The Pennsylvania State Rifle Regiment, also known as Miles’ Regiment, also known as the Pennsylvania 13th Regiment first came about when the Pennsylvania State Battalion of Musketry merged with Miles’ Reigment. We know it’s confusing, largely because there were so many names involved and that’s not even where the names ended.
Samuel Miles was their commander when they were first raised, and he was their commander in 1777 at the Battle of Long Island. It’s especially notable because he allowed himself to be captured by British troops who thought he was George Washington, a ruse that allowed the real George Washington and many of his troops to escape. It was nearly two years before he would be released in a prisoner exchange.
As for the regiment itself, that eventually got absorbed into the Continental Army in June of 1777, but they were still informally called the Pennsylvania 13th.
So here’s a fun story about Charles Carroll. As I’ve mentioned many times before, lots and lots of place names in Baltimore have strong historical connections and Charles Carroll is no exception.
There is, of course, a Carroll Street, which starts in the southeast neighborhood of Morrell Park. It doesn’t go quite through that neighborhood though; it gets broken up by a couple of blocks’ worth of houses and resumes again. There’s another break as a railroad right-of-way comes through—but there’s no train crossing; the road just terminates. Carroll Street resumes (we’re still in Morrell Park) on the other side, however, before it’s interrupted yet again.
Now as I understand it, this particular part of the neighborhood was wiped out completely by Hurricane Agnes in the early 1970s, so the rebuild was kind of haphazard. Plus, I-95 was first constructed through this part of Baltimore City around this time, so you have to jump almost 3500 feet before Carroll Street resumes again.
But now you’re not in a residential neighborhood; it’s series of warehouses and industrial buildings for a stretch until it gets back into a residential neighborhood known as Pigtown, so called because on Market days, pigs would be led through the streets to the market for sale and eventual slaughter. Carroll Street meets with Cross Street in that neighborhood, and that’s the northern terminus.
However.
There’s an elementary school in the area that’s also named after Charles Carroll. It’s not on Carroll Street (of course) but is about two blocks away, in Pigtown. Now, remember, Charles Carroll was a lawyer, or a “barrister” as the old-timey types like to say. So Elementary School #34 is officially “Charles Carroll, Barrister Elementary School”. Except everybody forgets the comma is there and says it like one long name. And chances are, they think there was a guy actually named Charles Carroll Barrister somewhere in history.
And wasn’t that a long walk for a short drink of water.
Colonel Henry Knox took about ten weeks to get from Ticonderoga to Cambridge rather than the two he anticipated. But his arrival meant the siege’s end in Boston would come soon.
Knox had brought something like 60 tons worth of material overland using hand-built sledges and carts drawn by oxen. The last leg of the trip is still a mystery, because Knox’ diary ends about two weeks early. What is known is that as he passed through the occasional town, people would line up to watch. So we know when he was where, but the usual stuff that ran through Knox’ head for that portion of the trip is gone.
Still, his arrival at Cambridge meant that Washington now had what he needed to fortify his position and do what he needed to drive the British out of Boston. After nearly a year, the siege’s end was actually in sight.
The raid on New Providence is probably one of those situations where we couldn’t really represent everything that was going on on this particular island, because there were a lot of moving parts. We especially overlooked the part at the end.
Two of the ships went to St. Augustine, laden down mostly with gunpowder. Of the others, they headed further north, where they encountered the HMS Hawk and then the HMS Bolton. They ended up caputuring both ships.
Then they bumped into the HMS Glasgow off the coast of Long Island. Despite being outnumbered, the Glasgow got away while simultaneously damaging one of the Navy ships.
Initially, the Navy was given kudos for the raid, but the failure to capture Glasgow, plus complaints about some of the captains in the fleet led to investigations and courts-martial. One ship’s captain, that of the Providence, lost his command and it was given to John Paul Jones. Division of the spoils was also disputed. The commander of the entire action, Esek Hopkins, was censured for not patrolling the Virginia and Carolina Coasts (never mind he was secretly told to do so), and he was eventually dismissed from the Navy.
What’s more, Nassau remained poorly defended and was subject to capture several times throughout the war.
Oh, that Royal Governor Josiah Martin. He might be defiant, he might be delusional. He might be in denial.
What he was not, apparently, was cognizant of the effect that the Battle of Moore’s Creek Bridge had on Loyalist morale. Or, perhaps he did. At any rate, his order to raise the British flag anywhere a flag could be raised was more performative than anything else.
