The fate of those who signed the Deceleration of Independence

July 2022

This month we asked our writers to consider what it means to be an American, for both civilians and service members.

George Wythe

Joey Carlson
MSMU Class of 2025

Mr. George Wythe (1726-1806) is a fascinating figure from the dawn of our nation. He was America’s first professor of law, and a personal friend and mentor of Thomas Jefferson. He was one of the most distinguished men of his age, and it is no doubt that a man so influential in Jefferson’s thought would have his ideas somewhere in the Declaration of Independence, and in all of Jefferson’s work. He was one of the seven men from Virginia to sign the Declaration, and one of the few to whom Jefferson had entrusted a manuscript to for revisions a month before the signing. Among the founding fathers, Wythe is one of the humblest. He was known for his extreme intelligence and knowledge of law, and especially for his pensive demeanor. Unlike many of the other Virginians to sign the Declaration, Wythe was an abolitionist, though a quiet one. He freed his slaves and provided for them until they could earn a living. His giving them their lives, however, cost him his own life, for a young member of his family, upon learning that Wythe had conditionally willed part of his property to be given to his slaves, attempted to enlarge his own share by poisoning them with arsenic. Wythe was poisoned too, however, and died at the age of 80. Though he was very influential, few of his writings survived except for his legal texts from when he was a chancellor of Virginia.

Wythe was born into a rich agricultural family, but his father died when he was three. He was raised by his mother, who was exceedingly well educated for a woman of her day, and she tutored him in the classics. His mother died, however, when he was a teenager, and his brother, who cared little for him, took over the family estate. Wythe entered college at William and Mary, but couldn’t afford the fees, so he dropped out. He managed, however, to secure a study of law at the age of 20. He was exceptionally intelligent and was appointed clerk of the committee that formed the House of Burgesses. He was appointed Attorney General of Virginia in 1753, and was elected representative to the House of Burgesses for Williamsburg in 1755. His brother died and he inherited the family farm, and served in the House of Burgesses until the Revolution. He was elected to the Board of Visitors at the College of William and Mary in 1761, and in 1769, the man who couldn’t even afford a degree was our nation’s first professor of law. He taught Thomas Jefferson, James Monroe, Henry Clay, John Marshal, and many other very important individuals. His friendship with Jefferson would last him the rest of his lifetime, and when he died, Jefferson received his silver cups, gold headed cane, and his entire library. Much of what we know about Wythe comes from correspondences about him after his death. In this remarkable passage full of the highest praise, Governor John Tyler of Virginia wrote to President Jefferson in 1810 asking if he could send the President Wythe’s lecture notes for publication:

"[the publication of Wythe’s lecture notes] will afford a lasting evidence to the world, among much other, of your remembrance of the man who was always dear to you and his country. I do not see why an American Aristides should not be known to future ages. Had he been a vain egoist his sentiments would have been often seen on paper; and perhaps he erred in this respect, as the good and great should always leave their precepts and opinions for the benefit of mankind."

The notes were sadly never published, and were eventually lost to history. What is most striking to me from this passage is that Tyler called Wythe "an American Aristides." Aristides was an Athenian from the dawn of the Greek Golden Age, the period credited with the invention of democracy. The ancient historian Herodotus cited Aristides as "the best and most honourable man in Athens," and even in his own time, Aristides was known as "the just." This is highest praise enough, but the correlation continues. Aristides was known for his rivalry with Themistocles, the other most important general in the Greek war against the Persians. These two combined saved the Athenian Civilization, and they were right before the time of Pericles, one of the most well-known of all Greeks, who set Athens, and therefore democracy, at the forefront of the Greek world. Wythe had a rival too: Edmund Pendleton. Pendleton was known for his oratory and power of persuasion, even though he was considerably less educated in jurisprudence, and he often defeated Wythe in the court room on account of his adeptness at debating. The largest collection of work we have from Wythe is actually his criticisms of Pendleton's court decisions. Pendleton was also a friend of Jefferson’s, and was another of the men to receive the draft of the Declaration a month before it was signed. Only a few months after the war had begun, Wythe, Pendelton, and Jefferson were tasked with revising the old colonial laws in Virginia. Jefferson, of course, is known as one of the great fathers of our nation, and the parallels between the Golden Age of Athens and the founding of our nation are manifold. Jefferson is to Pericles as Pendleton is to Themistocles, and Wythe is to Aristides. Wythe truly has earned this title, "the just."

I am from Virginia, so this part of our history was refreshing to me. Virginia, of course, was the cradle of the Confederacy in the Civil War, and most of our founding fathers owned slaves, a fact which has always grieved me. It was incredible, therefore, to discover such a noble and intelligent man of such highest convictions. Though I don’t imagine he intended to do so, he died for his slaves’ freedom, and I cannot imagine a more fitting end for a man who put everything on the line for your freedom and mine.

