Emerging Revolutionary War welcomes guest historian Mike Busovicki
If the majority of American Colonists were from the British Isles, Africa, and Germanic States, why was Spanish currency so prevalent and how did it get here?
L-R: Silver half of a 1-reales coin, silver 2 reales, copy of an 8-reales (“piece of eight”) and copy of 1/8 (piece, or “bit”) of the 8-reales. Like cutting a pizza in half and cutting the halves again twice, it was easier to create a system based on “eighths” rather than a decimal one. (Photo by Mike Busovicki)
By the late 1400s, The Spanish had joined the kingdoms of Aragon and Castile through the marriage of Ferdinand and Isabela, wrested control of the Iberian Peninsula from the Islamic Moors and utilized the Catholic Church to enforce royal authority and justify brutal domestic and foreign policies.But these endeavors were expensive. Though successful in removing political opponents, it drove out or suppressed long standing medical, financial, and trade centers, especially in population hubs like Granada, Seville, and Toledo. Heavily in debt, the Spanish crown had to generate income from outside of Spain. Consolidating wealth and power into the hands of a few was expedient, but it excluded large segments of the population and resulted in domestic economic stagnation.
Copies of 4-Escudo coins. Escudo, meaning shield, referred to the coat of arms that validated coins. New world mines accounted for over 80% of the world’s silver and 70% of the world’s gold – it also funded conquest by the Ming, Qing, Mugul, Ottoman, and Safavid empires. (Photo by Mike Busovicki)
While French intervention, British politics, and German mercenaries constitute most discussions regarding European power during the Revolution, centuries of Spanish control of vast areas cannot be overstated.By courtesy of Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., copyright 2016; used with permission.
“Without the character of Samuel Adams, the true history of the American Revolution can never be written,” John Adams once said of his cousin.
Well, someone better tell the United States Postal Service!
On April 10, the USPS issued a new set of stamps, “Figures of the American Revolution,” as part of its ongoing initiative to commemorate America’s 250th birthday. (See the USPS’s full press release below.) The set features 25 of the most important people related to the American Founding.
Sam Adams, apparently, isn’t one of them.
Never mind Sam’s instrumental role as an organizer in Boston’s Sons of Liberty or his role in managing public opinion. Never mind the Committees of Correspondence he helped organize throughout Massachusetts and across the colonies. Never mind his masterful use of propaganda to implant events like the Boston Massacre or the Boston Tea Party in American imagination—let alone the effective use of those events as tools of protest. Never mind the central leadership role he played at the First Continental Congress. Never mind Boston’s centrality in the start of open hostilities with Great Britain.
And yet, somehow, Sam didn’t leave enough of a stamp on the American Revolution!
In fairness to the Postal Service, a collection like the Figures of the American Revolution is like a retrospective “greatest hits” collection from a band: decisions have to be made about what gets included and what gets left off.
So, if you were to add Sam Adams to the collection, who’s currently on the sheet that you would remove to make room for him?
The figures appear in alphabetical order. Here’s the full list:
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, Alex Payne.
Alex is a junior Theology and Franciscan Studies and History double-major from Shinglehouse, PA, with a minor in classics.
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Sailor’s ballads in the late 17th and early 18th centuries communicated revolutionary sentiment that influenced the ideological origins of the American Revolution. Sailors’ ballads from revolutionary Atlantic history show how labor culture intersected with protest, emerging revolutionary sentiment, and identity formation. These protest and revolutionary ballads are what I refer to as “records of thought” of oppressed people. By “records of thought,” I mean oral traditions in the form of songs sung by people who were religiously and civilly oppressed that have been written down and transmitted through centuries.
The starting point of the record of thought of oppressed people is with the “Diggers’ Song” attributed to Gerard Winstanley. Winstanley was the leader of the Diggers, similar to but separate from the Leveller movement that emerged during the English Civil Wars between 1641–1659. The Diggers, known to history as radical land reformists, were led by Winstanley. They believed in an agrarian socialism and would “dig up” the land that was unjustly and inhumanly taken from the English commoners. The oppression they endured is found in the record of thought appropriately named “The Diggers’ Song.” This ballad was sung on St. George’s Hill in Surrey around 1649 by 20–30 men. It reads:
Dr. Richard Bell, historian and professor of history at the University of Maryland, will discuss his new book, “The American Revolution and the Fate of the World.” Published by Penguin Random House, this “revelatory and enthralling book, award-winning historian Richard Bell reveals the full breadth and depth of America’s founding event. The American Revolution was not only the colonies’ triumphant liberation from the rule of an overbearing England; it was also a cataclysm that pulled in participants from around the globe and threw the entire world order into chaos.”
We look forward to you tuning in to this Sunday evening, 7 pm EDT on our Facebook page for this discussion with Dr. Bell!
Penobscot Expedition by Dominic Serres, circa 1779. (Wikimedia Commons). Warren met her end in this American defeat.
