[This paper was written during the spring semester of 2006. It was largely meant to be a refutation to the idea that the Founding Fathers were not willing to risk their own well being, implied by Howard Zinn in his People's History of the United States. His argument is that the Founding Fathers did not lead a true "revolution" because they only sought political independence, not a true shaking up of society with the socialist dream of removing the rich and giving to the poor. While this is true, the Founding Fathers made incredible sacrifices for the sake of this nation, sacrifices they knew they would be making at the onset of the conflict. That they did not create a French style revolution here is actually a testament to their wisdom, not their greed.]
The Continental Congress is renowned by historians and political scientists for its ability to bring the thirteen colonies successfully through the American Revolution. As a political body, this Congress faced innumerable political, economic, and military challenges that academics still marvel over to this day. In the shadow of these challenges the Congress faced as a body are the personal hardships and sacrifices made by many members of the Congress as individuals. It is important that historians understand that the Founding Fathers were not only fathers of our nation but were fathers of their own children, real flesh and blood instead of almost mythical legends. It is too easy for the modern historian to imagine men like Samuel Adams, John Jay, and Richard Lee as being modern politicians who more often than not gain by being in office. To understand the personal losses of the Continental Congressmen for the cause of American Independence helps us to better understand the true nature of the challenge laid before these intrepid men.
At the signing of the Declaration of Independence, Benjamin Franklin is commonly believed to have quipped “Gentlemen, we must now all hang together, or we shall most assuredly hang separately.” Though possibly apocryphal, Franklin’s words have been commonly quoted to portray the significant threat each member of Congress shouldered by ascribing his name to the Declaration. High Treason carries the punishment of death, a fact that every signer must have been acutely aware of as Charles I, the King of England himself, had been beheaded on charges of treason in 1649, barely 125 years prior to American independence. Thomas Jefferson famously closed the Declaration with an oath by the members of the Congress that for the sake of independence “we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.” This was not merely a perfunctory statement.
Colonial Politics And Politicians
The Continental Congressmen lived in an era scarcely imaginable to modern Americans. These differences were far from trivial. Communication over distances was most commonly done by letters, a slow means that also limited the amount of information that could be conveyed. Traveling was slow and often dangerous, especially as the fastest means of transportation was by boat along the North Atlantic. These transportation and communication problems plagued both sides during the American Revolution, but were particularly problematic for the colonials as they did not possess a centralized government to counteract these limitations.
The similarities and difference between the members of the Continental Congress and modern politicians in Western democracies is important to establish and understand. Like modern politicians, the Founding Fathers generally came from wealthy families (we have our Bush’s and Kennedy’s, while they had their Adams’ and Lee’s). Politicians from both eras generally came from a professional field of work before entering politics. Of the 342 men who served with the Continental Congress during the war years (1775-1783), 151 were lawyers, 53 were merchants, and 27 were physicians. The political world of both eras can claim a large number of graduates from the nation’s top universities (in the Continental Congress, 31 graduated from Princeton, 26 from Harvard, and 24 from Yale, all during an era when most colonials never stepped foot inside a purely academic building). The Founding Fathers were generally well educated, well read, and upper class.
There are significant differences between the members of the Continental Congress and our politicians today. Women were never considered to be representatives for the colonies in the Congress, nor anyone who was not northern European. Of the 342 men who served in the Congress, sixty eight were planters, farmers, and landed property owners. Many of these representatives were slave owners whose wealth depended upon being able to maintain extensive areas of farmland. The Southern colonies’ economic dependence upon slavery would help spark a form of sectionalism that we do not have in our modern nation. Early signs of this sectionalism can be seen in the debates of the Continental Congress over the issue of taxation, and region a delegate represented clearly played a role in whether that delegate would vote to support or weaken slavery.
Our modern assumptions about life and government make understanding the situation of the Founding Fathers very difficult. One such assumption a citizen who was born and raised in the United States would have is that these early politicians were working within a well defined, time tested model of national government. Such a citizen would need a very vivid imagination to be able to put him or herself into the Founding Father’s predicament. The Continental Congress was merely an advisory board and had no legal power. In fact, the thirteen colonies would fight the bulk of the war without a national government that had explicitly granted powers as the Articles of Confederation (the constitution of this nation’s first national government) would not be in force until March 1, 1781, a mere eight months before General Washington’s victory over Lord Cornwallis in the Siege of Yorktown.
The lack of a central government with the authority necessary to command the men and resources of the thirteen colonies in an effective manner was a critical problem for the colonial bid for independence. A major source of headache for both American civil and military leaders was a chronic shortage of currency. Nearly everything a military could conceivably need to be successful is purchased with money. Gunpowder, guns, cannon, ships, food, and men to fight are all procured by funds provided by the government, and the Continental Congress’s lack of currency assured that the Continental Army and Navy would always be shortchanged on the materials and men they needed. Governments procure money by three means: taxation, foreign loans, and fiat money (merely printing off new currency bills without having the necessary specie to back up its worth).
Congress could not tax the colonies for many reasons. The war itself was in many ways a war against a far away government’s attempt to tax its citizens, and the Continental Congress could not afford to lose support by diminishing the moral difference between itself and Parliament. The Continental Congress also lacked the political authority to directly tax the citizens of each colony. This is just as well, as the Congress did not have a bureaucracy comparable to our modern Internal Revenue Service that could handle the process of taxing potentially millions of citizens. Foreign loans were also not an option early on as neither France nor Spain would consider tangling with the British military unless they were fairly certain of victory. The colonies would need to prove their viability on the battlefield before foreign aid would appear.
