Remarkable Charlestonians in the American Revolution

 

The Death of Major Pierson by John Singleton Copley, 1782. Tate Britain 

The American Revolution was a struggle for liberty, but not in the uncomplicated way we learned in school, or by watching Mel Gibson' film, The Patriot. The traditional story holds that Patriots fought to free themselves from arbitrary taxation by an allegedly tyrannical king, George III. What is often left out is that supporters of the British government also fought for liberty. People on both sides viewed their actions as patriotic, even if they were sometimes self-serving. Enslaved blacks fought to free themselves from slavery. The War for Independence in the southern colonies was also in part a war to to preserve slavery. Slaveholders feared that an arbitrary British government might grant their slaves freedom after Lord Mansfield declared slavery illegal in English law in 1773. In that sense the Revolution had more in common with the later Civil War than is generally acknowledged. 

Charleston, South Carolina is famous as the place where the American Civil War began. Less well known is its significant role in an earlier civil war. For South Carolina, the American War for Independence was more truly a civil war than the conflict of 1861-1865. During the 1860s, South Carolinians were united in defence of their state. During the Revolutionary War, they were bitterly divided. South Carolina witnessed some of the most violent episodes of the conflict.

Remarkable Charlestonians in the American Revolution relates the stories of a spectrum of the city's residents during this turbulent time. Its subjects were famous, obscure, rich, poor, black, white, men and women. Some supported the "Patriot" cause; others were loyal to the British crown, or tried to remain neutral. A few switched sides, one more than once. Collectively, their experiences highlight the often grim reality of the revolutionary era. 

The public memory of the American Revolution is encrusted with layers of convenient forgetfulness, dubious facts, distorted legends, and outright myths. History, as Sir Lewis Namier wrote, is not a visit of condolence. Nor should it be. This book seeks to portray the complexity of a chaotic, turbulent, and fascinating time. Its pages provide, I hope, a nuanced sense of what it was like to live in Charleston during the American War for  Independence, 250 years ago. It also, I believe, sheds light on the situation in the USA today. 

The premise of Remarkable Charlestonians is that people on both sides of the War for Independence fought for liberty, although with a different sense of what liberty meant. The majority black population wanted to rid themselves of enslavement, and many joined the British, who promised them freedom. Many white Loyalists believed that the British government was the best protector of "the rights of Englishmen" against what they saw as mob rule. White revolutionaries (Patriots) opposed what they perceived as the arbitrary actions of the British government. One of the things they feared and fought to prevent was the possibility that an overpowerful Parliament would declare slavery illegal in the colonies. 

If you are convinced that Mel Gibson portrayed the Revolution correctly in "The Patriot" this book may not be your cup of tea. (Pun intended).

For more information, visit Remarkable Charlestonians in the American Revolution – Arcadia Publishing $24.95 

Available at all good bookstores -- and even some bad ones.

The American Revolution Revisited: A War Between History and Memory

The 250th anniversary of the American Revolution and War for Independence is nearly upon us. It is destined to reach new heights of commercialism, with beer companies no doubt leading the pack. Corny commemorations and tall tales will all be a part of the celebration. Will there be room for calm reflection on the events of 1775-1783? Not much, I fear, especially in the Age of Trump and MAGA. In the best of times, dispassionate analysis of great events tends to be in short supply, overwhelmed and marginalized by the popular taste for hoopla. On this occasion calm analysis is likely to be obliterated by the Trumpets of MAGA. 

The revolution will be celebrated as a great victory for liberty and equality. It was, though more in the rhetoric of the Declaration of Independence than anything in reality. Awkwardly, it was also a war to preserve slavery. 

In 1773, British judge Lord Mansfield declared in the Somerset Case that slavery had no basis in English law. The Somerset ruling aroused panic among some slaveholders, mostly in the southern colonies. It helped unite them with the northern colonies, where the rallying cry was the more historically palatable "no taxation without representation." Traditional narratives of the revolution have tended to emphasize Britain's attacks on colonial liberty while ignoring the colonist's denial of liberty to the enslaved. 

