He was in New York by the 27th, as worn out and ill as though the vain mission had drained the last bit of his strength. His health returned slowly. From Philadelphia, on June 21, he wrote Washington that gout had kept him from “Congress and company”—that he knew little of what had passed except that “a declaration of independence was in the making.”
To this development, the magic of “Common Sense” deserved credit. On April 12, North Carolina had instructed its delegates to Congress to vote for independence. Other colonies followed suit. On June 7, Richard Henry Lee introduced a resolution that “these colonies are, and of a right ought to be, free and independent states.” Three days later Congress appointed Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Robert Livingston of New York, Roger Sherman of Connecticut, and Benjamin Franklin, as a committee to prepare the declaration.
Jefferson produced the first draft. John Adams and Franklin made only a few alterations before it was submitted to Congress on June 18.
Congress nearly drove the Committee out of its mind with demands for extensive changes. One clause which attacked slavery was deleted altogether. When nerves grew tense, Franklin told a story.
There was a hatter he had once known who built a handsome signboard reading, “John Thompson, hatter, makes and sells hats for some ready money,” adorned with a picture of a hat. He submitted it to his friends for approval. One thought the word “hatter” unnecessary. Another that “makes” was not needed. A third thought “for ready money” useless, since no one then sold for credit. His next friend insisted “sells hats” be omitted; no one expected him to give them away. All that was left, when his friends were through with him, was his name “John Thompson” and the drawing of the hat.
The moral lesson implied may have speeded up the Congressional process. At length, the Declaration met with approval. John Hancock, in big black writing, affixed his signature first. According to legend, Hancock said, “We must be unanimous; there must be no pulling different ways; we must all hang together.” To which Franklin allegedly replied, “We must indeed all hang together, or most assuredly we shall all hang separately.”
The ideas in the Declaration were not new. Many of them had been said by others, specifically by Thomas Paine, in phraseology not too different from Jefferson’s. The document, adopted by Congress on July 4, 1776, remained the greatest charter of freedom of all time.
In the midst of the wonder of independence, the New Jersey Assembly ordered the arrest of its governor, William Franklin, as a Loyalist, another sad blow for his father. He was first held under guard at his home, then taken to Connecticut, where he was kept for two years in the Litchfield jail or on parole. Temple came to live with his grandfather, attending the Pennsylvania Academy which Franklin had started so many years before.
The Declaration of Independence, splendid as it was, still was only words on paper. The reality was far in the future and the present looked very dark.
On and around Long Island was gathered the greatest British expeditionary force in history. Some 32,000 men (including German mercenaries whom the Americans called Hessians) and 500 vessels were there in command of General Sir William Howe who, after leaving Boston, had gone to Halifax for reinforcements. And in the harbor, a mighty fleet under his brother Admiral Lord Richard Howe. And in Manhattan, General George Washington with less than half as many men, ill-clad and hungry and a good portion too sick to fight.