With the two best options for financing the war off the table early on, the Congress was forced to resort to creating currency by fiat. This came in the form of paper money, called the Continental Dollar, which was backed by specie that would be repaid through taxation at some point in the future. Fiat money is extremely unstable because it was a financial gamble. If the colonies lost the war, the Continental Dollar becomes more worthless than the paper it was printed upon. Investors quickly lost trust in the Continental as the war dragged on, defeats mounted, and the Congress was forced to defer repayment, creating a 10000% inflation rate between 1776 and 1781.
Defeats devalued the dollar, which in turn lost its value to potential recruits, creating manpower shortages that threatened future defeats. The Continental Congress had an incredibly difficult time recruiting new members into the army. War, then as now, means leaving behind one’s family and occupation, and there is no certainty that a soldier will return to either when the war finally concludes. This is a very risky proposition, not least of all in terms of economics. Congress desperately needed some form of compensation for its soldiers in order to both promote recruitment and stem desertion rates. Soldiers threatened to mutiny in May, 1780, after months of not receiving pay and the equally poor prospect of being paid in nearly worthless Continental Dollars. The decentralized political system of the colonies was mirrored by the military, creating further problems for recruitment in the Continental Army.
Worse yet, the lack of hard currency severely hampered efforts to secure adequate provisions for the armies in the field. This problem nearly broke General Washington’s force at Valley Forge. The Continental Army went days without bread or meat and stripped bare the surrounding counties for provisions. Writing to Congress, Washington reported:
I am convinced, beyond a doubt that unless some great and capital change suddenly takes place in that line, this Army must inevitably be reduced to one or other of these three things. Starve, dissolve, or disperse, in order to obtain subsistence in the best manner they can; rest assured Sir this is not an exaggerated picture.
The Continental Congress found itself in a most precarious position. The population surrounding Valley Forge was already disgruntled about having their livelihood taken away to support the army (and being paid in Colonial Dollars). The alternative was to let Washington’s men continue starving and risk having the entire army mutiny. Ultimately, Congress would again use coercion against the local population, enough to allow the Army to survive the winter of 1777-78.
In December 1776, over a year of fighting and a number of stinging defeats had created discontent against the war effort in the colonies. To counter this, Thomas Paine would write The American Crisis. The first of these pamphlets began with the famous statement “These are the times that try men’s souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot may, in this crisis, shrink from the service of his country; but he that stands it now deserves the love and thanks of man and woman.” Members of the Continental Congress knew all too well how daunting the challenge was before them. The problems they faced in organizing and operating a functional government and armed forces were enormous enough on their own. To make matters worse, they faced Great Britain, what was arguably the most powerful nation on the planet. King George III and Parliament were not ready to tolerate mutiny, and to quell the rebellion Britain sent forth 34,000 soldiers to North America, the largest expeditionary force that nation had sent to any colony up to that point in time.
These problems, and Congress’s ability to eventually overcome them, have made legends of these men. Considering the Herculean effort it required to bring the thirteen colonies through to victory, it is easy to forget that the Founding Fathers had important and very pressing concerns other than preserving the nation. These concerns are common to almost every human being, which can make them appear trivial historically. However, these common concerns are also those which are generally closest to our hearts and play an important role in our decision making process. It was no less so for the Founding Fathers. These men made sacrifices of their families, reputations, and personal finances for their nation, but they made every effort to mitigate the losses and constantly worried over what was at stake.
Financial Problems Faced By Members Of The Continental Congress
Men of wealth (with the talent, resources, and connections that come with them) are not generally prone to support rebellions. With wealth generally comes prestige, and with prestige, power. Those in the highest positions in society seldom have an inclination to tear down their society. Revolutions are very risky propositions. Victory is never assured, and this was especially true during the American Revolution as the colonies faced Great Britain, the superpower of the 18th Century. Even if independence is won, the aftermath can be even worse. History is full of revolutions won on the battlefield and lost in the aftermath, whether the state falls into civil war like Ireland after 1922, into tyranny akin to Spain in 1936, or into basic anarchy reminiscent of many African states after their overthrow of European colonialism. Those who have an elevated position in society have a strong preference towards political stability and are hence reluctant to support revolution.
Robert Livingston of Kingston, New York was an excellent example of this sort of man. Livingston was a fourth generation member of this illustrious colonial family that had dominated the political and economic spheres in the Hudson Valley since the late Seventeenth Century. Prior to the Revolution, the Livingstons were generally considered to be politically moderate, attempting to influence Parliament to keep property taxes low but always keeping a weary eye on the lower social orders at home as well. Democracy, the rule of the people, was not a philosophy the Livingstons openly supported.
In the years leading up to the Declaration of Independence, it is not surprising that Robert Livingston was prominent among those who called for caution regarding the colony’s relations with Great Britain. Elected as a representative of New York in the Continental Congress in early 1775, Livingston represented an area still very loyal to the Crown. His trust of the common people (and in particular his own farm’s tenants) was not particularly strong, especially after a tenant revolt on his lands in 1766. But at the same time, Livingston’s trust of Parliament was weakening. Taxes on foreign trade he could tolerate; direct taxes on matters like property he considered to be beyond the right of Parliament. Acts like the Quebec Act of 1774, a land act that moved property from the Ohio region into Canada’s jurisdiction, frightened land owners like Livingston.
