He was, however, deeply moved and troubled at the commencement of a contest of which he foresaw the difficulties and the trials, without fathoming their full extent, and it was not without a struggle that he accepted the power confided to him by Congress.  “Believe me, my dear Patsy,” he wrote to his wife, “I have done all I could to screen myself from this high mark of honor, not only because it cost me much to separate myself from you and from my family, but also because I felt that this task was beyond my strength.”  When the new general arrived before Boston to take command of the confused and undisciplined masses which were hurrying up to the American camp, he heard that an engagement had taken place on the 16th of June on the heights of Bunker’s Hill, which commanded the town; the Americans who had seized the positions had defended them so bravely that the English had lost nearly a thousand men before they carried the batteries.  A few months later, after unheard of efforts on the general’s part to constitute and train his army, he had taken possession of all the environs of the place, and General Howe, who had superseded General Gage, evacuated Boston (March 17, 1776).

Every step was leading to the declaration of independence.  “If everybody were of my opinion,” wrote Washington in the month of February, 1776, “the English ministers would learn in few words what we want to arrive at.  I should set forth simply, and without periphrasis, our grievances and our resolution to have justice.  I should tell them that we have long and ardently desired an honorable reconciliation, and that it has been refused.  I should add that we have conducted ourselves as faithful subjects, that the feeling of liberty is too strong in our hearts to let us ever submit to slavery, and that we are quite determined to burst every bond with an unjust and unnatural government, if our enslavement alone will satisfy a tyrant and his diabolical ministry.  And I should tell them all this not in covert terms, but in language as plain as the light of the sun at full noon.”

Many people still hesitated, from timidity, from foreseeing the sufferings which war would inevitably entail on America, from hereditary, faithful attachment to the mother-country.  “Gentlemen,” had but lately been observed by Mr. Dickinson, deputy from Pennsylvania, at the reading of the scheme of a solemn declaration justifying the taking up of arms, “there is but one word in this paper of which I disapprove—­Congress.”  “And as for me, Mr. President,” said Mr. Harrison, rising, “there is but one word in this paper of which I approve—­Congress.”

Deeds had become bolder than words.  “We have hitherto made war by halves,” wrote John Adams to General Gates; “you will see in to-morrow’s papers that for the future we shall probably venture to make it by three-quarters.  The continental navy, the provincial navies, have been authorized to cruise against English property throughout the whole extent of the ocean.  Learn, for your governance, that this is not Independence.  Far from it!  If one of the next couriers should bring you word of unlimited freedom of commerce with all nations, take good care not to call that Independence.  Nothing of the sort!  Independence is a spectre of such awful mien that the mere sight of it might make a delicate person faint.”