Printing the Declaration of Independence

On July 4, 1776, as members of the Continental Congress dispersed into the night in Philadelphia, a printer named John Dunlap began a crucial task. Congress had just greenlighted the Declaration of Independence and needed copies swiftly. Throughout the night, Dunlap and his team set type and managed to print around 200 broadsides announcing that the American colonies had declared themselves free and independent.

By early 1778, these copies were stirring discussions back in Parliament.

The initial prints weren’t crafted with longevity in mind. Instead, they were meant to make their way across land and sea, reaching military outposts, public squares, and even foreign governments, as the nascent republic sought essential support. Some found homes on walls and were read aloud to soldiers, while others were folded, carried, and ultimately tossed aside.

Now, many of these prints are either lost, damaged, or discarded.

In Enemy Hands

Currently, only 26 original Dunlap broadsides are known to exist. One of these copies had a particularly unexpected journey. Just five weeks after it was printed, this document fell into British hands during the War of Independence and was sent back across the Atlantic to London, traveling with a dispatch from Lieutenant General Richard Howe and General William Howe. These brothers were not only leading military efforts but also served as peace commissioners for King George III, trying to negotiate some form of reconciliation with the colonies. Ironically, they were among the last officials still hopeful for a resolution. Had Lord Howe’s peace committee arrived a bit sooner, who knows—independence might have been averted.

Nevertheless, this was indeed sent to London, serving as one of the initial printed copies of the Declaration. It conveyed to ministers that colonists had “renounced all allegiance to the British Crown.”

A Defining Moment

This declaration marked a pivotal shift for many people on both sides of the war. The conflict transformed into something entirely different: the emergence of a new nation.

In a way, it was a communication signaling to Britain that the American crisis had entered a transformed phase.

Nearly 250 years later, the very same document is now showcased as a highlight of America’s upcoming 250th-anniversary celebrations at the American Museum and Gardens in Bath.

This unique story has taken some unexpected twists lately. It spent a long time in the British National Archives, but it was first identified as one of the surviving Dunlap broadsides in 2009.

Connections and Calculations

Historians have recently traced the origins of this document to Jonas Phillips, a Jewish merchant and patriot who lived near Dunlap’s printing office. He sent broadsides to relatives and business associates in Amsterdam, intending to spread the word of American independence. To avoid British scrutiny, he included a note in Yiddish that referred to a “nationwide declaration.” Unfortunately for him, the letter and documents were captured by the British and ended up in government archives.

What remains today isn’t just a foundational American document but also vital wartime intelligence—a document that crossed the ocean to British newspapers and lay hidden for over two centuries. The annotations on the back are notably bland, recorded by an official in the Colonial Secretary’s office as part of routine business. A crucial political document was relegated to mere correspondence.

A Community Discourse

But this document didn’t just fade into obscurity. By early 1778, its contents were even debated within the House of Lords. Charles Lennox, the 3rd Duke of Richmond, a prominent critic of the government, read parts of it aloud and suggested that Britain might have no option but to recognize American independence.

This transformation of the Declaration turned it into more than just an American foundational text; it became part of the British debate regarding the future of the war and the empire itself.

This scenario also highlights the challenge of distance in the 18th century. News from North America typically took six to ten weeks to reach England, meaning that by the time Whitehall officials were made aware of the developments in the colonies, those events were already history.