Livingston’s conversion to the rebellion was a slow and agonizing one. For nearly a year after the first shots were fired at Lexington and Concord, he held out hope that reconciliation was possible and the preferable option to war. The Prohibitory Bill, passed by Parliament on December 22, 1775, ended this hope, as London made it very clear that British troops would be sent to quell the rebellion. In effect, it declared that the colonials had two options: unconditional obedience to the crown or to be crushed under the weight of the British military. This ultimatum would place Livingston firmly in the hands of the colonials, though his fear of political and social turmoil made him very reluctant to call for outright independence. In an odd twist of fate, however, Robert Livingston was chosen as a member of the committee of five to draw up the Declaration of Independence, though his role was marginal at best.
The British military kept its promise to attempt to crush the rebellion by force, and Robert Livingston’s fear of financial distress as a result of the war would be realized not long after the signing of the Declaration (oddly enough, though Robert Livingston was on the committee to create that Declaration, he was not present to sign it; his cousin, Philip, represented the Livingston family in declaring independence). Though New York would join the other colonies in declaring themselves free from British rule, much of the Hudson Valley region remained in the Loyalist camp, and Livingston’s family and home was right in enemy territory. Patriots were occasionally shot at and a plot was formed to kidnap Robert Livingston, a plot which was only discovered the day it was intended to be carried out. A year later, in October 1777, British General John Vaughan lead an expeditionary force up the Hudson River to Kingston. Vaughan ordered that Livingston’s mansion be burnt to the ground (though he did allow the family to leave). Livingston’s reaction was stoic; he originally intended to keep the property as Vaughan left it, but later decided to give much of the property to the citizens of Kingston. Gouverneur Morris wrote to Livingston soon after and suggested the following inscription be used for the ruined property:
To perpetuate the Pleasure he received from British
Barbarity this Pillar is erected by
Robert R. Livingston
Who would have blushed to be exempted
From the calamities of his country.
The Revolution would be the beginning of the end of the dominance of the Livingston family in New York. Robert Livingston was now homeless and short on hard currency. When he was offered a position as a diplomat to France in 1779, Livingston refused out of fear that the mission would bankrupt him. By 1780, he was selling his horses just to be able to afford his taxes. In asking Governor Clinton to reduce his tax assessment, Livingston closed his letter by mentioning “I need not add to this the unremitting endeavors I have exercised to promote the freedom & happiness of my country or the heavy losses I have sustained by the ravages of the enemy.”
The case of Robert Livingston was not unique during the American Revolution. A major cause of personal concern for all delegates (and nearly every businessman in the colonies) was the hyperinflation of the Continental Dollar. One victim of this hyperinflation was James Madison, who first entered the Congress in 1780 after five years of war. During his first six months in office, Madison incurred over $30,000 worth of expenses, including a very hefty board bill of $21,373. Madison’s bill far exceeded the compensation paid by the commonwealth of Virginia, which forced Madison to go deep into debt. Other delegates, such as Dr. John Witherspoon, would have to take extensive leaves of absence because they no longer had the funds to serve in the Congress. Some, like Henry Laurens of South Carolina, would have the strange misfortune of losing thousands of dollars to both Great Britain and the United States. To London he lost over a thousand pounds sterling worth of slaves; in 1792, Laurens was still seeking repayment from Congress for ten thousand bushels of rice he provided to the Continental Army in 1777. For many delegates, the war was a financial disaster.
A major concern for the members of the Continental Congress was for the welfare of their families. Though a few lucky Pennsylvanian representatives were fortunate enough that the Congress met in Philadelphia for most of the war, most representatives had to travel hundreds of miles in an era when a trip of ten miles by land could easily take a full day. These men dearly missed their wives, daughters, sons, and other family members, and the feeling was almost always reciprocated. Their concerns would be greatly exacerbated by news of illness or encroachment by the armed forces of Great Britain, or even by extended periods without communication.
The letters of John Jay, President of the Continental Congress between the years 1778-79 and later famed Federalist author and diplomat, reveal Jay’s great concern for his own family and that of other members in the Congress. On May 29th, 1776, Jay wrote a letter to Robert Livingston, explaining his disappointment over his upcoming “solitary ride to Philadelphia” to join the Congress. Mrs. Sally Jay was to join her husband, but she had fallen ill and decided against taking the trip on the advice of one Dr. Bard. His wife’s illness was of great concern to Jay and was only compounded by the fact that his parents (for whom he had the greatest respect) were ill at the same time. Jay was certainly not self centered, however; in the same letter, he informs Livingston that James Duane would be leaving the Congress for a period of time to visit his home, “and considering how long he has been absent from his family, I think him entitled to that indulgence.” These words were penned a year into the war; little did anyone realize that peace would be seven long, bloody years into the future.