Alarmed slaveholders denied the right of Parliament to pass laws affecting the internal or domestic affairs of the colonies. Slavery, they argued, was a domestic American issue. In 1775, on the verge of war, they accused the British of plotting slave revolts and Indian attacks as a means of subduing the rebellious colonies. In 1776, they decided that independence was necessary to prevent emancipation and loss of control over enslaved Blacks. 

In that sense the War for Independence had more in common with the Civil War than is generally acknowledged. Looked at from the perspective of the enslaved population, both were wars for liberty. Many Blacks absorbed the rhetoric of their white masters and saw the Revolutionary War as an opportunity to secure their freedom, by joining the British. Historians estimate that around 100,000 enslaved persons ran off to British lines between 1775 and 1783, 25,000 in South Carolina alone. They were not complacent bystanders, but active participants in the struggles that gave birth to a nation. 

History is often unpleasant, messy, and chaotic. It is seldom as simple as we would like it to be. Historical myth is the opposite: neat, generally pleasing -- at least to our prejudices -- and comfortably black and white. The myths are "alternative facts" or "fake history." Not surprisingly, myths tend to dominate if not smother actual history in the popular consciousness, the "public memory." By "actual history" I do not mean the "truth" but the result of painstaking historical research, writing, and interpretation. If well done, the result is our best current approximation of the truth. In that sense, history resembles science. Science is a more exact business, of course. Scientists can use repeated experiments to confirm their hypotheses. Historians do not have that luxury. They cannot repeat history. In most cases, they would not wish to. 

Historian Lewis Namier wrote that the writing of history "is not a visit of condolence." He might have added that the same is true of reading it. Learning our history is often difficult, troubling and confusing. If it never is, we are reading the wrong stuff. Some people avoid the problem by ignoring history, just as others avoid ethical problems by ignoring philosophy. Henry Ford is alleged to have said that "history is bunk." Apparently, he didn't say exactly that, but he did reject the past as dead and meaningless, not worth bothering about. 

Abraham Lincoln disagreed with Ford. In his Second Inaugural Address he declared, "My Fellow Americans, we cannot escape history." He understood that the terrible war nearing its end was the result of the country's failure to abolish slavery early in its history. Novelist William Faulkner held a similar view: "The past isn't dead. It is not even past." His characters are prisoners of their history, in this case the history of the Deep South. 

Karl Marx wrote in much the same vein in The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte (1852): "The tradition of all dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the brains of the living." Marx prefaced that statement with "Men make their own history, but they do not make it as they please; they do not make it under self-selected circumstances, but under circumstances existing already, given and transmitted from the past." One does not have to be a Marxist to agree with that statement. Our history, like our biology, constrains us, for good or ill.

Peter McCandless, REMARKABLE CHARLESTONIANS IN THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION (Arcadia, The History Press, 2025)

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John Laurens: Liberty and Slavery

John Laurens is remembered today, if at all, for two things. One is his advocacy of freeing enslaved blacks to fight against the British during the War for Independence. The other is his tragic and senseless death in one of the last skirmishes of that war. To be sure, he is now remembered for something else. Some historians argue that he had a homosexual relationship with his undoubtedly close friend, Alexander Hamilton. But I'll leave that issue to others, and focus on the first two.

John Laurens (1754-1782) was the eldest son of planter Henry Laurens of Charleston (then Charlestown), South Carolina. [For more on Henry, see The Tower of London's Only American Prisoner: Henry Laurens Detail of portrait of Henry by John Singleton Copley, 1782]

In the middle years of the 18th century, Henry Laurens had amassed a huge fortune, first as a slave trader and then as a rice planter. During the disputes with Britain that led to the American War for Independence, he became an important Patriot leader, even serving as president of the Continental Congress.

Following the example of many of South Carolina's elite, Henry had sent John to Europe for education. The War for Independence began while John was finishing legal studies at Lincoln's Inn in London. Against his father's wishes, he returned to America and joined the Continental Army. Also against his father's wishes, he left behind his heavily pregnant wife, Martha Manning, daughter of one of Henry's British business associates. 

