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From: Joanne <>
Subject: Re: [SOMGEN-L] What happened to the Signers?
Date: Mon, 05 Jul 1999 07:48:03 -0500


This was posted on another list yesterday - it goes along with Mary
Bookout's
"What Happened to the Signers?" post:

Richard Stockton, a signer of the Declaration of Independence, was born
at the
ancient family seat of his forefathers, near Princeton, NJ, Oct.1, A.D.
1730.
He graduated at Princeton College in 1748, and devoting himself to the
study of
law, soon rose to eminence. Being possessed of a competent fortune, he
visited
Great Britain, where he was received with much attention; and while
there, rendered
valuable services to the College of New Jersey. On the opening of the
Revolution,
he adopted with ardor his country's cause, and rendered her important
services in
various stations. On the 30th of November, 1776, he was, together with
his friend
and compatriot, Mr. Covenhoven (at whose house he was temporarily
staying),
captured by a party of refugee royalists; dragged from his bed by night;
plundered
of his property; carried to New York; thrown into the common jail, and
treated with
such barbarity, as to lay the foundation of the disease which terminated
in his death,
February 28th, 1781. Mr. Stockton's fortune, which had been ample, was
greatly
diminished, both by the depreciation of the continental currency, and the
ravages of the British troops. His complicated afflictions hastened his
death, which took place
at his seat near Princeton. His remains were carried to the College hall,
where a
funeral discourse was delivered by the Rev. Dr. S.S. Smith. They were
afterwards interred with those of his ancestors, in the Friends
burial-ground, near Princeton.
"He was an accomplished scholar and statesman, a persuasive speaker, and
an
exemplary Christian."

