Independence, a hyperbolic way of saying that a man was an excellent combat leader. But even after our call ended, the comparison stayed with me. Kirkwood had been in the fight from nearly the beginning, starting with the battles around New York City in 1776, and he had fought through to Eutaw Springs, SC, in 1781. Murphy likewise had seen hard campaigning from North Africa to Germany. Murphy had earned nine battle stars on his campaign ribbon. Had a similar honor been available to Kirkwood, he would have received six campaign stars, as the US Army classifies Revolutionary War campaigns, and he deserved at least three more. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that Kirkwood deserved a Medal of Honor.

The Medal of Honor

     The Medal of Honor is the United States’ highest award for valor, reserved for acts of conspicuous gallantry in armed conflict performed at the risk of life above and beyond the call of duty. In other words, if a recipient had not performed the act, their conduct would not have been considered dereliction of duty. The decoration has been awarded fewer than 3,600 times since its inception in 1861, during the American Civil War. Conservatively, 41 million people have served in the United States military since the American Revolution, making Medal of Honor recipients 0.01% of all American veterans. To say the Medal of Honor is awarded sparingly is an understatement. Approval for the award of the medal requires extensive corroboration from witnesses and multiple levels of review to meet a standard of proof “beyond a reasonable doubt.” Audie Murphy received his Medal of Honor for single-handedly holding off an enemy infantry company in an action near Holtzwihr, France, in 1945. Did Kirkwood meet a similar standard of bravery during the American Revolution?

Historiography

     The most distinctive element of Kirkwood’s service is the fact that he was in it for the duration. Name a major engagement, and there is a good chance he was there. Long Island and White Plains in 1776? He’s there. The Philadelphia Campaign in ’77? Check. Likewise with Monmouth in ’78. When the Delaware Continentals moved to the southern theater in 1780, Kirkwood marched with them. From Camden to Eutaw Springs, he is in every major fight in South Carolina from 1780 to 1781. For all that service, Kirkwood was not a self-promoter. He participated in decisive fighting under Daniel Morgan at Cowpens on January 17, 1781, fighting with the Continentals against Banestre Tarleton. His journal entry recording the day’s events simply reads, “Defeated Tarleton”. Descriptions of Kirkwood’s combat exploits are sparse. So, how to go about determining his eligibility for the nation’s highest valor award?

Continue reading ““Brave, Meritorious, Unrewarded Kirkwood”: Unrecognized Valor in the Continental Army”

Maintaining the Chaos: The Complexities of Domestic Life for Loyalist and Patriot Women Amidst the American Revolution, 1752–1789

EDITOR’S NOTE: Emerging Revolutionary War has been pleased to co-sponsor a series of Monday-evening programs to commemorate the America 250th at St. Bonaventure University, where contributor Chris Mackowski teaches. In March, the line-up of programs featured a student research panel. We are pleased to present today the work of one of the “emerging scholars” from that panel, Kayla Krupski.

Kayla is a junior history major from Hamburg, NY, with a minor in classics. Her talk was titled “Maintaining the Chaos: The Complexities of Domestic Life for Loyalist and Patriot Women Amidst the American Revolution, 1752–1789.” We invited Kayla to share a synopsis of her research here.


The American Revolution is most often remembered through the voices of those who primarily wrote its history—men. Because women were not marching miles to face a redcoat with a musket, their courageousness was often overshadowed by active battle. However, women of the 18th century faced constant battles and fear within their domestic lives. Regardless of their allegiance, women embodied a quiet strength in maintaining their households.

Anna Rawle, a young loyalist woman living in Philadelphia, wrote in 1781, “It was the most alarming scene I ever remember.”[1] This quote comes shortly after the American victory at the Battle of Yorktown, when a Patriot mob harassed her home. These uneasy, fearful words that came from a young Loyalist woman reflected how her home, family, and life was threatened because of the Patriot victory.

The resilience and challenges of female roles during the Revolution showed how certain hardships did not solely lean toward one political side. Whether one was a Loyalist or a Patriot, it did not deem that one group of people were harassed more for their beliefs than others. Understanding this allows the unbiased mind to look past the political allegiances and recognize that, through their self-determination, women were not going to let the chaos of the war keep them from continuing to live their domestic lives.

By looking at three women of different ages and political and religious backgrounds, we can connect how the American Revolution affected all women who shared the common emotion of fear. Sally Wister, Anna Rawle, and Abigail Adams had a swift transition from calmness to chaos in their daily lives.