On May 15, 1776, the Continental Navy frigate Warren-32 slid down the ways into the Providence River, the first purpose-built American frigate to taste water. The local committee came up with fifty dollars to pay musicians and throw a party for the men who had worked on her. Eight more followed her in the next few weeks: Providence-28 (Providence) on May 18, Raleigh-32 (Portsmouth) on May 21, Boston-24 (Newburyport) on June 3, Hancock-32 (Newburyport) in July, Delaware-24 and Randolph-32 (Philadelphia) a few weeks later, Virginia-28 (Baltimore) in August, and Trumbull-28 (Chatham) in September.[i] They were far from finished. Rigging, masts, equipment, guns, and crews were all still necessary to complete them.
The colonies already had a navy, just back from a successful, if ill-considered, raid on the Bahamas, where it had seized cannon, shot, and other war materiel already making its way into the armed forces of the rebelling colonies. But, the ships were all converted civilian vessels turned into ad hoc navy ships. Some performed well; others were ill-suited to combat. But, these new ships were designed for war, making May 15 a seminal moment in the history of the Continental Navy. Thirteen colonies, which hadn’t declared their independence, were creating capabilities designed to take the fight to the mother country on the sea, where she was strongest.
The Continental Congress approved the creation of this second generation of naval vessels on December 13, 1775 after reviewing the report of a committee created specifically for the purpose. It intended to build 13 ships: five of 32 guns, five of 28, and three of 24. Congress was precise in the amount to be paid for these ships: 866,666 and 2/3 dollars for all of them, roughly 66,666 and 2/3 dollars each. Due to the limitations of the American shipbuilding industry—no yard was large or capable enough to handle the entire order in a timely fashion—the Congress spread construction across seven colonies. It also helped firm up political support for financing the fleet, a practice still evident today. Each colony was to provide the materials for the hull and masts assigned to it, but Congress undertook to provide the canvas and gunpowder.[i]
Captain Esek Hopkins, Commander in Chief of the Continental Navy, transferred his flag to Warren in December 1776, an indicator that he was ready to go to sea. Still, he struggled with recruitment and the Royal Navy blockading Narraganset Bay. Hopkins might be ready, but Warren wasn’t. It was more than a year before she finally reached open water in March 1778. Warren took two prizes, but entered Boston harbor on March 23 after only two weeks at sea. She sortied briefly again in the fall, and, a third time in company with two other vessels. On this cruise, in the spring of 1779, she took seven of nine ships in a British convoy. She put to sea a fourth time in July 1779 under the command of Captain Dudley Saltonstall, who was also leading an impressive American battle fleet to Penobscot Bay to eject a new British lodgment on the Bagaduce Peninsula. The Penobscot expedition was the largest American amphibious operation of the war. Unfortunately, the campaign against the British unraveled within days of reacing the peninsula. It wasn’t long before a superior British squadron arrived. The American ships fled deeper into the bay. Trapped eventually, their crews set them afire to keep them from falling into British hands. It was the worst American naval defeat of the war and a sad ending for a frigate that had begun life with such promise in May, 1776.[1]
[i] “Journal of the Continental Congress, December 13, 1775,” William Bell Clark, ed., Naval Documents of the American Revolution, Volume 3 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1967), 90.
[i] Nathan Miller, Sea of Glory: A Naval History of the American Revolution (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1974), 209-210. The celebration in Providence was held on May 18 after the Providence’s hull joined the Warren in the river.
A Chart of the Delaware Bay and River, 1776 (LOC).
While the Americans recovered their strength and restocked their vessels upstream after the fighting on May 8, Hamond and his sailors worked to refloat the Roebuck. With a higher tide and deeper water sometime between 2 and 4 am, Roebuck finally floated free.[i] When the sun rose on Thursday the 9th fog blanketed the river and neither side could see one another. The American ships were already on the move, though, falling back down the river under a light breeze and oars to reengage the British vessels, probably in the hope that Roebuck was still grounded.[ii] In the fog, though, they paused to wait.
The mist finally burned off enough to see and around 8 o’clock that morning, Wallace and Liverpool spied the American galleys some two miles upriver.[iii] Hamond made the signal to weigh anchor and pursue them upstream. Even at full sail, though, the British couldn’t catch the Americans as “they industriously plied their Oars and Sails to avoid us.”[iv] They eventually found a point of land on the western shore Hamond could not reach, particularly in the face of an ebbing tide. Both sides anchored and waited. The prospect of continuing to advance up the Delaware, which grew ever narrower and more shallow did not appeal to Hamond. He and Captain Bellew held a quick conference and decided to drop back down the river, hoping to draw the galleys after them toward water more favorable to the British.
Around 2 pm, Hamond detected the Americans getting underway. So, Roebuck and Liverpool raised their anchors and clapped on more sail, still hoping to entice them to chase the British into deeper water. The small squadrons began exchanging long range fire around 4 pm, lasting through afternoon all while slowly moving down the Delaware. The cannon were heavy enough to be heard in Philadelphia.[v] The winds were generally moderate, but an occasional shower passed through.[vi] As they had through most of the day, the Americans stuck to the shallows closer to shore. Throughout, the two sides kept their distance. The Americans were satisfied chasing the British away and Hamond could not tempt them into a close-in fight. Finally, with darkness deepening, the firing ceased. The Americans preferred not to descend below New Castle.