John later confessed that he had carelessly gotten Martha pregnant and married her not for love, but out of pity. He never saw Martha again after he left England, nor did he ever see the daughter she gave birth to a few months later. 

Once in the Patriot army, John rose quickly to the rank of colonel -- too quickly in the view of some fellow officers. He fought bravely at Brandywine and other battles, and earned a reputation for courage bordering on recklessness. He became an aide de camp to George Washington and formed close friendships with two other aides, Hamilton and the Marquis de Lafayette.

In 1779 Laurens returned to South Carolina. The British army had captured Savannah, Georgia and were threatening Charleston. He subsequently fought bravely in several actions in the Southern Campaign. 

His return is best remembered for the shocking proposal he brought before the South Carolina General Assembly. With the blessing of Congress and Washington, Laurens moved that South Carolina, which had a black majority, enlist blacks in the Patriot army in return for their freedom.

He sought the support of his father, who in a letter to John declared his commitment to abolition of slavery. Henry's declaration was  inspired in part by British critics who ridiculed the sincerity of slaveholders proclaiming liberty and equality for all men. 

The letter was subsequently published. It is difficult to see it as anything more than a publicity stunt. But John took it seriously and continued to press his father on the issue. 

Henry also promised to give John forty of his enslaved blacks to form a nucleus of a unit of free black soldiers. When John formally proposed the creation of a black regiment after he returned to South Carolina, however, Henry got cold feet. He tried to convince John that the idea could never win a majority in the state assembly.

Henry proved correct, but he also did nothing to help his son. John moved the proposal before the assembly three times between 1779 and 1782. Much to his distress and disgust, the delegates repeatedly rejected it by large majorities. The most vocal of Laurens' opponents were John and Edward Rutledge and Christopher Gadsden, designer of the famous "Don't Tread on Me" flag. 

(Images: John Rutledge and Christopher Gadsden)

The second rejection took place in early 1780, as the British were advancing on Charleston with a large army and fleet under Sir Henry Clinton. The invaders took the city after a several weeks' siege. It was the worst Patriot defeat of the war to date. 

The entire defending army of more than 5000 men was made prisoner, including a furious John Laurens, who was convinced that the enlistment of black soldiers could have saved Charleston from capture. (Image: The Siege of Charleston, 1780, from the British lines. Artist: Alonzo Chapelle, 1860s)

Laurens was soon exchanged for a British officer, and resumed his crusade against slavery. On one occasion he wrote that if South Carolina could not be cultivated without slaves, "we should flee from it as a hateful country." This remark may hold the key to his ultimate fate.

John was an enthusiastic but impetuous soldier given to grand gestures. He often ignored or disobeyed the commands of superior officers. Sometimes he acted so rashly as to seem as if he was courting martyrdom. 

A few months after the last rejection of his black regiment proposal, in August 1782, he was killed leading his men against a British foraging expedition. He had advanced against orders to await reinforcements. He was only 28.

The Battle of the Combahee, a minor skirmish in fact, was one of the last actions of the war, and it was absolutely meaningless. The British were ready to concede independence. They evacuated Charleston in December 1782. 

One must wonder if John Laurens was seeking death in battle, having despaired that his new country would eliminate the institution that mocked its call for liberty.  

John is buried at his father's favorite plantation, Mepkin, now a Catholic monastery, near Moncks Corner, South Carolina. The epitaph which Henry chose for his son's grave marker, is a famous line from the Roman poet Horace: "Dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori." (It is sweet and proper to die for one's country.") 

It was an odd choice, given that Henry had tried to keep John out of the army. It also says nothing about John's attempts to create an army of free blacks, which Henry had never truly supported. After all, what would the neighbors think? 

Was John Laurens sincere in advocating African emancipation? It is impossible to be sure. I think he was, whether out of a sense of guilt or conviction. He first expressed abolitionist views in Britain while being educated. He became friends with British opponents of slavery, including Thomas Day and John Bicknell, who had written an abolitionist poem, "The Dying Negro."