Continue reading “Maintaining the Chaos: The Complexities of Domestic Life for Loyalist and Patriot Women Amidst the American Revolution, 1752–1789”

A Fleet Against One: The Continental Navy’s Embarrassing Clash off Block Island, April 6, 1776

Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes guest historian Bjorn Bruckshaw, a bio follows the post.

British nautical chart of the eastern portion of Long Island Sound showing the location of Block Island and the surrounding waters where the Continental Navy squadron encountered HMS Glasgow on April 6, 1776. Courtesy of the Library of Congress, Geography and Map Division. Public domain.

In the early morning hours of April 6, 1776, a lone British warship slipped through the moonlit waters southeast of Block Island. The twenty-gun frigate HMS Glasgow was carrying dispatches from Newport, Rhode Island, to the British fleet assembling off Charleston, South Carolina. Suddenly the ship’s lookout sighted sails on the horizon—then more sails behind them. Within minutes Captain Tyringham Howe realized the alarming truth: his single ship had encountered nearly the entire fleet of the newly created Continental Navy.¹

What followed should have been a decisive American victory. Commodore Esek Hopkins commanded a squadron of seven armed vessels, including the flagship Alfred, the brigs Cabot and Andrew Doria, and several additional ships. Against them stood only one British frigate. Yet by dawn the British ship had fought its way free and escaped. The encounter became one of the earliest—and most embarrassing—naval engagements of the American Revolution.²

The clash southeast of Block Island revealed the weaknesses of the young American navy: inexperienced crews, poor coordination between ships, and ineffective gunnery. Despite overwhelming numerical superiority, the Continental squadron failed to capture a single enemy warship. As one frustrated American officer later remarked, “A more imprudent, ill-conducted affair never happened.”³

The British vessel at the center of the encounter was HMS Glasgow, a sixth-rate twenty-gun frigate of the Royal Navy. In early April 1776 the ship had been tasked with delivering dispatches from Newport to the British fleet gathering off Charleston for an upcoming campaign against the southern colonies. That expedition would ultimately culminate in the failed British assault during the Battle of Sullivan’s Island in June 1776.⁴

Meanwhile the American rebellion had begun extending onto the seas. The Second Continental Congress had authorized the creation of a navy in late 1775 to challenge British control of American waters. By February 1776 the first ships of the fleet were ready for service, and Congress appointed Hopkins as commander-in-chief of the new force.⁵

Hopkins’s squadron consisted largely of converted merchant vessels hastily adapted for war. The fleet included the flagship Alfred, along with Columbus, Cabot, Andrew Doria, Providence, Wasp, and Fly. Among the officers serving aboard the fleet was a young lieutenant named John Paul Jones, who served aboard the Alfred and would later gain fame as one of the most celebrated naval commanders of the Revolution.⁶

Continue reading “A Fleet Against One: The Continental Navy’s Embarrassing Clash off Block Island, April 6, 1776”

A Venezuelan Connection

Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes guest historian Dr. Nathan Provost

With the recent rumblings about Venezuela, it is important to remember that Venezuela’s independence began with a veteran of the American Revolutionary War. Francisco de Miranda was born on March 28, 1750, in Caracas, Venezuela. At the time, Venezuela and much of the Americas were under Spanish control. Born into a life of luxury, Miranda attended prestigious institutions of higher education, including the Royal and Pontifical University of Caracas. He later continued his education in Spain, eventually raising enough money to purchase his rank of Captain in the Princess Regiment. His first experience of combat was in North Africa against the Moors of North Africa. Upon returning to Spain, Miranda waited for another military operation to accompany. An ambitious young soldier, he sought adventure, wanting to see the world through military service. In 1780, Miranda reported to the Regiment of Aragorn; their destination was Havana, Cuba. Their objective was to concentrate with Major General Bernardo de Galvez’s men at Pensacola, Florida.

Francisco de Miranda

Spain was no ally of the recently independent United States; rather, their alliance with France was much more significant. After France entered the conflict following the American victory at Saratoga, Spain declared war on Great Britain in 1779. Spain had its own goals, hoping to reclaim territory in Florida lost during the Seven Years’ War. The Spanish were fortunate to possess a brilliant military officer, Bernardo de Galvez. He already captured what is now Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and Mobile, Alabama. All that was left was Pensacola on the Florida Coast. Galvez took several warships and many more transports filled with 3,701 men to lay siege to Pensacola, Florida. Inclement weather and Choctaw resistance interrupted their initial movements, but Galvez pressed on and established his army outside the walls. The number of troops was insufficient to make any headway against the British fortifications, despite the construction of a series of entrenchments and artillery positions. Then, on March 24, much-needed Spanish reinforcements arrived, among whom was Francisco Miranda. 

