Thomas Stone was a delegate to the Second Continental Congress who served with strict instuctions to “arrive at a happy settlement and lasting amity” with the Mother Country. What’s more, he and his fellow delegates were told not to vote for any proposition that declared independence.
Fortunately, just a few days before Richard Henry Lee put forth the resolution for Independence in early June 1776, the Maryland government removed that restriction, so the delegates could vote however they wanted. And yes, they did vote.
Of course it’s coincidental, but it’s kind of cool that we’re able to bring you this episode during Women’s History Month and the same week as International Women’s Day.
Believe it or not, Mike and I have struggled with the fact that there’s very little representation of anyone from this era who isn’t a white male. We’ve managed to touch on a few women and African-Americans from time to time, but after 435 episodes (including today) we’re probably still in the single-digit range.
Mike doesn’t concentrate very much on the newspaper notice that appeared in Baltimore this day; he gives us a little perspective on some of the ripples created by events we’ve talked about so far. Sometimes the women’s history angle comes from the things that are mundane in print, but vital to the success of the war.
It doesn’t make up for the lack of representation, but we hope it helps.
One of John Adams’ stronger talents was being able to see the motivation behind the action, and because of this he was usually able to thwart unattractive actions somehow.
In today’s case, he was able to thwart people who opposed him by simply agreeing with them. As a newly-minted Chief Justice of Massachusetts, some Loyalist (if not Loyalist, then certainly in the Don’t Declare Independence crowd) delegates from Maryland suggested that because he worked for Massachusetts, he had an inherent conflict of interest and therefore couldn’t vote in Congress.
Now, at that time a colony’s quorum was exactly one delegate, so if he was the only person from Massachusetts attending that day, Massachusetts wouldn’t be able to cast a vote. So, Adams did the sensible thing and agreed with the Marylanders. Then he resigned from the position they thought he’d never give up.
Aerial view of Fort McHenry. The curved earthworks wall along the bottom third of the picture is a remnant of Fort Whetstone. via Wikimedia Commons.
I was actually rather disappointed not to be able to find any images of Fort Whetstone. Surely there are some pictures from that time, but the Internet was not in a giving mood today.
In today’s artwork you can see some remnants of the original fort (most of what you see is modern-day Fort McHenry). Those are along the bottom of the photo, but there are other artifacts that are tough to see from aerial photos. For instance, the location of the original barracks is visible at ground level. They’re marked out by the bricks which are still embedded in the ground.
The end of Whetstone/Locust Point is just out of picture range to the left. And if you visit, look out across the water to the remnants of the Francis Scott Key Bridge. That’s about where the British ships were when they were bombarding Fort McHenry during the War of 1812. It’s also about where Francis Scott Key himself was at that same time. You’re looking at roughly four miles of distance as the crow flies. Those ships’ cannons had some range.
Fun Fact: as recently as November 2025, an unexploded cannonball, likely from the 1814 battle, was found in the ground. The park had to be closed for a day while the Baltimore Bomb Squad came in and rendered it safe.
We know: when an episode is a biography, we typically use a portrait of the person born on this day 250 years ago.
But this time around is special: the artwork on today’s episode is a building that was erected by the subject of the episode. The McKim Free School is now the McKim Community Center, and it’s just around the corner from McKim Park. In fact, between the time recording this episode and writing this, I learned that the McKim Center was a stop on the Underground Railroad, and while the neighborhood itself is officially called Jonestown, the residents refer to themselves as the McKim Community Association.
The war was hot in Massachusetts, but it was still cold elsewhere. But that didn’t mean that there wasn’t rebellious activity going on, since by this point everyone knew what was going on up north.
It manifested itself in different ways. In Maryland, it appeared that Patriots were straight-up lying to the Royal Governor in order to deprive the British troops of some of their arms and gunpowder stores.
And in North Carolina, the Royal Governor loudly declaimed his disdain for anyone who didn’t agree with him. Unfortunately for him, that included the entire North Carolina Assembly. Their response was to do exactly the opposite of everything he asked.
In January of 1775 someone took the time to write a 1400-word account of a riot that took place in Annapolis, Maryland just a few days earlier. The pseudonymous author alleged that a shipload of tea was burned in the harbor as an alternative to destroying the tea and tar-and-feathering the ship’s owner.
But word got back to the folks in Annapolis, of course, and they countered with a resolution involving a reprinting of that article, plus a refutation of the allegations made. The basic thrust? The guy made it all up, and whatever he didn’t make up still isn’t true; it just happens to be close to the truth.
Who’s the woman in the cover art? Tune in and find out.