Laurens was influenced as well by British claims that the American demand for liberty was hypocritical, given the large number of African slaves in the colonies. There was loads of hypocrisy on the British side as well, given that Britain was the largest slave trading nation in the world. 

But the fact that the British commanders freed thousands of slaves who came over to their lines put a sting in their claims of American hypocrisy. The new freedmen also helped to swell British manpower. 

When opponents of his proposals claimed that the enslaved blacks were incapable of appreciating and handling liberty, Laurens countered that blacks and whites shared the same humanity, abilities, and desires. It was slavery itself that had debased a people who, under better circumstances, would prove to be excellent citizens of the republic:

"We have sunk the Africans and their descendants below the Standard of Humanity, and almost render'd them incapable of that Blessing [Liberty] which equal Heaven bestowed upon us all." Here John echoed the preamble of the Declaration of Independence.

During the early nineteenth century, southern writers extolled John Laurens as a chivalric model for the region's youth, but ignored or suppressed his views on slavery. Many of those young men went on to die for a cause far less worthy than his.

Further Reading: 

Peter McCandless, Remarkable Charlestonians in the American Revolution. Charleston, The History press, 2025.

Gregory Massey, John Laurens and the American Revolution. Columbia, South Carolina, University of South Carolina Press, 2000.

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"The Glorious Fourth": A Poem on Independence Day by Hannah Griffits, 1785

The 250th anniversary of American independence is in 2026. Given how Trump is undermining the principles the US was founded upon, it is worth looking at the views of an intelligent women who was ambivalent about the whole thing. 

Hannah Griffits was a Quaker poet who lived in the late colonial and early national period of American history. She witnessed a lot of changes: her life spanned 90 years (1727-1817).

Hannah decided to be a poet when she was just a child. At age 10, she promised God that she would not write poetry about "trifling themes." She kept her promise. 

Griffits came from a prominent Pennsylvania family. She supported colonial resistance to British rule. In addition, she was also a proto-feminist who wrote poems celebrating the efforts of the Daughters of Liberty to boycott British goods in response to the attempts of Parliament to tax colonial imports.  

But she was also a devout Quaker. She abhorred violence and advocated a peaceful settlement of the conflict. Once hostilities commenced she denounced the behavior of both sides and the suffering and divisions they created. The war divided Griffits' relatives into Patriots and Loyalists, a common outcome in many families.

She was appalled by the carnage of the first major battle after the Patriots had declared independence, the Battle of Long Island.  [Image: "The Battle of Long Island" by Alonzo Chappell, 19th century recreation.]

She was particularly harsh in condemning Thomas Paine (one of my heroes), calling him "a Snake beneath the grass" whose extreme rhetoric drowned out that of moderates. The British came in for a drubbing as well. They exhibited evidence of a "deep degeneracy of nature." 

In the wake of the war, she wrote a poem expressing disillusion with the costs and results of independence. It is short and simple, but immensely powerful. It sums up, I think, the feelings many people have today about the current situation of the United States. It deserves wide dissemination at this perilous time. 

"The glorious fourth --  again appears,

A day of days -- and year of years,

The sum of sad disasters,

Where all the mighty gains we see,

With all their boasted liberty,

Is only change of masters." (1785)

Griffits' poetry received little attention in her time. The literary establishments of the day were hostile to women authors. Griffits never tried to publish her poems. A few did get published but not through her own efforts. Many others survived in commonplace books kept by relatives and friends. 

Further Reading: 

Hannah Griffitts - Wikipedia

Hannah Griffitts | History of American Women (womenhistoryblog.com) by Maggie Maclean

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"Don't Tread on Me": Christopher Gadsden and His Flag

Christopher Gadsden of South Carolina is best known today as the designer of the iconic "Gadsden Flag." The flag features a rattlesnake on a bright yellow background, with the words "DONT TREAD ON ME" at the bottom. The snake is coiled to strike. 