Sally Jay’s illness soon passed on, but the separation of husband and wife continued. John’s affection for his wife appears never to have wavered, but neither did it cloud his judgment. In a beautifully touching letter to his wife in 1777, Jay wrote:
When I consider that one of the reasons assigned for the creation of woman was, “that it is not good for man to be alone,” I find my present situation condemned, not only by my own feelings,but by divine authority. I assure you, I am tired of it; and, were there not many reasons to conjecture that the enemy will bend their course this way, we should not remain much longer separated; but, as it would be cruel to expose you to scenes of anxiety and distress, I must endeavor to bear your absence at least with patience, and to please myself with the expectation of shortly seeing the return of those happy days…”
Jay would go on to explain that it would be inappropriate for him to leave his post, especially as Pennsylvania had become the center of the enemy’s activities.
Those happy days the lovers longed for would return, but only after incredible hardship. Communication between husband and wife had to be decent and bare of any information useful to the British, as it was not unusual for letters to be intercepted. Loss of letters was an inconvenience; the loss of his newborn daughter Susan in 1780 was a tragedy that could only be compounded by the fact that John was in Philadelphia at the time, leaving Sally to grieve alone. Only a few months later, in April 1781, John’s parents were robbed (though not physically harmed). This robbery produced an interesting proposal from John, that “a tax upon avoidable pleasures, amusements, and luxuries, will produce a little fund that may and shall be useful to you [his father, Peter Jay].” This tax was not upon others but upon him, as Jay would forgo any unnecessary pleasures in order to help out his parents (who, he mentions, have suffered enough from ‘the enemy, and the depreciation of the paper money…”).
The desire to see family members (and in particular wives) again was a common complaint among the letters of Continental Congressmen. Samuel Adams reported to his wife in July, 1778, that a “Mr. H” (probably John Hancock) had “obtaind the Leave of Absence and is going home on Account of his ill State of Health & the Circumstances of his Family. He tells me his Wife is dangerously ill.” “Mr. H” was fortunate in that he had enough contact with his wife to know she was ill; Mrs. Betsy Adams was less open in revealing her illnesses. In September, 1778, Sam wrote a letter to his daughter Hannah Adams, letting her know that he had received his daughter’s letter concerning Betsy’s illness. Betsy was loath to inform her husband of her sickness and tried to convince her daughter to convey the best possible message to Sam. Of course, this was all out of love, and Sam understood that his wife was “exceedingly loth to give me the least Pain.”
Like many representatives in the Congress (but quite unlike our own), Samuel Adams desired to leave public life as quickly as humanly possible without abandoning his duty to his nation. There were many causes for this desire to leave politics, and a wife who desired her husband home was certainly not least among them. Betsy Adams clearly let her intentions be known to Sam, who wrote to his wife “Your wish that I would resign the Office of Secretary perfectly coincides with my own Inclination. I never sought for that or any other Place. Indeed I never was pleased with it, for Reasons which you are not unacquainted with.” Though it is unlikely Betsy was forceful in making this suggestion, her desires were clear.
Samuel Adams, in December 1778, wrote to Betsy informing her that he had been reappointed as a delegate to the Continental Congress for 1779, and that while he was honored by the people’s confidence and would fulfill his duty faithfully, he hopes that by April he will be relieved of the position so that he may return to his family. However, this was not meant to be. By March 1779, Adams had spent five years in the service of his nation and out of the presence of his family in Boston, still pining away for “the Pleasures of domestick Life.” On the same day, Adams confided to James Warren that he “sincerely hoped” that the General Assembly of Massachusetts would appoint a replacement delegate in the near future. His own personal health is cited as a reason for replacement, and Adams still clung to the idea of being home by May. Neither health nor home would come to him quickly, as by April 29th Adams was writing to John Pitts from Philadelphia, apologizing for not writing recently due to his illness. And well over a year later, in November 1780, Sam in Philadelphia would be writing to Betsy in Boston making sure his wife had adequate supplies of firewood for the upcoming winter.
John Adams, second cousin of Samuel Adams, and his wife Abigail also experienced difficulty with their long separation. Adams was a member of the Congress since its inception in 1774, but neither John nor Abigail ever became accustomed to being apart from one another. Husband and wife constantly worried about the safety and well being of one another, and not without reason. Representative Adams’ hectic lifestyle while in Philadelphia (the result of playing a prominent role in keeping the American government in order) took a toll on his health, as well as the health of many other representatives. As the war progressed, their financial situation became very grim, mostly because of the devaluation of the Continental Dollar, which Abigail feared “will soon be as useless as blank paper.”
Lack of recognition by the Continental Congress by not receiving a extension on his foreign appointment to France put Adams into a mild depression during the early months of 1779. This led him to neglect communicating with his wife, who quickly noticed to decline of letters from her husband (between April and September of that year, she received a mere two letters from John). When she chided her husband about this, Adams responded by writing four letters to his wife; the first three he burned for being too angry, too sad, or too cheerful. The fourth letter reminded his wife of his “unalterable tenderness of heart” but begged that she “never reproach me again with not writing or with writing scrips. Your wounds are too deep.”
This long period of separation (and in particular while Adams was in Paris) of husband and wife nearly exhausted Abigail’s patience. To help herself deal with the loneliness, she confided her feelings with a close friend, James Lovell. Lovell, however, was not interested in merely being Abigail’s friend. He was another representative of Massachusetts from Boston, but though he was married with children, he had several love affairs with the women of Philadelphia. Lovell wrote letters to Abigail, calling her “Portia” (which was her husband’s pet name for her) and putting notions into her head that perhaps her husband was not being faithful while abroad. Abigail enjoyed the attention she received from Lovell, but she remained faithful to her husband.
