The Second Continental Congress opened on May 10, 1775. The British had already fired upon Massachusetts militia men at Lexington and Concord. Soon, Congress would make itself into a genuine, revolutionary government by taking on the traditional tasks of borrowing money, printing paper currency, and raising an army, which is what they needed the money for.
That wouldn’t be until June. First, the Congress had to read into its Journal the authorizing credentials. A good majority of the colonies did the job properly. New Hampshire, for example, authorized its delegates to “have full and Ample Power, on behalf of this Province, to consent and Agree to all Measures, which said Congress shall deem necessary to Obtain redress of American Grievances.” Virginia, more ambiguously, authorized its delegates “to represent this colony in general Congress.” That could mean very little or a great deal.
If you looked too closely into the legality, the colonial authorizations were generally shaky. Could any colonial assembly authorize a Congress to act against the King and Parliament? New York’s delegates, anyway, came from a Provincial Convention, since the actual New York assembly refused to send delegates. Georgia didn’t send a delegate, but Georgia’s St. John’s Parish did; Lyman Hall was accorded the privilege of speaking in Congress, but he could not vote for Georgia as a whole. Good enough for government work, but a little harum-scarum.
The first business: entering into the record all the depositions from Lexington and Concord, to establish that the British soldiery had fired first on innocent Americans. Congress justified itself as if it were in a court of law, producing witnesses and testimony. The British were murderers and thieves to boot:
Hannah Bradish … testifies and says, that about five o’clock on Wednesday last, afternoon, being in her bed-chamber, with her infant child, about eight days old, she was surprised by the firing of the king’s troops and our people, on their return from Concord. She being weak and unable to go out of her house, in order to secure herself and family, they all retired into the kitchen … After the troops had gone off, she missed the following things, which, she verily believes, were taken out of the house by the king’s troops, viz: one rich brocade gown, called a negligée, one lutestring gown, one white quilt, one pair of brocade shoes, three shifts, eight white aprons, three caps, one case of ivory knives and forks, and several other small articles.
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The moral case for American resistance properly summed up in legal form, Congress set about its business. Ordered, day after day in May and June, “the Congress resolved itself into a committee of the whole, to take into consideration the state of America.” Resolved, if and when the British troops arrived in New York, “if they commit hostilities or invade private property, the inhabitants should defend themselves and their property and repel force by force.” Resolved, “that all exportations to Quebec, Nova Scotia, the Island of St. John’s, Newfoundland, Georgia, except the Parish of St. John’s, and to East and West Florida immediately cease.” Noted delightedly, “the surprising and taking of Ticonderogo, by a detachment from Massachusetts bay and Connecticut.” Resolved, the beginnings of our defenses at West Point, “that a post be also taken in the highlands on each side of Hudson’s River and batteries erected in such manner as will most effectually prevent any vessels passing.”
Resolved, many, many more motions for defense, but also the beginnings of what would be the Olive Branch Petition—“with a sincere design of contributing by all the means in our power, not incompatible with a just regard for the undoubted rights and true interests of these colonies, to the promotion of this most desireable reconciliation, an humble and dutiful petition be presented to his Majesty.” Resolved, a join-us-in-rebellion-ye-fellow-oppressed letter to the Quebecois, and ordered, “a committee to get the letter translated into the french language, and to have 1,000 copies of it, so translated, printed, in order to be sent to Canada, and dispersed among the Inhabitants there.” A follow-up resolved, “That no expedition or incursion ought to be undertaken or made, by any colony, or body of colonists, against or into Canada; and that … the above resolve be translated into the french Language and transmitted, with the letter, to the inhabitants of Canada.”
And then, the question of money. As late as May 25, Congress resolved “That it be left to the provincial congress of New York to determine the number of men sufficient to occupy the several posts above mentioned.” New York, after all, still was paying for armed men. But Congress did not leave it to the individual colonies for long. On June 3, it resolved “That a committee be appointed for the purpose of borrowing the sum of six thousand pounds for the use of America; for the repayment of which with interest, the Congress will make full and ample provision, and that the s[ai]d com[mittee] apply the s[ai]d sum of money to the purchase of gunpowder for the use of the Continental Army.” On June 9, Congress resolved “That this Congress will to Morrow take into consideration the ways and means of raising Money,” and “That this Congress will make provision for defraying any expence incurred for this service [in Boston].” The Continental Army was authorized on June 14. On June 22, Congress authorized the printing of two million dollars in Continental Currency—resolved, “That the twelve confederated colonies be pledged for the redemption of the bills of credit, now directed to be emitted.”
Here, rebellion and independence started to cross the hazy boundary from fantasy to reality. Congress took upon itself, and the colonies, to spend money—to borrow, to print money based on nothing more than confidence in Congress’s good name, to pay officers and soldiers and buy them guns and rations. And not every American, it should be noted, would be eager in the years to come to accept Congressional scrip! But Congress took the crucial step—to decide to go into debt, in the name of every American colony, to fight for independence. Making that decision a reality would take years of hard work, but the Second Continental Congress made that decision.
Fighting and dying at Lexington and Concord mattered. Seizing Ticonderoga mattered. Forming a new Continental Army mattered. But deciding to go into massive debt on behalf of your fellow countrymen, none of whom can be said to have authorized you in a way that would meet tight legal scrutiny—signing an IOU certainly takes more courage than yelling about freedom, and in some ways it takes more courage than firing a gun. Anyone can die for their country; mortgaging your property for your country is a harder sell.
It didn’t happen at once. The Second Continental Congress convened on May 10, and it didn’t take these hard financial steps for another six weeks. The delegates in Congress had to think long and hard before they took the plunge.
We, too, are still hesitant about the financial implications of our new regime. It’s one thing to want America to be great again; another to accept the financial consequences of the tariffs that may be necessary to achieve that goal. “Let’s cut government!” is always popular—until your cousin loses her job. We, too, are at the stage where fine words begin to translate to pocketbook commitments.
Our forefathers hardly loved the financial duress of the American Revolution. The Continental Army starved at Valley Forge not least because the local farmers didn’t trust Continental currency. When Congress called on Americans to pay for revolution, they did so hesitantly and unhappily.
But sufficiently. And we, too, may be willing to pay for our revolution.
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Art by Beck & Stone