This was Martin’s second big push to restore North Carolina to British control, but it wasn’t his last. Many months later the Carolina Campaign began. It went on for a long time and they very nearly succeeded. However, Martin finally had to leave, first for Long Island and then for Britain.
We bumped into a little dilemma when putting together this episode. Specifically, what do we do when 1776 doesn’t match up with 2026?
As it turns out, 1776 was a leap year, so that year had a February 29, whereas 2026 does not. So we decided to do what most Leap Babies seem to do: mark the day on March 1.
To that end, today marks two events: first, we take a look at an arrangement that France and Spain made to trade with America on a kind of gray market. That arrangement was first presented to King Louis XVI on February 29, 1776.
From there we jump to March 1, the date that the Royal Navy began enforcing the Prohibitory Act in earnest. It was supposed to go into effect on January 1, but presumably the Navy didn’t know about it until after that date, so March 1 became the agreed-upon start date. Under the terms of the Prohibitory Act, the Colonies were banned from trading with other nations, in addition, any Colonial ships were considered enemy vessels and were subject to being captured and retained. Likewise, any sailors aboard those ships were enemies of the Crown and to be treated as such.
This was almost certainly the last straw for many in the Colonies.
I mention in today’s episode that William Augustine Washington lived on a Virginia plantation he’d inherited, and that his first house burned down.
The second house he moved to, on the same property but a mile away (yow!), was called Blenheim. Washington used some of the bricks from the original house to add on to the Blenheim house, but he also used a bunch of them to start on a house and barn on a separate property.
What a thrifty fellow!
For what it’s worth, Blenheim is still standing and is on the National Register of Historic Places. You may be able to see it from the street but it is privately occupied and not open to the public.
A Coruña is a coastal city in northeastern Spain that’s often stylized as La Coruña, as Mike says in this episode. Its location makes it an ideal port for trade with other nations, and the American Colonies was no exception.
Now, France gets a lot of attention for the assistance they gave us during the Revolution, but Spain was at least as helpful as France was. They were just quieter about it. So it was probably just a matter of time before some British officials noticed ships in the Spanish harbors that appeared to be engaging in more than your typical trade. What’s more, the presence of Dutch materiel suggested that Spain may have been acting as a third party between Holland and America, to enact some nearly-clandestine trade with the Colonies for gunpowder and other stuff.
As the year wore on, Spain would become a little more openly involved in the war effort.
Carter Braxton was born into money, as his grandfather was probably the wealthiest man in Virginia. This gave him the “in” he needed to become a gentleman farmer and a public official.
In 1761 he was elected to Virginia’s House of Burgesses, and in 1769 he was a signatory to the Virginia Resolves, which protested parliamentary interference with colony affairs. While he was a Patriot at heart, as 1776 rolled around and he replaced Peyton Randolph as one of Virginia’s delegates to the Continental Congress, he thought that independence from England was a little premature, but he did sign the Declaration of Independence when the time came. Not long after that he returned to Virginia and resumed his term in the state legislature.
Carter Braxton had some notable progeny. His second great-grandson was William Tyler Page, composer of the Amercan’s Creed, which reads:
I believe in the United States of America as a government of the people, by the people, for the people; whose just powers are derived from the consent of the governed, a democracy in a republic, a sovereign Nation of many sovereign States; a perfect union, one and inseparable; established upon those principles of freedom, equality, justice, and humanity for which American patriots sacrificed their lives and fortunes.
I therefore believe it is my duty to my country to love it, to support its Constitution, to obey its laws, to respect its flag, and to defend it against all enemies.
This was accepted by the US House of Representatives on April 3, 1918.
The South Carolina 5th Regiment ultimately wasn’t a huge success, with a single exception, which we’ll talk about in greater detail in a few months. But in those losses there were some long odds going on, so we’ll not judge too harshly.
I learned a couple of things as a result of today’s episode. I own a piece of property in South Carolina, in the Myrtle Beach area, which is located in Horry County. I always wondered how it got that name, and now I’ve learned that Horry County was named after Peter Horry, who was a commander of the SC 5th. The other thing I learned was that when I looked for a picture of Peter Horry, I stumbled on his biography and learned that he was a great-grandchild of French Huguenot refugees who arrived in Charleston in the 1680s.
And that is how I learned why Horry County is pronounced with a silent “H”.
![Cover art for February 24, 1776: "Entrada al Castillo de San Antón [Entrance to the Castle at St. Antón]", in La Coruña, Spain. Uploaded by "Marcus", via Wikimedia and used under Creative Commons under SA 3.0](https://250andcounting.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/02/1776-02-24-Cover-1024x1024.jpg)
