The Heroes of 1776

In a desperate effort to defend a key stronghold from advancing British troops, the Continental Army dug in at Philadelphia’s Fort Mifflin in September 1777. What followed was among the most brutal sieges of the Revolutionary War. The patriots’ meager defenses couldn’t withstand the constant British barrage, and one patriot after another was “cut in two.” A survivor, Joseph Plumb Martin, later described the ordeal: “In the cold month of November,” he fought “without provisions, without clothing,” without even “a scrap of either shoes or stockings.” As the battle neared its end, Martin surveyed lines of dead comrades, observing later that “if ever destruction was complete, it was here.” He was just 16 years old.

Many defeats and relentless hardships followed over the long years of the revolution. Often, soldiers survived on whatever they could find: bark from trees, dog and horse flesh, strips of leather boiled down to bitter soup. Martin recalled regularly marching “24 or 48 hours . . . night and day without rest or sleep.” At times, he fell asleep on his feet, only to be jolted awake by the man next to him. Soldiers slept and fought without adequate clothing, blankets, or, like Martin, shoes. “You might have tracked the army . . . by the blood of their feet,” George Washington said about the long winter march to Valley Forge in Pennsylvania. Those who escaped death from starvation, exposure, or enemy fire often succumbed to disease. And for all this, the small wages the men were promised often went unpaid or arrived in currency so devalued as to be nearly worthless.

Soldiers were not alone in their sacrifice. Across the colonies, ordinary people contributed in countless ways. Women organized boycotts of British goods, joined resistance groups like the Daughters of Liberty, and tended to soldiers as nurses and cooks. Farmers left their fields to join local militias and fight alongside the Continental Army. Children kept households and managed businesses in their parents’ absence. Many, like Martin, volunteered to serve. Emily Geiger was 18 years old when she rode through enemy lines to deliver an important message to a patriot general. Richard Lord Jones was 10 when he became an army fifer; after his discharge three years later, he walked 150 miles home. And when the British caught the 21-year-old spy Nathan Hale, he met death with resolve: “I only regret that I have but one life to give for my country.”

This year marks the 250th anniversary of our nation’s independence. We are celebrating with fireworks, barbecues, and parades. But we might also pause to reflect on the courage and sacrifice of the founding generation and ask: What moved so many ordinary people to do so many extraordinary things?

Much of the answer lies in the Declaration of Independence. The Constitution establishes our framework of government. But it is the Declaration that gives voice to our nation’s highest ideals: that all are created equal; that each of us enjoys unalienable rights endowed by “their Creator,” not government; and that “We the People” have the authority to govern ourselves. Americans fought and died in the revolution for these principles. Two and a half centuries later, they remain the nation’s creed, enduring aspirations that—whatever our imperfections and disagreements—bind us together as one people.

The Declaration’s 250th anniversary represents an opportunity to rededicate ourselves to our creed and ensure it lives on for future generations. This is a task we cannot neglect. During the Declaration’s 50th anniversary celebrations in 1826, Daniel Webster offered a prediction. “No age will come,” he said, “in which the American Revolution will appear less than it is, one of the greatest events in human history.” But time has tested that judgment. Recent surveys suggest that just one-third of Americans can identify the Declaration as the source of the phrase “we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.” Three in 10 Americans are unable to name the three branches of government, let alone explain why their separation promotes the Declaration’s ideals. Six in 10 Americans would flunk the citizenship test.

Our founders understood that the success of our nation depends on educating each new generation in its history and ideals. Just before leaving the presidency, George Washington pressed Congress to ensure “the education of our Youth in the science of Government. In a Republic, what species of knowledge can be equally important? and what duty more pressing than . . . a plan for communicating it to those, who are to be the future guardians of the liberties of the country?” Thomas Jefferson put it more bluntly: “If a nation expects to be ignorant & free . . . it expects what never was & never will be.” Nearing death, Jefferson even asked that his tombstone mention not his presidency, but three other achievements he considered more important. Among them? “Father of the University of Virginia.”

In 1818, the university’s stated mission emphasized civic education: Its “objects” included instilling “virtue & order” and expounding “the principles & structure of government.” Even before students reached the university, Jefferson and his colleagues believed they should be “instruct[ed]” in “their rights, interests, and duties.” In our own times, surveys suggest that only about 18 percent of liberal arts colleges mandate a single course in American history. Nor are younger students learning our history, form of government, or ideals. According to the National Assessment of Educational Progress, only about 13 percent of eighth-grade students achieve a “proficient” score on a U.S. history assessment and only about 22 percent do so on a civics assessment.

As the political theorist Hannah Arendt observed in 1974, Americans are “united neither by heritage, nor by memory, nor by soil, nor by language, nor by the same place of origin.” What unites us is our shared commitment to the Declaration’s ideals of equality, liberty, and self-rule. Their only sure guardian resides in the hearts of the American people, and they will endure only if each rising generation rediscovers them, engages with the history that gave rise to them, and chooses them anew.

So, celebrate we should. But hopefully we will also find time to reflect on the Declaration’s promise and the complex and compelling history that gave rise to it. The people waiting to be met in the pages of the Declaration’s history—the signers, soldiers, farmers, fifers, spies, and messengers—still have much to offer us. People like Caesar Rodney who, suffering from cancer, rode 80 miles through the night in a thunderstorm to break a tie vote in the debate over independence. Or Mary K. Goddard, who first printed the Declaration with the names of the signers and boldly added her own, even though the act identified her as a traitor in British eyes. Or Thomas Nelson Jr., commander of Virginia’s militia at the battle of Yorktown who, legend has it, ordered his troops to open fire on his home after learning the British were using it as their headquarters. After the war, and having spent much of his wealth on the patriot cause, Nelson was left with little to his name and was buried in an unmarked grave. Before he passed, some say he was asked if he felt bitter about his fate. He replied, “I would do it all over again.”

To these men and women we owe a debt beyond repayment. And with that debt comes both a duty and an opportunity to carry their work forward, continuing the enduring task of forming “a more perfect Union.”

This piece was originally published by The Free Press on July 2, 2026.