The flag's message was directed towards the British government: Step on the liberties of the American people at your peril. The snake has thirteen rattles, symbolizing the thirteen colonies that were soon to declare their independence. [Image: Gadsden Flag]

Gadsden displayed the flag at a meeting of the South Carolina Provincial Congress in February 1776 to great acclaim. It became a popular symbol of Patriot resistance. In recent years it has been appropriated by far right groups to show their defiance of ... whatever they are currently defying, usually the federal government and other conspirators against "freedom."  It featured prominently in the January 6 insurrection that led to the storming of the Capitol Building in Washington, DC. [Image: January 6, 2021]

There is much more to Gadsden's story than his flag, however. First, a little background. Gadsden was born in Charleston, South Carolina in 1724. His father, Thomas Gadsden, was a former British naval officer who had been appointed as customs collector for the port of Charleston. 

Thomas sent young Christopher to Bristol, England to be educated. Returning to America in 1740, he worked briefly as an apprentice in a Philadelphia counting house. He inherited a sizeable fortune when his parents died in 1741. During King George's War (1744-1748) he served as a purser on a British naval vessel. Afterwards, he became a merchant and planter. 

In 1767 he built a large wharf in Charleston. Gadsden's Wharf became a major receiving point for enslaved Africans. More than 100,000 were landed there between 1767 and 1808, when the legal slave trade ended. 

During the construction of the wharf, Gadsden quipped that he was going to "fill the foundation with imported Scotchmen, who are fit for nothing better." It was a joke, but it reflected his dislike of Scots, in particular Scottish merchants, who he viewed as undeserving beneficiaries of British trade policies. His dislike of Scots may also have derived from his service in the Cherokee War of 1760, when he clashed with Highland Scots officers. 

In the years leading up to the Revolution, many colonials accused Scots of conspiring to undermine their freedom. [Image: Scots Lord Bute and Chief Justice Lord Mansfield (in center) conspiring against American liberty, 1775. In fact, neither had any influence over British colonial policy at the time] 

  

In 1757 Gadsden was elected to the South Carolina Commons House of Assembly. He soon began to clash openly with the royal governors over British trade and taxation policies. In 1766, the assembly appointed him to represent South Carolina at the Stamp Act Congress in New York City. He was one of the most radical delegates at the Congress and formed an alliance and friendship with the equally radical Sam Adams of Boston, leader of the Sons of Liberty in Boston. Gadsden has often been called the "Sam Adams of the South."

Gadsden became a leader of the Charleston Sons of Liberty, who terrorized the town looking for stamps and other evidence of pro-British leanings. Among the houses they raided was that of planter and slave trader Henry Laurens. According to Laurens, they frightened his sick wife Eleanor half to death. He threw them his cellar keys and told them to help themselves to wine. They found no stamps, apologized and left. Laurens subsequently supported Gadsden and the Liberty Boys, but with some hesitation. 

In 1771, future Patriot William Henry Drayton called Gadsden a madman who ought to be in Bedlam. But Drayton was then defending the British Crown. After he abruptly switched sides in the early 1770s, the two became allies in the Patriot cause. 

As the conflict with Britain escalated, Gadsden was elected to the First and Second Continental Congresses in Philadelphia. In early 1776, he left Congress to assume command of the newly formed 1st South Carolina Regiment and serve in the South Carolina Provincial Congress. It was then that he first displayed his famous flag. He also brought a pamphlet written by a recent immigrant from England, calling for American independence, Common Sense by Thomas Paine. It was less well received. 

The interim President of South Carolina, John Rutledge, appointed Gadsden brigadier and commander of the state's military forces. In 1778 Gadsden helped draft a new state constitution under which he became lieutenant governor.  

When the British besieged Charleston in the spring of 1780, Rutledge left for the backcountry to rally resistance. Gadsden remained to help coordinate the defense of the city. 

By the middle of April, however, the British had nearly encircled Charleston. Benjamin Lincoln, the commander of the Southern Continental Army, decided that his only option besides surrender was to flee with his army while escape remained possible. 

