When Congress Fled

Today it’s hard for us to think of the possibility that our government might ever be forced to flee before an approaching enemy force. But this has, in fact, happened several times in our history, and the first was during the American Revolution.

Delegates to the Second Continental Congress—which after the passage of the Declaration of Independence became the Congress of the fledgling United States—met at the Pennsylvania State House in Philadelphia, now known as Independence Hall. In the fall of 1776, the British drove Washington’s battered army out of New York, all the way across New Jersey to Trenton, and finally, in early December, across the Delaware River into Pennsylvania. Terrified that British General William Howe would pursue Washington across the Delaware and push all the way to Philadelphia, residents of the city began to flee in panic, and on December 12, Congress also evacuated.

On December 20, the delegates reconvened at the Henry Fite House in Baltimore, Maryland, where they remained until late February 1777. The largest building in Baltimore at the time, the Fite House was originally built as a tavern in 1770 and eventually burned down in 1904. During its brief use by Congress, it became known as Congress Hall and later as Old Congress Hall. Thus Baltimore became the nation’s capital for a two-month period. While meeting here on December 27, 1776, Congress conferred upon George Washington “extraordinary powers for the conduct of the Revolutionary War,” making him essentially a military dictator. Thankfully he proved to be worthy of their trust by always deferring to Congress’s control.

Instead of attacking Philadelphia, however, Howe settled into winter quarters, and Congress returned to the city on March 4, 1777. They continued to meet at the Pennsylvania State House until September 19, 1777, after Washington’s defeat at Brandywine Creek, which left Philadelphia once again vulnerable to British attack. In book 4 of my American Patriot Series, Crucible of War, I included the scenes of panic that took place while the American and British armies essentially played a chess match, while Howe progressively tightened the noose around Philadelphia. I was delighted to find a number of eyewitness accounts of those tense days to lend accuracy and vividness to my descriptions.

According to an account by loyalist resident Sarah Fisher, “ . . . two nights ago the city was alarmed about two o’clock with a great knocking at people’s doors & desiring them to get up, that the English had crossed the Swedes ford at 11 o’clock & would presently be in the city. . . . wagons rattling, horses galloping, women running, children crying, delegates flying, & altogether the greatest consternation, fright & terror that can be imagined. Some of our neighbors took their flight before day, & I believe all the Congress moved off before 5 o’clock, but behold when morning came, it proved a false alarm. The English had only made their appearance opposite the Swedes ford, & some of our people whose fears had magnified it into a reality that they had crossed brought the alarm to town, & terror & dismay spread itself amongst them. Thus the guilty fly when none pursue.”

On the patriot side, congressional delegate John Adams wrote that “At 3 this Morning [September 19] was waked by Mr. Lovell, and told that the Members of Congress were gone, some of them, a little after Midnight. That there was a letter from Mr. Hamilton Aid de Camp to the General, informing that the Enemy were in Poss[essio]n of the Ford and the Boats, and had it in their power to be in Philadelphia, before Morning, and that if Congress was not removed they had not a Moment to loose. Mr. Merchant and myself arose, sent for our Horses, and, after collecting our Things, rode off after the others.”

On September 27 Congress convened at the courthouse in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, then removed to York, Pennsylvania, where they held their first meeting at the courthouse on September 30. In November, Congress approved the Articles of Confederation at York and submitted them to the States for ratification. The Articles went into effect on March 1, at which time Congress became the Congress of the Confederation. After the British withdrew from Philadelphia in June 1778, Congress reconvened at College Hall in Philadelphia on July 2 before once more making their home at the State House.

Considering the internal strife taking place in so many countries today, the United States has experienced very few disruptions of our government due to war since our inception. We truly have been extraordinarily blessed to have God’s hand of protection over us, and I pray that this nation will never turn away from the One who has given us such favor.

Now, since I inadvertently posted a day late, I’m offering a surprise drawing for those who stop by to comment. I just received my first copies of Crucible of War a couple of days ago, and those who make a comment on this post will be entered in a drawing for a free copy! The ebook edition is already available, but the print edition doesn’t release until September 3. You have until Friday at midnight to leave a comment, and please specify whether you’d like the ebook edition (Kindle, Nook, or CBD) or the print edition.

Unexpected Revolutionary Hero

Posted by Elaine Marie Cooper

Sometimes heroes are not obvious. And certainly no one would envision a Quaker midwife taking on the role of military spy.