Read other articles by Joseph Carlson

Francis Hopkinson

Claire Doll
MSMU Class of 2024

Little do we think about how famous people from the past—individuals who have a role in shaping our nation’s history as we know it—are humans, just like us.

While scrolling down the list of the 56 signers of the Declaration of Independence, one word stuck out to me: musician. One of these signers, one of these men who had a hand in freeing our country, was a musician. He represented the state of New Jersey, was born in Philadelphia, PA, and, along with being a lawyer, loved music.

In fact, this signer—Francis Hopkinson—enjoyed all forms of art: writing, painting, music, and design. A player of the harpsichord and the organ, and even a composer of several pieces himself, Hopkinson was said to have practiced music for the love of it. He even performed at his graduation ceremony at the College of Philadelphia—now known as the University of Pennsylvania. In a poem he composed, "The Raising: A Song for Federal Mechanics," Hopkinson wrote, "For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be / A Federal Head, o’er a people still free." This satiric poem was to promote ratification of the U.S. Constitution, and it used the metaphor of our country needing a new roof entirely, rather than simple and continuous repairs to a current roof. He was being humorous. Can you imagine, a historical figure, a signer of the Declaration of Independence, with a sense of humor?

Francis Hopkinson was in fact the only American-born composer of secular music that we know has written songs before 1800. He wrote the music for "My Days Have Been So Wondrous Free," with the words by Thomas Parnell. The song starts with a graceful and flowing piano melody, corresponding to the natural imagery conveyed by the words: "My days have been so wondrous free, / the little birds that fly / with careless ease from tree / to tree were but as blest as I." Ending in a slow yet beautiful run of notes, this song makes you feel as if you are in a trance, residing in the simplicity of the music, resonating with the last ringing tone.

"’Twas early day, as Poets say, / Just when the sun was rising; / A soldier stood on a log of wood / And saw a sight surprising." Hopkinson included these words in his ballad, "The Battle of the Kegs," which dramatically depicts the attempted attack upon the British Fleet during the American Revolutionary War. This ballad, which can be recited along to the tune of "Yankee Doodle," memorialized this event, preserved it in words. Francis Hopkinson’s ability to write about such historical happenings that shaped our nation is inspiring and fascinating. This is the purpose of poetry: using art to build understanding and using art as a vehicle for higher meaning.

Francis Hopkinson also designed the Orrery Seal of the University of Pennsylvania, and he took part in designing the seal of the state of New Jersey and the Great Seal of the United States as well. There have been rumors that he helped design the flag of the United States of America, too. It is clear, through his musical, designing, and literary accomplishments, that Francis Hopkinson had an artistic eye.

Typically, we don’t recall historical figures by their passions or hobbies, and I find this interesting. We remember Francis Hopkinson because he signed the Declaration of Independence. We also remember him in dates. Search him up online, and in a matter of seconds, you’ll know that he was born on October 2nd, 1737, and died on May 9th, 1791. You’ll know that he attended the College of Philadelphia, that he was an American judge, and that he notoriously signed the very document that freed our nation. Isn’t that the case with anyone? How are we meant to take these facts, these tidbits of information, and piece together a person?

I wanted to study Francis Hopkinson because, like him, I love the arts. I study English and creative writing, and I also play the flute. In fact, I have been reading music since fifth grade. At Mount St. Mary’s, we are promised a liberal arts education, one that shapes us into knowledgeable, free, and respectable thinkers. We read texts and analyze what it means to be human. As I take a closer look at Francis Hopkinson, I find myself attracted more towards the whole of his personality—his sense of humor, his musical ear, how he was called "the artful rebel" for combining his artistic talents with his patriotism—rather than the few facts we are meant to define him as. In fact, in a letter to Benjamin Franklin, Hopkinson wrote, "I have not the abilities to assist our righteous Cause by personal Prowess & Force of Arms, but I have done it all the Service I could with my Pen-throwing in my Mite at Times in Prose & Verse, serious and satirical Essays." In short, his pen was mightier than the sword. His words influenced the shaping of our nation, and his music elevated our country’s artistic identity.

To circle back to my very first thought while writing this, we have no idea that historical figures are humans, just like us. It is a fact that Francis Hopkinson signed the Declaration of Independence in 1776, that he made the sacrifice to enable American independence and freedom from British rule. But it is also a fact that Francis Hopkinson was a human, with passions and abilities and hobbies, just like us. He composed songs, he wrote poems, and he designed images, using art to shape our nation. He played the organ, sang, and held a love for music that did not require recognition. Yet, as people in 2022, maybe we should start recognizing humans as humans, start celebrating their passions. We can look at history from the perspective that individuals, while notorious for their accomplishments and duties, should also be notorious for their humanity as well.