Though separated from their wives, who resided in British occupied Boston, Sam and John Adams was fortunate in that the enemy treated the city respectfully. Illness was always a concern, but mistreatment by the British never seems to have been an issue. In this respect, the Adams were fortunate. The destruction of homes and property by the British created great amounts of stress and worry for those Congressmen unfortunate enough to fall victim to such destructive acts. Men like Robert Livingston were forced to relocate their families afterwards, often weakening their commitment to political duties.
Others were even more unfortunate in that they or their loved ones fell into the hands of British authorities. Robert Stockton of New Jersey has the odious honor of being the only signer of the Declaration of Independence to recant and break the famed sacred vow. Captured on November 30, 1776, only a few months after he signed the Declaration, Stockton was treated as a common criminal. Months passed by with the Continental Congress utterly bewildered by the disappearance of one of their own. His fate became clear in March, 1777, as Stockton left prison after taking an oath of allegiance to the King. It is uncertain what convinced Stockton to recant. Possible reasons include physical abuse (Stockton did not recover his health fully for nearly three years) and the lack of success of the Continental Army may have convinced Stockton that the cause was doomed. Either way, he returned to discover his Princeton home vandalized by British soldiers.
Another Congressman to find himself an unwilling “guest” of British hospitality was Henry Laurens of South Carolina and former President of the Continental Congress. Laurens’ misadventure was preceded by the fall of Charleston and the capture of his son John (though, fortunately for both, he was quickly paroled). Less than a month later, on September 3, 1780, Henry Laurens, on a mission to France, was captured by the H.M.S. Vestal. Papers captured on Laurens would be used as proof by the British government of Holland’s alliance with the United States and would be used as the pretext for a declaration of war on the Netherlands.
Laurens would spend the next year in the infamous Tower of London. His treatment while incarcerated depended upon the warden but was generally fairly generous considering the prisoner was being held on charges of high treason. He was housed in the home of James Futerell when the latter was warden, but received very little medical attention during his year long stay in London. Unlike Stockton, Laurens’ never gave up the cause, writing letters to London papers decrying his imprisonment and the traitor Benedict Arnold. Negotiations between Edmund Burke and Benjamin Franklin nearly lead to an exchange of prisoners, the American congressman for British General Burgoyne, who was defeated at the Battle of Saratoga in 1777. By the time the exchange was carried out, however, the British would receive a different general, Lord Cornwallis, who had been defeated at Yorktown in 1781.
Francis Lewis of New York suffered the kidnapping of his wife by British officials in 1776. A British officer named Colonel Birch failed to find the rebel congressmen at his home, and, angered by the fact that he could not bring back such a prominent traitor to meet a traitor’s fate, took Mrs. Lewis into custody instead. Her imprisonment lasted a few months until she was returned after General Washington had two wives of British officers imprisoned as retribution. Lewis’ would receive a leave of absence from Congress three years later to tend to his wife, who was still recuperating from her imprisonment.
Revolts against the government are particularly divisive matters, as both the rebel and the loyalist will claim their cause is truly patriotic while the other is mislead or ungrateful. Unlike wars between nation states, where most citizens support whatever government they have lived under for most of their lives, civil strife requires individuals to judge whether their government is worthy of power or whether a new system needs to be created. Different individuals will come to different conclusions, and unfortunately those differences can run deeper than family ties. Benjamin Franklin’s relationship with his son William is a tragic example of the animosity caused within families by the American Revolution.
At the beginning of the Revolution, William Franklin was approximately forty five years old (neither William’s birthday nor his mother is known for certain). Despite being illegitimate, William found in Benjamin a providing father and close friend for the four and a half decades preceding the war. As a youth, William was provided with the best education possible during the period, having a personal tutor by the age of four. Benjamin pulled strings to have William educated in the field of law and helped his son earn positions in the British Empire’s postal system. William Franklin would go on to gain the position of royal governor of the colony of New Jersey, a fairly remarkable position for an illegitimate son in an era when such issues were still strong political hindrances.
Outside of politics, Benjamin’s affection for his son could not be doubted either. William was the only other soul who knew of his father’s famous kite experiment during its preparation. While Benjamin was in England for nearly a decade prior to the battle of Lexington, he provided a parental figure for William’s son, William Temple. Both were intensely loyal to the British Empire; Benjamin could “scarcely conceive of a King of better Dispositions” than George III, and William, who learned much of his understanding from his father, naturally followed in kind. This loyalty to King and Country would be the undoing of the ties between father and son.
Benjamin Franklin’s falling out with the Crown occurred in January, 1774, only a year before violence erupted between Britain and her American colonies. Disturbances like the Boston Tea Party in December of the previous year were proving embarrassing for the government, and Benjamin became the scapegoat. Franklin was accused of being the mastermind behind the uprisings in Massachusetts. Two days later, he was removed from a rather lucrative job in the empire’s Post Office. These insults turned a once dedicated subject of the government into a fierce supporter of American independence.
Though Benjamin’s loyalties had changed, his son’s remained firmly with the government in London. William suggested to his father that the loss of the job could be a blessing, as Benjamin could come home after a decade away from North America to spend his final days in quiet retirement. The son was certainly not about to resign his governorship and join what he saw to be a foolish rebellion against the most powerful state on the planet. When the war finally came, father and son found themselves to be very active participants on opposing sides (Benjamin would become one of the United States most celebrated diplomats; William would be imprisoned for two years by the colonial government for his support of King George III).