His son, Richard Stockton, Jr. wrote an account of his life called "The
Man Who Yielded" - published in the Guideposts magazine in 1975. It
follows:
"They came to get father at three in the morning. I can remember clearly
the
grandfather clock striking the hour just as the band of loyalists smashed
down the
front door of the house where we had thought we would be safe. Torches
flaming,
muskets held at the ready, they ran upstairs to the bedroom. Mother
began to cry
as we six children watched in terror. They only gave father time to pull
on his
breeches and a pair of boots and to snatch up his greatcoat. Pushing him
toward
the door, they ordered him to be silent. "Take care of your mother,
Dick!" father
shouted defiantly. I was only 12 but I still remember the storm of
emotions that
roared through me that cold December night in 1776 as I saw my father
carried
away into captivity. Rage and pride were uppermost - rage because I could
do nothing to prevent it, and pride that such a man as Richard Stockton
was my father.
He seemed to be somehow invincible, unconquerable even though everything
now was lost. Only a few hours earlier we had had to flee from Morven,
our old family
estate in Princeton, New Jersey, with its long drive sweeping up to the
house past
lawns once kept cropped by 30 sheep which father kept just for that
purpose.
Morven's elegance had reflected the ordered and balanced life our family
had
known until the tide of war swept too close and we had to seek refuge
with our
friends the Covenhovens in nearby Monmouth County. Perhaps what happened
there was inevitable, for father was a marked man, hated by the British
and the
loyalists because he was one of the 56 men who signed their names to the
Declaration of Independence. From the moment he signed the Declaration,
things
began to go badly. Father had no time for his law practice; he was too
busy trying
to raise funds for the new government or buying supplies for the
Continental Army.
Every day it seemed that the new currency bought less. Servants vanished
and the
sheep disappeared from the lawn. It became ragged and ill-kempt, like the
wisteria
over the portico. After father was taken away, we stayed on at the
Covenhovens.
It was days before we had any news, but slowly reports came though.
Father had
been taken to Perth Amboy, where the British threw him into a common
jail. We
learned from a visiting Continental Army officer about the rats and lice,
the starvation
and the men who froze to death. Mother fled the room in tears as the
officer spoke.
In January a rumor reached us that father had been seen by an American
spy who
had somehow got into the jail. At least the spy thought the man he had
seen was my
father. He didn't know for sure, since the man did not speak but sat
huddled in a
corner, coatless, shivering in the bitter winter chill. Despite sadness,
I felt a wave of
pride as I thought of my father, suffering yet still defiant. Shortly
after that came news that left us stunned and feeling more alone than
ever. New Jersey had become the
chief battleground of the war. If it fell, people said, the Revolution
was lost. People
changed their allegiances regularly. Some had been loyalists and were now
rebels.
Some had been rebels and now felt they should have stayed with the crown.
To
sow further confusion, General Howe, the British commander, did a clever
thing.
He drew up a document of amnesty. Any man who had been fighting with the
Americans could sign this paper, realigning himself with the king, and
receive a full
pardon. Then came the devastating piece of news. At first it was only a
rumor, and
I could not believe it. But then someone brought us one of the amnesty
petitions
which were being circulated - and right at the top of the list was my
father's name.
I felt as if my whole universe had crumbled. I still could not believe
it, not until the
day that I, being the eldest, went with mother to New York to fetch
father. When
he stepped through the pair of red-coated guards at the prison gate, I
did not
recognize him. Those months of punishment had completely changed him. His
hair
was now white; his eyes were sunken and lifeless. He fell shaking into
mother's
arms. When the long, silent carriage ride at last was over and we were
slowly
making our way through Princeton, it was just as I knew it would be. The
students
and the tradesmen and even our neighbors all let us pass as if we were
ghosts. No
one wanted to look at the man who had yielded. Worse still was our return
to
Morven itself. We had heard that the now-empty mansion had been wrecked
by
angry British soldiers after the American victory at Princeton, but I was
stunned with
anger at what they had done. The buildings had been sacked and scorched
by
flames. Inside we found furniture smashed and burned. Worst of all,
father's
treasured library had also been burned. But despite the anguish I saw in
him, I could
not feel sympathy for my father. In my young heart, I still could not
understand how
he could have submitted to the enemy who had done all this. In the months
that
followed, father seemed only half-alive. I tried to make myself feel
something for
him, but the hurt inside me was too deep. I had no understanding, and
certainly no
respect. He spent long hours in bed, longer hours in his library trying
to piece
together anything at all from the scorched remnants. I kept away from him
as much
as I could. One day mother handed me a tray with father's lunch on it and
asked me
to take it to him in the library. "And, Dick," she said pleadingly, "do
stay with him for
a few minutes." When I went in and handed the plate to my father, the
constraint
between us was like a wall. I turned to go, but at the door a faltering
voice made me
hesitate. "Dick," my father said, "I know how you must feel about me. I
know
because often I feel that way about myself. I just want you to know one
thing. It
wasn't the cold or the hunger or the pain. It was the thought that I
would not live to
see your mother and you children again." I turned around. He was standing
by the
fire with the plate in his hand. Shadows flickered on his gaunt face. He
was old and
bent. I realized for the first time that I was now taller than my father.
"Dick," he said,
his voice low, his eyes fastened on mine, "every man has his breaking
point. I came
to mine. My only consolation is the thought that I have a son like you
who someday
will redeem my mistakes." The room became very quiet. His hand shook as
he put
the untouched plate on the mantel. And somehow, when I saw those
trembling
fingers, something like a great dam burst inside me, and I ran to take my
father in
my arms. Suddenly I knew the cost of father's fateful act of courage in
signing the
Declaration of Independence. Because of that brave act, he had suffered
the loss
of his property and his profession, imprisonment and slow, agonizing
exposure
which eventually resulted in his breaking down and signing the amnesty
petition.
And now, because he had yielded after months of deprivation and torment,
he had
to bear the disgrace and alienation as well. He was a man ruined in body
and spirit.
I gazed past his white head and thin shoulders, thinking. I would never
have to go to
prison for my country. I would be saved that peril because of what my
father and
the others like him had done to win freedom. I felt a healing taking
place in my heart.
Father's work - the building of a new nation- had only begun. My task was
to help
complete it." (END)

(This eldest son of Richard Stockton, "the Signer", was called "the Duke"
because
of his courtly manner. He was a lawyer, U.S. Senator from New
Jersey1796-1799.
He was a member of the House of Representatives from 1813-1815. He
addressed
the Marquis de LaFayette at Princeton, 1824. He left a large number of
children.)