Yet that is exactly what Lydia Darragh did in 1777. Displaying admirable courage in a critical hour, she saved the day for General George Washington and his troops in December of that year. Her courageous action brought victory for the Continental forces, changing the tide for the American Army after several discouraging defeats. It was an unexpected change for Lydia, who was born into a Quaker pacifist family in Dublin, Ireland in 1728.

Mrs. William Darragh, who was born Lydia Barrington, emigrated to America with her husband in 1754. The couple made their home in Philadelphia. As members of the Quaker religion, they settled into the large community of fellow believers in that city.

As their faith taught, they preferred peacemaking when the American Revolution began, refusing to become involved in the fighting. The Darragh’s oldest son, Charles, however, left his religious teaching and joined with the Continental forces. When the British took over the city of Philadelphia in September of 1777, Lydia seemed to have a change of heart about remaining neutral as well.

Whether it was a mother’s heart with a son in the Army that piqued her concern or her worries in general about the American cause is unclear. But one thing is certain: Her involvement with a pacifist church made her appear to be harmless to the British cause. But nothing could have been further from the truth.

British General Sir William Howe made his headquarters in a confiscated house directly across the street from the Darragh home. Soon after, British Major John Andre pounded on Lydia’s door demanding that the family evacuate. Lydia, the mother of five, had already sent her youngest two children to stay with relatives for safety. She still had two children at home and begged the major to allow her to stay, as she had nowhere else to go. A distant cousin, who was a British officer, worked in the enemy headquarters across the street. He arranged for Lydia to stay in her home as long as the British could use one of the Darragh’s rooms for military meetings. Lydia agreed.

On the evening of December 2, several British officers, including Howe, arrived at her home and ordered the whole family to retire to bed early. But Lydia only pretended to sleep. While the others slumbered in their rooms, Lydia quietly hid in a closet adjacent to the room where the officers met. Her heart in her throat, she heard them planning a surprise attack on Washington and his soldiers at a place called Whitemarsh. That was where Lydia’s son was stationed with the Continental Army! As the meeting was wrapping up, she quietly snuck back to her room.

Major Andre came to her room and knocked on her door. She feigned being in a deep sleep and ignored the first two attempts by the major to awaken her. By the third knock, she managed to look rumpled and sleepy as she answered. Their meeting was over, the officer told her. She pretended to return to her slumber, but she did not sleep. Lydia lay awake in bed, planning how to get the word to Washington.

The next day, Lydia took an empty twenty-five-pound flour sack to the British headquarters to request a pass to leave the city. She needed flour, she said, and she wished to visit her two youngest children as well. Her cousin became the one who gladly signed a pass for his Quaker relative. I can just see her smiling gratefully for this opportunity to purchase much-needed food for her family.

But any smiling would be short-lived as time was becoming critical. The planned attack on the American troops would take place the next day.

Mrs. Darragh carried the flour sack but, more importantly, the critical message warning of the impending assault. She had tucked the handwritten message in a folder for her sewing needles. Trudging several miles through the snow, she located the Rising Sun Tavern, a known hang-out for Patriots.

An entry in a journal by Elias Boudinot, Commissary of Prisoners, who was dining at the tavern that night, relates this incident:

  “After dinner, a little poor-looking insignificant old woman came in and solicited leave to go into the country and buy some flour. While we were asking some questions, she walked up to me and put into my hands a dirty old needle book, with various small pockets in it.”

The woman left. When Boudinot opened the last pocket, he found a message: General Howe was coming out the next morning with 5,000 men and thirteen cannons.

The next day, the “surprise” British attack against the American forces was thwarted. All because Lydia made a decision to be brave and risk her own life for the lives of others. Although she was later questioned by Major Andre about her possible involvement in spying, Lydia managed to convince him that she had no idea what he was talking about. She had been in a deep sleep the night of the officer’s meeting, after all. He completely believed her tale.

Lydia Darragh’s wartime spying came to light in 1827 when her daughter, Ann, published her mother’s story. In 1877, some questioned the veracity of Ann’s written narrative—until Boudinot’s memoirs were published in 1909, lending credibility to the tale of the courageous Lydia Darragh. Her treasonous actions could have led to her execution. Instead, her mother’s heart led her to unexpected bravery.