The end of the war would not bring reconciliation. William would never renounce his course of action, writing to his father after the war that “If I have been mistaken, I cannot help it. It was an error of judgment…and I verily believe that were the same circumstances to happen tomorrow, my conduct would be exactly similar to what it was heretofore.” Benjamin wrote back once, saying that he was glad his son had decided to start up dialogue between father and son again, but even here he could not help but reproach his son: “there are natural duties which proceed political ones, and cannot be extinguish’d by them. This is a disagreeable subject. I drop it.” Neither would ever speak to the other again after this exchange. Shortly before his death, Benjamin removed William from most of his inheritance, saying “The part he acted against me in the late War, which is of public Notoriety, will account of my leaving him no more of an Estate he endeavored to deprive me of.” The war had destroyed one of the greatest relationships this representative of Pennsylvania ever had during his life.
Social and Reputation Problems
The American Revolution was based on a fairly revolutionary concept: that the people, through representatives chosen by each section of the country, should govern the nation. A democratic republic has many celebrated advantages: it allows people to direct the course of the nation; government serves the people and not vice versa; rights, in particular the right to speech, are greatly enhanced. There are, however, important drawbacks, and the Continental Congress was not immune to these inherent flaws in representative government. As we have already seen, representative bodies lack the speed and efficiency of monarchies because of the need to debate and vote on every particular issue, whereas a king or queen only needs to convince themselves. Representative government also lacks the stability of monarchy, as new representatives are brought in more frequently than monarchs, creating more shifts in political and personal agendas.
Among the most destructive properties of deliberative bodies is the tendency to create factions among the representatives. James Madison, himself a member of the Continental Congress towards the end of the war, would as an author of the Federalist Papers dedicate an entire paper to the subject of factions. In Federalist 10, Madison wrote, “The instability, injustice, and confusion introduced into the public councils, have, in truth, been the mortal diseases under which popular governments have everywhere perished.” Though Madison may have held these ideas prior to his service in Philadelphia, there is no doubt that the political backstabbing and partisan bickering over sectional and personal feuds reinforced his apprehension of faction politics. These quarrels, much like today, involved a representative versus his constituents and conflicts between different representatives.
By the late 1770’s, two major factions had formed under the leaderships of Silas Deane and Arthur Lee. Though Deane was from Connecticut, most of his supporters came from the Middle and Southern colonies. These areas were distrustful of their allies in New England, whom they viewed to be too radical in their views. Deane’s faction was more willing to compromise with France over fisheries in order to gain French military support, especially as British forces marched through Georgia and South Carolina with impunity by 1779.
In opposition to the Deane faction was the Eastern faction headed by the Lee family of Virginia. Allied with the Adams’ of Massachusetts, this faction was strongly committed to preserving the purity of the Revolution. Compromise, whether of fisheries, territorial rights of Florida, or access to the Mississippi River, was not acceptable. France would enter the war on their terms or not at all (this attitude made the French ambassador to the colonies, Conrad Alexandre Gerard, a firm supporter of the Deane faction).
The differences and disagreements between these two parties went beyond politics. This was a very personal feud between the Lee’s and Silas Deane. Both Arthur Lee and Deane had been foreign emissaries in 1776, Deane to Holland and Lee to France. Deane was transferred to Paris to join Lee in 1777, and though he was a skilled diplomat (it was Deane who encouraged the Marquis de Lafayette to join the Continental Army with the rank of Major General), he held himself in very high regards and was not the most pleasant person to work around. Deane’s tendency toward professionalism and lack of personal chemistry with Lee led to the latter writing Congress urging Deane’s removal.
Deane was informed of his removal in March, 1778, but was not aware of the reason behind his recall. The letter he received from the Continental Congress said that the body should “at this critical juncture be well informed of the State of affairs in Europe,” which lead Deane to believe this was nothing more than a political report. Not realizing this was a permanent recall engineered by jealous congressmen, Deane hurried back to the United States without putting together a full account of his expenses while in Paris. This would prove to be a fatal mistake for his political career as the Lees and their faction were quick to exploit Deane’s inability to account for thousands of dollars of Congress’ funds.
The Lee family was relentless in their attacks on Silas Deane. Richard Henry Lee, brother of Arthur, was obsessed with the subject. In a letter to Deane, Richard Lee blasts Deane for having the unanimous support of all Tories in the United States, for trying to bankrupt Congress by hiring French engineers at exorbitant prices, and for using public funds to furnish two sailing cutters that should have been delivered to the United States but were instead used for Deane’s personal pleasure. In a letter to Henry Laurens, dated July 25, 1779, Lee writes “there cannot be so much depravity as to pay Mr. Silas Deane any money under the idea of defraying expenses, until he has settled a fair and full account—I will protest against it in all circumstances and in every situation.” A week later, again writing to Laurens, Lee wrote “…the public has, I greatly fear, suffered a deep wound, the healing of which will not, in my opinion, speedily take place, without a remedy…I mean a proper censure of Mr. Deane…” Even after the war, in November 1784, Lee wrote to Samuel Adams about conspiracies between Silas Deane and Benedict Arnold, especially since both were living in England after the war.