Word got out to Gadsden. He and several of his councillors stormed into Lincoln's headquarters as he was discussing his proposals with his officers. Gadsden accused Lincoln of cowardice. Lincoln agreed to stay.  

In early May, the British unleashed a ferocious bombardment of the city. Gadsden led another delegation to see General Lincoln. This time, he demanded that Lincoln surrender to save the property and lives of the citizens. On May 12, Lincoln surrendered. It was the worst defeat for the Patriot forces in the war. The entire army, more than 5000 men, was made prisoner. 

The militia and many civilian leaders were initially given parole; that is, allowed to go free, as long as they did not continue to oppose the Crown. A few weeks after the surrender, however, the British arrested Gadsden and about twenty other rebel leaders on the grounds that they were plotting further resistance. 

Shipped to the British stronghold in St. Augustine, Florida, they remained prisoners until the following summer. The commander in St. Augustine offered them parole and the freedom of the town. Gadsden alone refused it. The British, he argued, had already violated their original promise of parole. 

In July 1781, the British released the prisoners on parole and sent them to Philadelphia. Gadsden returned to South Carolina in time to serve in the Jacksonborough Assembly in early 1782. At the time,  Charleston was still under British occupation. The Assembly elected him as governor, but he declined the office due to poor health. 

One of the most contentious items on the Assembly's agenda was drawing up a list of Loyalists to be punished after the war, which was nearing its end. Proposed punishments ranged from banishment and confiscation of property to amercements or fines. 

Gadsden shocked the assembly by urging leniency towards Loyalists. His words had little effect on the majority of delegates, who shouted him down. They demanded severe punishments. Some accused Gadsden of trying to protect Loyalists in his family. 

Thousands of Loyalists left South Carolina with the British or shortly thereafter. (Some were later able to get their punishments reduced and returned.)

Gadsden lived for another 23 years. He sat in the state convention of 1788 that ratified the United States Constitution. After 1798 he lived in Charleston at the house he built at 329 East Bay Street. He died in 1805 after falling from a horse. [Image: Gadsden House and Gadsden in old age]

 

 Further Reading: 

John Drayton, Memoirs of the American Revolution 2 vols., Charleston, 1821. Based on documents John's father William Henry Drayton had collected prior to his death.

The Papers of Henry Laurens. 16 vols., Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press, 1972-2003. Volumes dealing with the 1760s and 1770s.

Stanly Godbold, Jr., and Robert Woody, Christopher Gadsden and the American Revolution (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 1983).

Daniel McDonough, Christopher Gadsden and Henry Laurens: The Parallel Lives of Two American Patriots (Susquehanna University Press, 2000).

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Illustrating Executions in the American Revolution: Major John Andre and Isaac Hayne

The three illustrations below are of two executions that took place during the American War for Independence. The first two are said to record the execution of British Major John Andre, whom the Patriots hanged as a spy at Tappan, New York in October 1780. Andre was captured in civilian clothes after a secret meeting with Benedict Arnold, to arrange Arnold's switch to the British side. 

Oddly, the Patriot officer presiding over Andre's hanging in the first illustration is in a redcoat. In the second, the mistake, if that's what it was, is rectified. He is wearing a blue coat, though a lighter blue than Patriot soldiers normally wore.

The last image is supposed to record the hanging of Colonel Isaac Hayne of South Carolina in Charleston in August 1781. British cavalry captured Hayne attempting to kidnap General Andrew Williamson, sometimes called the southern Benedict Arnold. Williamson was a Patriot officer who had also defected to the British (although later he claimed to have been spying on them). The charge against Hayne was treason. He had taken the loyalty oath to the Crown after Charleston's surrender in 1780 and later rejoined the Patriots. 



The three illustrations are virtually identical, except for changes of uniform colors. Even the flags remain the same. It is likely that neither artist was present at either execution, but the artist of Hayne's hanging surely copied the artist of Andre's. Perhaps it was even the same artist.

Andre himself was a bit of an artist, and was good at working to a deadline (pun intended) The night before his execution he penned the self-portrait below.