DEATH OF THE LAST OF THE SIGNERS OF THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE.
On the morning of July 4th, 1826--just fifty years after the
event--but three of the fifty-six members of the continental
Congress of 1776 who had signed the Declaration of Independence,
remained alive; on the evening of that day there remained but
one--Charles Carroll, of Carrollton, Maryland; then a full score
beyond the Psalmist's limit of manly life, and destined to a further
lease of six good years. It has been remarked of the "signers of
the Declaration" that a felicitous existence seems to have been
reserved for them; blessed with long life and good health, honored
with the public esteem, raised to the highest dignities of the
States and of the federal government, happy in their posterity, and
happy in the view of the great and prosperous country which their
labors had brought into existence. Among these, so felicitous and
so illustrious, he was one of the most happy, and among the most
distinguished. He enjoyed the honors of his pure and patriot life
in all their forms; age, and health, and mind, for sixteen years
beyond that fourscore which brings labor and sorrow and weakness to
man; ample fortune; public honors in filling the highest offices of
his State, and a seat in the Senate of the United States; private
enjoyment in an honorable and brilliant posterity. Born to fortune,
and to the care of wise and good parents, he had all the advantages
of education which the colleges of France and the "Inns of Court"
of London could give. With every thing to lose in unsuccessful
rebellion, he risked all from the first opening of the contest
with the mother country: and when he walked up to the secretary's
table to sign the paper, which might become a death-warrant to its
authors, the remark was made, "there go some millions." And his
signing was a privilege, claimed and granted. He was not present
at the declaration. He was not even a member of Congress on the
memorable Fourth of July. He was in Annapolis on that day, a
member of the Maryland Assembly, and zealously engaged in urging a
revocation of the instructions which limited the Maryland delegates
in the continental Congress to obtaining a redress of grievances
without breaking the connection with the mother country. He
succeeded--was appointed a delegate--flew to his post--and added his
name to the patriot list.
All history tells of the throwing overboard of the tea in Boston
harbor: it has not been equally attentive to the burning of the tea
in Annapolis harbor. It was the summer of 1774 that the brigantine
"Peggy Stewart" approached Annapolis with a cargo of the forbidden
leaves on board. The people were in commotion at the news. It was
an insult, and a defiance. Swift destruction was in preparation
for the vessel: instant chastisement was in search of the owners.
Terror seized them. They sent to Charles Carroll as the only man
that could moderate the fury of the people, and save their persons
and property from a sudden destruction. He told them there was but
one way to save their persons, and that was to burn their vessel
and cargo, instantly and in the sight of the people. It was done:
and thus the flames consumed at Annapolis, what the waves had buried
at Boston: and in both cases the spirit and the sacrifice was the
same--opposition to taxation without representation, and destruction
to its symbol.