Deane’s career and reputation would never fully recover after this feud, but he was not the only politician to be tarred over this dispute. Members of both factions began to eye key positions (almost always foreign diplomatic missions) held by members of the opposing side. A notable near victim of this kind of political wrangling with no regard for talent was Benjamin Franklin, ambassador to France during the years 1776-83. In 1779, Franklin’s career was put in jeopardy by the Deane-Lee factional disputes. Though Franklin never openly joined either faction, his tendencies leaned towards Deane, mostly as Arthur Lee was jealous of Franklin’s celebrity status throughout the Western world.
This general neutrality did not save Franklin from a recall attempt. The factional dispute had become so great that a general recall vote was taken for various foreign ambassadors, among them Arthur Lee, William Lee, Ralph Izzard, and Benjamin Franklin. William Lee and Ralph Izzard both lost their commissions in this recall attempt, while Arthur Lee and Franklin survived this political challenge. Oddly enough, the only congressmen to vote for Franklin’s recall were solid Deane partisans. Many politicians, including Richard Henry Lee, understood that “the plan was to recall them all to make room,” meaning opportunities for ambitious congressmen who wanted foreign posts. Franklin escaped the attempt by individuals jealous of his foreign post only by the opposition party’s desire for stability to protect their own member’s foreign commissions.
As with all truly democratic systems, the political war between the Deane and Lee factions generated intense feelings among ordinary citizens concerned with politics. Public opinion, just as now, weighed heavily upon the representatives, and the people made sure their views were understood by their congressmen. Samuel Adams of Massachusetts, a staunch ally of the Lee’s, was informed of the public opinion by his communications with his wife Betsy and by friends. In the fall of 1778, Boston citizens were upset over the actions of French Admiral d’Estaing, whose failure to land a large number of French troops in Rhode Island lead to a tactical draw instead of victory at the battle of Rhode Island in August, 1778. Adams was more distressed by the uproar than the lack of military success, saying that “Even if his [d’Estaing] Conduct was thought to be blameworthy Prudence I think would dictate Silence to us.” The alliance with France was too shaky to be risking serious public disapproval of French military actions.
Adams had a love-hate relationship with the people of his native Boston. He always wished well upon the people of his nation and of his home, hoping that with the end of the war these people could live in peace and liberty. The people he served, however, were not always so gracious towards him. As in all times, politics produces calumnies, and Adams was not immune from them. Writing to James Warren in March, 1779, Adams mentions how many in his own home city would like to see the representative “recalled with Disgrace”, and how only a year previously these same people had spread rumors of Adams and General Washington being personal enemies so as to “render me odious to the People.” In a letter to Warren in September, 1778, Adams did his best to shrug off his critics:
I heartily despise those small Dealers in Politicks who are propagating idle Stories to injure me. Little Insects will be forever playing about the glimmering Light of a farthing Candle. It is out of their Power to disturb the peace of my Mind. You took too much Pains, my dear Friend, to stop their Clamor…I am however obligd to you for your kind Intention.
Even extraordinary men like those who served in the Continental Congress during the American Revolution cannot ignore their own well being indefinitely. As the financial and familial pressures became too much to handle, members would either ask to be removed from the Congress or just stop showing up altogether. Absenteeism would become a major problem for the Congress. In 1776, fifty six men representing the United States were present to sign the Declaration of Independence; less than a year later, only twenty five delegates representing the colonies would be present. Men of great talent, such as Patrick Henry and William Livingston, would choose to represent their people in state governments much closer to home instead of making the trip to Philadelphia. Richard Henry Lee, writing to his brother Arthur in February, 1779, would say that “my family suffers immensely by my absence, and I have now 7 children and another coming to take care of.” He would resign his commission shortly thereafter.
The declining number of representatives present would put more pressure on the men who did appear, men whose energies were already overtaxed coordinating a war by thirteen sovereign states with their ability of persuasion being their only tool. The health of these individuals was often very poor. Men like Silas Deane (before his mission to France and the subsequent political nightmare) would rise at six in the morning, go to bed at eleven, and spend nearly every moment in between working with the Congress or on one of its committees. Samuel Adams was constantly in ill health and many of his letters would begin with an apology for not having written in months, as his work load had precluded him from tending to his correspondence.
The challenges overcome by these remarkable individuals are a testament not only to their political skill and determination. These gentlemen made incredible personal sacrifices for the sake of their nation, the likes of which have never been matched by subsequent generations of American politicians. Though the ordinary soldiers who gave their lives for the cause rightly deserve the highest recognition, the personal losses of the Founding Fathers must not be forgotten in their shadow. This generation pledged their lives, fortune, and sacred honor to the United States. Samuel Adams beautifully summed up the sacrifices he and his colleagues made and the reason they stayed true to their cause:
Our friends at that distance may be in their graves before one may even hear of their previous sickness. You cannot wonder then that I am in Anxiety every moment. Upon this consideration alone, the publick service so far from one’s Family, must be conceived to be a Sacrifice of no small value. The man who has devoted himself to the service of God and his Country will cheerfuly make every sacrifice.
 Esmond Wright, Franklin of Philadelphia (Cambridge, 1986), 247.
 Lynn Montross, The Reluctant Rebels (New York, 1950), 249-50.
 Ibid, 8.
 Charles W. Calomiris, “Institutional Failure, Monetary Scarcity, and the Depreciation of the Continental,” Journal of Economic History, 48 (1) (1988), 55.