Read other articles by McKenna Snow

John Morton

McKenna Snow
MSMU Class of 2023

One thing I love about Mount Saint Mary’s is that it is about twenty minutes from Pennsylvania. I like Pennsylvania because it is a "northern" state that reminds me of my home state, Kentucky; they share rolling, green hills and farmland. I gravitated to picking John Morton because I saw that he was from Pennsylvania and was a farmer. The majority of the signers were lawyers and merchants, so I was surprised to read about John Morton. I found that he was a rather simple man, less "distinguished" as it were, but still very active in early American politics according to what stature he was given.

John Morton was born in 1725 in Pennsylvania. He was a representative for Pennsylvania as the colonies cast their vote for declaring their independence from England, finding himself in the tie-breaking position to see if Pennsylvania would vote for independence. Morton built his way up to a position of this gravity through simple, humble beginnings; whether he intended to rise to such a place or if he simply became so as a result of love for his neighbor is a more ambiguous question.

Before life in the public eye, Morton was a farmer. Unlike most of the other signers, he was not extensively educated. Rather, it is speculated that he received around three months of formal education in his life and was instructed personally throughout his childhood by his stepfather. That is quite the comparison to the average, modern-day college student: thirteen years of primary and secondary school, and then four years of college. The difference between the beginning years of America and life two hundred years later is astounding: I imagine Morton would be surprised to see how accessible formal education has become.

However, his lack of formal education did not define him, and he found ways to become involved with his local community and politics on a small scale, eventually growing to a state-wide scale. The website "Descendants of the Signers of the Declaration of Independence" wrote that "Morton assisted neighbors by overseeing their books and maps as well as surveying their property. He also acted as an advocate and advisor for them when necessary." This helped those around him to get to know his character and build trust. He was voted into varying positions of local political power by those whom he had once helped simply because they were his neighbors: Justice of the Peace, High Sheriff of the County of Chester, Judge of the Court of General Quarters Session, and more. He was the presiding officer as Justice of Orphan’s Court from 1770 until March 25, 1774. Despite his lack of education, the common sense he used in legal matters garnered him enough respect to qualify for these positions.

In his private life, Morton was twenty-three when he married Anne Justis; their family grew significantly over the years, as they had nine children. One of their daughters married a man who fought in the American Revolution, and one of their sons was a surgeon who was a prisoner of war on a British ship.

How did this farmer and local politician become one of the men to sign the Declaration? The "Descendants of the Signers" website writes, "In 1774, while serving as Speaker of the Pennsylvania Assembly, he was voted to be a delegate to the First Continental Congress held in Carpenter’s Hall in Philadelphia. On November 4, 1775 he was elected to the Second Continental Congress which was held in the State House, later renamed Independence Hall." Being a part of this congress gave Morton a role in voting on behalf of Pennsylvania to declare whether the state would vote for independence or for loyalty to England. Morton was the last of the Pennsylvanian representatives to vote, and his vote was the tiebreaker; had he voted no, Pennsylvania would not have sided with the patriots, and the war might have looked much different. Pennsylvania has the nickname "the Keystone State," and it may be because of Morton’s vote which cemented Pennsylvania into the patriots’ cause. Tara Ross online wrote, "As a keystone is critical to holding an arch together, many believed that Pennsylvania was critical to holding the American colonies together at that moment in time."

Thus, in 1776, Morton voted for independence, recognizing the needs of the new country, and turned the tide. This was no impulsive vote, but rather was a cause he supported far before the open war. In 1775, Morton wrote a letter to Thomas Powell that records strong words in favor of America’s cause for independence. Morton wrote, "I hope Time will manifest to the World that a steady Perseverance in the Cause of Freedom will triumph over all the deep lay’d Schemes of Tyranny, & that Britain & America will again be united on the solid Foundation of Commerce & the Constitution… You have declared the New England People Rebels, & the other Provinces Aiders & Abettors, this is putting the Halter about our Necks, & we may as well die by the Sword as be hang’d like Rebels, this has made the People desperate."

Morton was the first of the signers to pass away after the Declaration, as he died of tuberculosis at the age of 53, in April of 1777. That same year, as the war for independence blazed on, Morton’s wife Anne was forced to flee across the Delaware River to Billingsport, New Jersey, during which many of Morton’s papers and household possessions were destroyed. It can be difficult due to circumstances such as these, to know much about people of the past, since so much of what we know is dependent upon what evidence we have of their legacy. But at least for this one man, if nothing else about him was left behind, he left one indelible mark of evidence that says what all people passing through like to write: "John Morton was here." How neat it is that a farmer from old Pennsylvania got to write that on the Declaration of Independence!