Upon landing, Miranda noted Galvez was there to meet them. Miranda observed several entrenchments already constructed, but a few hundred men were already out of commission since the siege began. Upon learning this information, he knew that Galvez desperately needed these reinforcements. It was not until April 24 that all the soldiers disembarked at Pensacola.  During the siege, Miranda personally inspected the siege lines and terrain and reported back on this reconnaissance to Galvez. Miranda and his men, entrenched outside the fort, often came under fire from the British artillery. There were also several skirmishes outside the breastworks in which the Spanish sustained some casualties. In one particular episode, Miranda and five companies of his men engaged in a firefight with some Native Americans. The fighting lasted roughly an hour and a half, with six of the Spanish wounded, but a Frenchman deserted the Natives and went over to the Spanish after the fight. In each of these skirmishes.

Continue reading “A Venezuelan Connection”

The Defense of the Upper Chesapeake: Maryland’s First Trial in the Revolutionary War

Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes back guest historian Drew Palmer. He is the founder of Revolutionary Maryland; click here to learn more about that blog.

(Vallejo Image Galleries)

In the early evening of March 5, 1776, two armed boats left Annapolis to patrol the Chesapeake Bay. Captain John Pitt and Joseph Middleton were patrolling to prevent any British ships nearby from entering Maryland’s waters.  As they patrolled, they discovered an alarming sight: three British warships heading directly towards Annapolis. Middleton and Pitt rushed off to the Maryland Council of Safety’s chambers in Annapolis to report the startling news.1 In the coming days, Maryland was tested for the first time in the growing Revolutionary conflict.

The American rebellion had become a full-scale war by the spring of 1776. In early March, the siege of British-held Boston was about to end. Hundreds of miles south in Philadelphia, the Declaration of Independence was only four months away. In Maryland, politicians worked hard to maintain Maryland’s isolation from the worst of the conflict. In Virginia, a raiding war had already begun. Only two months before, the town of Norfolk, Virginia, was bombarded, leading to the destruction of the town. Along with Norfolk’s destruction, British attacks and raids were carried out throughout the lower Chesapeake Bay, along with a blockade. 2

Participating in British operations in the lower Chesapeake was Captain Mathew Squire of the British Royal Navy. For several months, Squire’s vessel, the  Otter, served as the headquarters of the exiled Virginia Governor, Lord Dunmore. From the Otter, British attacks and raids were launched on Patriot strongholds in the lower Chesapeake. By March, Squire had gained a reputation as a competent officer and ruthless raider of American shipping.3 Squire was heavily involved in the bombardment of Norfolk and an attempted attack on Hampton, Virginia. Though Squire’s area of operation had been centered on the lower Chesapeake, new intelligence pulled him northward into Maryland.

Continue reading “The Defense of the Upper Chesapeake: Maryland’s First Trial in the Revolutionary War”

“John Morton: The Swedish-Finnish Founding Father”

Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes guest historian Madeline Feierstein to the blog. A bio follows the article.

John Morton (1725-1777) had a storied political career. From election to the Pennsylvania Assembly at the prime age of 31, he soared to his state’s delegation at the First and Second Continental Congress. It is made even more astounding by the fact that he is the only Founding Father with roots in New Sweden. While his political activities and civic service are well-documented, one wonders if his personal identity and family traditions left a lasting impact.

New Sweden was the Kingdom of Sweden’s attempt at a colonial settlement in the “New World.” Situated along the Delaware River, it was difficult to entice enough settlers to relocate to this wilderness. Despite its eventual absorption into the Dutch colony of New Netherland, its Swedes and Finns left behind an enduring legacy: the log cabin.

John Morton’s great-grandfather, under the original Swedish Mårtenson/Finnish Marttinen, emigrated to New Sweden in 1654. His father died the year John was born (1725), and his mother passed the same year that he died (1777).[1] Stepfather John Sketchley, a land surveyor of English extraction, appeared to have much influence on young John’s life and career. Morton married fellow Finnish heritage descendant Anne Justis and the couple had eight children who lived to adulthood. Researchers debated whether Morton knew of his Finnish roots, or if he self-identified as solely Swedish.[2] The historic high concentration of ethnic Finns alongside Swedes in the Delaware River Valley, combined with their efforts to preserve traditions, can lead one to believe that he had significant exposure to his roots – if not by his neighbors then through his wife.

By the time independence was on the table in Philadelphia, Morton had represented Pennsylvania as a native son for decades. As a descendant of New Sweden, however, his lineage predates William Penn’s control of the colony in 1681. Due to New Sweden’s brief dominance of the area, much of the original settlers’ foundations in the state have been claimed for Penn. The work of the Swedish Colonial Society and the American Swedish Museum revolves around educating on the existence and imprint of this culture on the American landscape.