Action off Mud Fort by William Elliott circa 1787 (Wikimedia Commons). This image portrays a subsequent battle in the Delaware in the Autumn of 1777, during the naval campaign to open the Delaware River. Roebuck was a major combatant in those engagements as well.
The beginning of May 1776 found Captain Andrew Snape Hamond of the Royal Navy’s Roebuck, a fifth rate of forty-four guns, operating off the Delaware capes. His job was to control traffic in and out of the bay and maintain a de facto British blockade while seizing any supplies that might be of use to the rebel Americans and instead secure them for British forces. On Saturday, May 4, Hamond began moving up the bay and into the Delaware river in company with Liverpool, 28 guns, the brig Betsey and several tenders. He was short of water and needed to refill empty casks at a fresh source. It was also an opportunity to take a look at rebel defenses on the critical waterway.[i] The British enjoyed only light winds and cloudy skies as they sailed upstream for the next two days, periodically anchoring and frequently taking soundings to avoid the muddy shallows. Operating at some distance, on May 6 the Liverpool spotted a grounded sloop and sent a boat to recover it. But, it was stuck fast and Captain Henry Bellew’s crew burned the ship instead.[ii]
Between 6 and 7 am on Tuesday, May 7, Hamond signaled his little squadron to raise anchor and continue moving up the Delaware River in the direction of Wilmington. Off New Castle, they spied an armed schooner and several boats and gave chase in the afternoon, just as the weather broke and began pelting the ships in strong winds and heavy rain. The schooner ran for the shallows under fire from the British ships. She grounded and Hamond sent boats to seize her around 3 pm. Unable to refloat her, they settled on taking off her cargo: bread and flour.[iii] At the end of a productive day, around 7 pm, Hamond anchored his ships near the Christina River and Wilmington.
Ashore, word spread quickly of Roebuck’s advance up the river. At Dover on May 6, Colonel John Haslet of the Delaware Regiment received word that the British were off Port Penn in the area of Reedy’s Island and the local militia expected an attack. The British were already upstream from Haslet. As Roebuck alternately sailed and anchored, the troops ashore had time to assemble, although they were often chasing dated intelligence about the British position. One hundred thirty men assembled in Cantwells Bridge about 4 am on the 7th, but by then Roebuck had already moved up to New Castle.[iv] Word of the British anchoring off New Castle reached Philadelphia in the afternoon, about the same time that American gondolas at Fort Island left to drop down the river and attack the British at their anchorage. Robert Morris, Vice President of the Continental Congress Marine Committee, ordered Continental Navy Captain John Barry to assemble as many Continental Navy crew as possible and dispatch them to the Pennsylvania ship Reprisal and a floating battery, which were both also to drop down the river and join in the attack on the British.[v] Men from Captain Proctor’s Company of Artillery in the fort even joined the slapdash crews, serving aboard the American vessel Hornet.[vi] It was an all hands moment for Philadelphia’s naval defenders.
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.
For weeks, colleagues in the Continental Congress had been asking John Adams for advice. If the colonies were to break away from Great Britain and established governments of their own, what should those governments look like?
The first request came from North Carolinians William Hooper and John Penn in late March. The duo had been recalled from Philadelphia so they could join in conversations about a new government for their home state. Before departing, they each asked Adams for his thoughts. Adams “wrote with his own Hand, a Sketch,” and gave copies to both delegates.[1] The ensuing discussions in North Carolina led to the April 12, 1776 passage of the Halifax Resolves, which authorized the colony’s Congressional delegation to vote in favor of independence—the first colony to formally grant such authorization.
Next came a request from George Wythe of Virginia and then one from John Dickinson Sergeant of New Jersey. Finally, Richard Henry Lee of Virginia asked for a copy.
Adams had already given the topic considerable thought. He had touched on it in early 1775 in a series of newspaper articles that he’d signed “Novanglus,” and during a trip home in late 1775, he had addressed it for the Massachusetts colonial assembly. “The Happiness of the People is the sole End of Government, so the Consent of the People is the only Foundation of it,” he had written.[2] “Happiness,” in Adams’s vocabulary, meant “ease, comfort, security.”[3]
As Adams sketched out his ideas for his colleagues, he took the same approach, and each letter allowed him to develop and refine his ideas even further. By the time he wrote out his thoughts for Wythe, those ideas had become so clear and well articulated that the impressed Lee asked if he could have the letter published. Adams agreed. Using Wythe’s letter as the basis, Lee threw it into shape and “put it under the Types.”[4]
Emerging Revolutionary War is pleased to partner with the Adams Memorial Foundation to share some reading about America’s “Founding Family.” The Foundation holds a monthly book club, hosted by Board President Jackie Cushman. Over the next few days, in special arrangement with the Adams Memorial Foundation, ERW will share links to the first few conversations from that book club.
We’ll kick things off with a conversation between Jackie and historian John L. Smith, Jr., about his book The Unexpected Abigail Adams: A Woman ‘Not Apt to be Intimidated’ (Westholme, 2024).
Emerging Revolutionary War Era 