Read other articles by McKenna Snow

Charles Carroll

Emmy Jansen
MSMU Class of 2022

As we come to the close of my tenure with the Emmitsburg News-Journal, you’ve become well aware of my passion for my hometown of Richmond, Virginia. Last year, the first signer I chose to write about, Thomas Nelson Jr., was a Virginia landowner and statesman, someone whose name I passed while driving on I-64. When choosing my second signer, I thought about going through the list of Old Dominion signers, sticking true to my theme of state pride. But instead, I decided to focus on someone that related more to you than to me, an homage to my second home on the Maryland-Pennsylvania border. His name is Charles Carroll, last surviving signer of the Declaration of Independence, and namesake of Carroll County, Maryland. Born 1737 in Annapolis, Maryland, Charles Carroll was a notable signer for more than just his old age, being the only Catholic signer, the wealthiest signer, and the most educated signer, having received a 17-year Jesuit education in France. Not only was he the wealthiest signer, but he was the wealthiest man in the American colonies, having inherited great landed estates, including property in Frederick County. At the start of the Revolution, Carroll had a fortune of what would be $375 million in American dollars today.

While this amount of money and status would be notable for any person, it is extremely noteworthy for one reason: Carroll was Catholic. Even though Maryland was first founded as a religious haven for Catholics, in the eighteenth century, improper religious affiliation would bar one from holding public office, voting, and practicing law. Yet, this did not prevent Carroll from gaining notoriety in the eyes of the Maryland public, even without a formal platform to do so. In 1772, Carroll engaged in an anonymous debate in the form of newspaper letters with a member of one of the controlling, loyalist families of Maryland. When the identities of the writers were revealed and his opponent resorted to abusive, ad hominem attacks, Carroll’s following grew, and it earned him seats on various committees. This is what led to his being elected to the Continental Congress, where he would sign the document that spurred the Revolution to free this great country. While every man risked life, limb, and reputation by attaching their name to the parchment, Carroll arguably had the most to lose in doing so, being the richest man in what would hopefully become America.

Despite being renowned around the country for his wealth and revolutionary zeal, Carroll was, like me, a loyal descendant of his home. In the early days of the national government, he was elected to the first U.S. Senate. When it became impossible to serve on both state and national legislatures, he resigned from the larger, more prestigious position in order to serve his home state and community. He also opposed the movement to confiscate property from landowners who had been loyalists during the war; even though he was outvoted on this measure, his dedication to all Marylanders, even those he disagreed with, speaks loudly of his level of honor and dignity.

Charles Carroll passed away in November 1832 at the age of 95, which seems like a remarkable feat for anyone of the era, regardless of signatory status. In living so long, he saw seven presidents sworn into office. Supposedly, he became disengaged with the politics of the nation he fought for around the time of Thomas Jefferson’s election to the presidency. Instead, he retired officially to Maryland, helping with various efforts such as laying the cornerstone of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad.

Perhaps you knew all of this already. Perhaps you live in Carroll County or grew up in Maryland, where men like Carroll are presumably lectured about in schools. Assumedly, you also know about John Carroll, his cousin, who would become the first American Catholic Bishop. I find it remarkable that at a time where religion was still seen as a dividing factor in a nation trying to find unity, the cousin of the first Bishop would sign the document that would bring about freedom for the same people who had barred them from public office, voting, and religious education. Carroll not only inherited a vast estate, but also the legacy of defending family and faith down the generations. Carroll’s surprising position of public power, even without political power, allowed him to establish religious tolerance more formally in the formation of the founding documents of our nation, where all men are created equal.

One thing I have learned and loved during my time in Maryland has been the Catholic heritage of the state. If you’ve ever ventured south, you’ll notice that the Catholic populations start to dwindle and then form again in Louisiana. But in the northern Bible belt area of Virginia, where I’ve grown up, Catholics are far and few between. Don’t misunderstand me: I am thoroughly thankful for the Protestant community I’ve been raised around, because it has provided me with a unique faith experience and the opportunity to expand upon my own beliefs. I would not trade this for the world, and I find myself much more at home in a southern Bible town than Boston, where there’s a Catholic church on every street. But spending time in Maryland, especially at a Catholic university that shares a mountainside with a national pilgrimage site, I have come to appreciate the beauty of a unified faith community. I’ve enjoyed having some classes start with an opening prayer, the discussion of Biblical history in an English seminar, and seeing Emmitsburg come alive during a Eucharistic procession. But this unity and diversity of religious affiliations is possible because of men like Carroll, where it was not the idea of one faith reigning supreme but the ability to practice as one would wish, with equal respect and dignity for all traditions. This sentiment, which I hold dearly like Carroll, reminds me of the answer a Jewish professor at the Mount gave me when I asked what his experience was teaching at a Catholic university: that he knew his faith would be more respected at a religious university, even one that believed differently than he did, than at a secular institution.

Read other articles by Emmy Jansen

Read the 2021 Edition of the Fate of Those Who Signed
 the Declaration of Independence

Read Past Editions of Four Years at the Mount