When In The Course Of Human Events. . .

Second Continental Congress Voting Independence, illustration from
The Signers of the Declaration of Independence, Masonic Book Club, 1975

William Herbert "Skip" Boyer, 32°
15817 N 6th Place, Phoenix, Arizona 85022
Skip.Boyer@bestwestern.com

Success was far from certain when the members of the Second Continental Congress,
nine of them Masons, voted for American independence.

"A Declaration by the Representatives of the United States of America, in Congress Assembled, July 4, 1776 . . ."

In the old drawings and paintings, they look faintly ridiculous. Nervous men standing about in white wigs and knee-length coats with piles of white lace cascading down their chests. One leans on a cane, another shuffles papers on his desk. A third gazes out a nearby window, wishing he could go home to his native Virginia or Rhode Island or Georgia—anyplace away from Philadelphia in the steaming heat of July. Nine are acknowledged Freemasons, including John Hancock and Benjamin Franklin. Perhaps others are Brothers, too. History doesn't tell.

These worried men, gathered in the heat of the assembly room of the old Pennsylvania State House, are the members of the Second Continental Congress. They represent each of the 13 Colonies united against Great Britain. For more than a year, while the shooting goes on and the troops of King George occupy New York, these men have been arguing about war and peace, independence and loyalty. Most of them have serious doubts and real fears about what they are doing.

"When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another . . ."

You can visit that assembly hall today. There is a soft, mellow feeling there that belies the emotionally charged debates of those days in 1776. Old wood, lovingly cared for, glows in the soft light. Desks stand with their inkwells and quill pens seemingly ready for the delegates to arrive. Today, this building is Independence Hall, the keystone of Independence National Historical Park, a collection of historic sites in the center of Philadelphia. Two centuries ago, before it became a national treasure, the red brick structure was simply the Pennsylvania State House, a convenient meeting place removed from the battle lines.

If you stand quietly in the assembly room, away from the tours and other visitors, you can try to catch the infectious spirit that ran like an electric current through this room more than two centuries ago. See with the eyes of imagination.

Lounging near the door in his tall riding boots is "Light Horse Harry" Lee. He will be instrumental in bringing the issue of independence to a vote in this room. The day will come, though not in his lifetime, when his son, Robert E. Lee, will lead the forces attempting to undo what is being done this day in Philadelphia. The tall, red-headed man whose hands are covered with ink stains is Thomas Jefferson. Many will attempt to claim Masonic membership for him. Perhaps in his heart, where all are first prepared, but no evidence beyond that. He has written more than 1,800 words during the night—the first draft of a declaration of colonial independence. The others are here, too. There's Sam Adams, the firebrand leader of the Sons of Liberty and one of the strongest voices for revolution. John Adams, quieter but just as resolute, is here—probably worrying about his wife, Abigail. So are Maryland's Carroll, the ailing Caesar Rodney from Delaware, and the great Dr. Franklin, already a legend and loving every minute of it. Leading the discussions is Hancock, President of the Congress. From the 13 American Colonies, concerned and confused men have gathered in Philadelphia, in this room. Most have been here since early in the year.

"We hold these truths to be self-evident: That all men are created equal . . ."

The issue has not been a simple one. Most of the men in this room consider themselves good Englishmen. To advocate war—revolution and independence—is almost unthinkable. They search for another way. Even as British troops move on the harbor defenses at Charleston, South Carolina, the tired men in Philadelphia continue to talk.

They have been talking for months. During the winter months, they choked on smoke from two stoves. The issues sometimes brought tears to their eyes—more often, it was the smoke. Winter became spring, then summer, as they talked. The smoke was gone now, but the shuttered windows admitted few breezes, though hordes of flying insects.

". . . that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness . . ."

Finally, on June 7, Lee offers a resolution calling for independence from England. It is tabled until the delegates can arrive at a firm opinion on the question of independence. Four days later, Congress takes a time-honored way out—a committee is appointed to look into the matter of some sort of formal declaration. Jefferson heads it, with Robert Livingston, John Adams, Ben Franklin, and Roger Sherman as members. The committee members promptly elect Jefferson to draft something on their behalf and, according to legend, they then disappear.

". . . whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute a new government . . ."

A few blocks away, in a new three-story brick home at Market and Seventh streets, the 33-year-old Jefferson goes to work on the committee's declaration. He would much rather have been back in the cool hills of Virginia, at his beloved Monticello.
On June 28, the writer asks Franklin and Adams to read his draft. Then the committee votes to keep it hidden until July 1. No word of the declaration seeps outside the shuttered assembly room. The 55 delegates continue to argue almost constantly until July 2, when 12 of the 13 delegations, with New York abstaining, vote in favor of the principle of complete separation from England—total independence.

"The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute tyranny over these states . . ."

At last, there is no more to say. The months of debate, the years of the erosion of rights and freedoms, come to an end. It is late in the day on July 4, near the supper hour, when Hancock begins the roll call. New Hampshire is first and votes for the declaration. One by one, the others vote aye—except for New York, which will abstain until later. As President of the Congress, Hancock would sign the revolutionary document the next day, after the public printer had prepared a clean copy. Knowing that their names on the declaration marked them as candidates for hanging if the Colonies lost the war, the others would sign later. By August 2, all had signed.

"We . . . solemnly publish and declare that these united colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent states . . . absolved from all allegiance to the British crown . . ."

The Declaration of Independence, the birth certificate of the United States, would be officially read from the steps of the State House on July 8. In the meantime, however, the members of the Congress went about their activities, approving an emergency request for rifle flints for Washington's army, preparing the defense of Philadelphia, arranging for the removal of Philadelphia's many bells so they would not be melted down into cannon by the British should the city fall.

The rest of the story is part of every American child's history book. The city did not fall, although the war continued until 1782. The bells of the city were never captured and can still be heard today. Independence Hall and many of the buildings that were important in the founding of the new nation are preserved today as part of the Historical Park. In the midst of the modern center of commerce and banking that has grown up around them, these buildings are a tangible link with that day in 1776 when a group of very nervous men gave their approval to a revolutionary declaration.

". . . and, for the support of this declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor."

Their pledge of lives, fortune, and honor was not lightly given. Many would pay dearly for their dedication to American freedom. These men, including Brothers of our Craft, gave us independence. The question still remains if we have the devotion, dedication, and will to keep it.

William H. Boyer
is the Director, Executive Communications, Best Western International, Inc. He is a member of Paradise Valley–Silver Trowel Lodge No. 29, Phoenix, Arizona, and serves as editor of the Lodge's Trestle Board. Brother Boyer is a member of the Philalethes Society and writes a regular column in the Society's popular magazine. A Chevalier of the Order of DeMolay, a member of the Brotherhood of the Blue Forget-Me-Not and of the Scottish Rite Bodies of Phoenix, Arizona, he is a native of Omaha, Nebraska, and holds the prestigious Accredited Business Communicator (ABC) designation from the International Association of Business Communicators. Brother Boyer has earned more than 70 regional and national awards for his writing and editorial work.