Pennsylvania hotly debated the topic of independence from Great Britain. Morton saw both sides to the argument but cautiously supported disunion, believing that this division would “heal wounds” aggravated against his state by tyrannical rule. [3] Morton himself has been dubbed the “tie breaker,” due to his deciding vote – which carried his state and the rest of the Congress in favor of separation. His signatures lies under that of another famed Pennsylvanian: Benjamin Franklin.

As an American, Morton helped craft the Articles of Confederation. Sadly, he did not see his new nation come to fruition. Morton also has the accolade of being the first Founding Father to die. Passing from a lung condition (likely tuberculosis), his grave in Chester, Pennsylvania remained unmarked until an obelisk was installed by his descendants in 1845. No mention of his New Sweden roots are noted on the gravesite or monument.

While his name is etched into history as the anglicized John Morton, his familial homestead stands at Prospect Park, where a collection of New Sweden’s history has been carefully preserved. More strides have been made internationally, with Morton continuing to act as a cultural and diplomatic link between his ancestral lands and the United States. In Finland, the U.S. Embassy named a prominent room after John Morton, as well as the University of Turku with its John Morton Center for North American Studies.


[1] Edward Root, MD, “Commemoration of John Morton,” The Swedish Colonial Society Journal, vol. 5: 7, Fall 2017, https://colonialswedes.net/wp-content/uploads/2015/07/SCSJ_vol5_no7.pdf

[2] Auvo Kostianien, “The Genealogy of John Morton, the Signer: the DNA Results,” Migration-Muuttoliike Journal, vol. 47: 2, 2021, https://siirtolaisuus-migration.journal.fi/article/view/109443/64279

[3] Richard Stromberg, “John Morton,” Descendants of the Signers of the Declaration of Independence, 2007, https://www.dsdi1776.com/signer/john-morton/

Bio:

Madeline Feierstein is an Alexandria, VA historian and founder of the educational and historical consulting company Rooted in Place, LLC. A native of Washington, D.C., her work has been showcased across the Capital Region. Madeline is a writer for Emerging Civil War and the National Museum of Civil War Medicine. She leads significant projects to document the sick, injured, and imprisoned soldiers that passed through Civil War Alexandria. Madeline holds a Bachelor of Science in Criminology from George Mason University and a Master’s in American History from Southern New Hampshire University. Explore her research at www.madelinefeierstein.com.

The Breaking of Maryland’s “Old Line”

Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes guest historian Drew Palmer. A biography follows at the end of this post.

What does it look like when veteran soldiers do not want to fight anymore? When morale plummets and the realities of war take their toll on men. This is exactly what happened to 150 men in the Maryland Line of the Continental Army in the late summer of 1780.

The 1st Maryland Regiment holds the line at the Battle of Guilford Courthouse, March 15, 1781

The continental regiments of Maryland that made up what became known as the “Maryland Line” or “Old Line State” had earned the reputation as a reliable, brave, and disciplined fighting force as early as 1776 after their actions in the Battle of Long Island.1 At the Battle of Camden on August 16, 1780, the 1st and 2nd Maryland Brigades offered a stout defense as  Gen. Charles Cornwallis’s British force crashed into Continental soldiers from Maryland and Delaware. In the end, though, Maj. General Horatio Gates’s Southern Continental Army was completely routed from the field, with many of the Maryland Continental troops taken prisoner and held in the small village of Camden after the battle.2

The village of Camden, South Carolina, was an unpleasant place to be after the battle. The crowded conditions and brutal summer climate of South Carolina began to produce sickness amongst Cornwallis’s men and the American prisoners that were held in Camden. To prevent further sickness from spreading, Cornwallis decided to split the American prisoners held at Camden into divisions of around 150 men. These divisions were guarded by small detachments of the British army and marched from Camden to Charlestown, South Carolina.3  One detachment of the British 63rd Regiment of Foot escorted 150 prisoners of the 1st Maryland Brigade captured at Camden. The division made it to Thomas Sumter’s abandoned plantation at Great Savannah, about 60 miles northwest of Charleston. As the Maryland prisoners and their British guards halted for the night, militia commander Francis Marion received word from a Loyalist deserter that the Marylanders were nearby and decided to ambush the British element in hopes of freeing the Maryland prisoners.4 In the early morning hours of August 25, 1780, Marion’s militia attacked.

Continue reading “The Breaking of Maryland’s “Old Line””