"Mary W. Bookout" wrote:

> A friend sent this to me yesterday-I just had to pass it on. We must
> all remember, Freedom is not free.
>
> "What Happened to the Signers?"
>
> Five signers were captured by the British and brutally tortured as
> traitors. Nine fought in the War for Independence and died from wounds
> or from hardships they suffered. Two lost their sons in the Continental
> Army. Another two had sons captured. At least a dozen Of the fifty-six
> had their homes pillaged and burned.

> What kind of men were they? Twenty-five were lawyers or jurists. Eleven
> were merchants. Nine were farmers or large plantation owners. One was a
> teacher, one a musician, and one a printer. These were men of means and
> education, yet they signed the Declaration of Independence, knowing
> full well that the penalty could be death if they were captured.
>
> In the face of the advancing British Army, the Continental Congress
> fled from Philadelphia to Baltimore on December 12, 1776. It was an
> especially anxious time for John Hancock, the President, as his wife
> had just given birth to a baby girl. Due to the complications stemming
> from the trip to Baltimore, the child lived only a few months.
>
> William Ellery's signing at the risk of his fortune proved only too
> realistic. In December 1776, during three days of British occupation of
> Newport, Rhode Island, Ellery's house was burned, and all his property
> destroyed.
>
> Richard Stockton, a New Jersey State Supreme Court Justice, had rushed
> back
> to his estate near Princeton after signing the Declaration of
> Independence to find
> that his wife and children were living like refugees with friends. They
> had been
> betrayed by a Tory sympathizer who also revealed Stockton's own
> whereabouts.
> British troops pulled him from his bed one night, beat him and threw
> him in jail where he almost starved to death. When he was finally
> released, he went home to find his estate had been looted, his
> possessions burned, and his horses stolen. Judge Stockton had been so
> badly treated in prison that his health was ruined and he died before
> the war's end. His surviving family had to live the remainder of their
> lives off charity.
>
> Carter Braxton was a wealthy planter and trader. One by one his ships
> were captured by the British navy. He loaned a large sum of money to
> the American cause; it was never paid back. He was forced to sell his
> plantations and mortgage his other properties to pay his debts.
>
> Thomas McKean was so hounded by the British that he had to move his
> family almost constantly. He served in the Continental Congress without
> pay, and kept his family in hiding. Vandals or soldiers or both looted
> the properties of Clymer, Hall, Harrison, Hopkinson and Livingston.
> Seventeen lost everything they owned.
>
> Thomas Heyward, Jr., Edward Rutledge and Arthur Middleton, all of South
> Carolina, were captured by the British during the Charleston Campaign
> in 1780. They were kept in dungeons at the St. Augustine Prison until
> exchanged a year later.
>
> At the Battle of Yorktown, Thomas Nelson, Jr. noted that the British
> General Cornwallis had taken over the family home for his headquarters.
> Nelson urged General George Washington to open fire on his own home.
> This was done, and the home was destroyed. Nelson later died bankrupt.
>
> Francis Lewis also had his home and properties destroyed. The British
> jailed his
> wife for two months, and that and other hardships from the war so
> affected her
> health that she died only two years later.
>
> "Honest John" Hart, a New Jersey farmer, was driven from his wife's
> bedside when she was near death. Their thirteen children fled for their
> lives. Hart's fields and his gristmill were laid waste. For over a year
> he eluded capture by hiding in nearby forests. He never knew where his
> bed would be the next night and often slept in caves. When he finally
> returned home, he found that his wife had died, his children
> disappeared, and his farm and stock were completely destroyed. Hart
> himself died in 1779 without ever seeing any of his family again.

> Such were the stories and sacrifices typical of those who risked
> everything to sign the Declaration of Independence. These men were not
> wild-eyed, rabble-rousing ruffians. They were soft-spoken men of means
> and education. They had security, but they valued liberty more.
>
> Standing tall, straight, and unwavering, they pledged:

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

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