 Ibid, 56.
 Ibid, 57-58.
 Edmund Burnett, The Continental Congress (New York, 1941), 453.
 Burnett, 271-72.
 Ibid, 277.
 Montross, 89, 168.
 George Dangerfield, Chancellor Robert R. Livingston of New York, 1746-1813 (New York, 1960), 25.
 Clare Brandt, “Robert R. Livingston, Jr.: The Reluctant Revolutionary,” Hudson Valley Regional Review, 4 (1) (1987), 10.
 Dangerfield, 73.
 Ibid, 20.
 Ibid, 58.
 Ibid, 72.
 Ibid, 87.
 Ibid, 104-5.
 Ibid, 111.
 Ibid, 117.
 Montross, 10.
 David Duncan Wallace, The Life of Henry Laurens (New York,1967), 426-7.
 William Jay, The Life of John Jay With Selections From His Correspondence and Miscellaneous Papers (New York, 1833), 5-6.
 Ibid, 13.
 Ibid, 33. Writing to General Schuyler, Jay notes that two letters to his wife had apparently be intercepted, but that they contained “nothing that would give me uneasiness if published.”
 Ibid, 80.
 Ibid, 87-88.
 Harry Alonzo Cushing, The Writings of Samuel Adams (New York, 1968), 41.
 Ibid, 56.
 Ibid, 129.
 Ibid, 94.
 Ibid, 137-39.
 Ibid, 147.
 Ibid, 220.
 David McCullough, John Adams (New York, 1001), 144.
 Ibid, 171.
 Ibid, 211.
 Ibid, 216-8.
 Frederick Bernays Wiener, “The Signer Who Recanted,” American Heritage 4 (1975), 23-25.
 Wallace, 357-8.
 Ibid, 359.
 Ibid, 364-6.
 Ibid, 387.
 James L. Flynn, “Francis Lewis: Long Island Jacobin,” The Journal of Long Island History, 1 (1973),36.
 Sheila L. Skemp, “Benjamin Franklin, Patriot, and William Franklin, Loyalist,” Pennsylvania History, 1 (1998), 35.
 Ibid, 36.
 Ibid, 37.
 Ibid, 41.
 Ibid, 42.
 John M. Taylor, “The Prodigal Son,” American History Illustrated 1 (1987), 11.
 Ibid, 12.
 Skemp, 35.
 Benjamin F. Wright, ed. The Federalist (New York, 2004), 129.
 H. James Henderson, “Congressional Factionalism and the Attempt to Recall Benjamin Franklin,” William and Mary Quarterly (2) 1970, 248.
 Ibid, 247-8.
 Shirley A. Bill and Louis Gottschalk, “Silas Deane’s ‘Worthless’ Agreement with Lafayette,” Prologue (special issue) 1994, 19.
 Wallace, 306.
 Wallace, 307-8.
 James Curtis Ballagh, The Letters of Richard Henry Lee, vol. 2 (New York, 1914), 11-15.
 Ibid, 91.
 Ibid, 98.
 Ibid, 294-5.
 Henderson, 249.
 Ibid, 252.
 Ballagh, 50.
 Henderson, 267.
 Cushing, 62.
 Ibid, 140.
 Ibid, 53.
 Montross, 198.
 Ballagh, 35.
 Montross, 103.
 Cushing, 206.
Ballagh, James Curtis, ed. The Letters of Richard Henry Lee, vol. 2. New York: The Macmillan Company, 1914.
Cushing, Harry Alonzo, ed. The Writings of Samuel Adams. New York: Octagon Books, 1968.
Jay, William, ed., The Life of John Jay With Selections From His Correspondence and Miscellaneous Papers. New York: J&J Harper, 1833.
Wright, Benjamin F., ed. The Federalist. New York: Barnes and Noble Books, 2004.
Brandt, Clare. “Robert R. Livingston, Jr.: The Reluctant Revolutionary” in Hudson Valley Regional Review, 1 (1987), 8-20.
Burnett, Edmund. The Continental Congress. New York: The Macmillan company, 1941.
Calomiris, Charles W. “Institutional Failure, Monetary Scarcity, and the Depreciation of the Continental” in Journal of Economic History, 1 (1988), 47-68.
Dangerfield, George. Chancellor Robert R. Livingston of New York, 1746-1813. New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1960.
Flynn, James L. “Francis Lewis: Long Island Jacobin” in The Journal of Long Island History 1 (1973), 29-37.
Henderson, H. James. “Congressional Factionalism and the Attempt to Recall Benjamin Franklin” in William and Mary Quarterly 2 (1970), 246-267.
McCullough, David. John Adams. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2001.
Montross, Lynn. The Reluctant Rebels. New York: Harper, 1950.
Skemp, Sheila L. “Benjamin Franklin, Patriot, and William Franklin, Loyalist” in Pennsylvania History, 1 (1998), 35-45.
Taylor, John M. “The Prodigal Son” in American History Illustrated 1 (1987), 10-21.
Wallace, David Duncan. The Life of Henry Laurens. New York: Russell & Russell, 1967.
Wiener, Bernays Frederick. “The Signer Who Recanted” in American Heritage 4 (1975), 23-25.
Wright, Esmond. Franklin of Philadelphia. Cambridge: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1986.