But as America celebrates the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, it is easy to forget that independence was not guaranteed. As they shivered at Valley Forge in the winter of 1778, George Washington and his troops would have scoffed at the notion that victory would come on a silver platter.

For the American Revolution to succeed, the colonists had to create an army. Whether the Continental Army was defeated on the battlefield — as it frequently was — mattered less. As long as the United Colonies could keep an army in the field, Britain would be forced to continue what seemed like a forever war.

“American Revolutionary War” is a computer wargame that depicts the battles of the American Revolution, or what the British call the War of American Independence.

With 148 scenarios, from small engagements like Hubbardton and Kettle Creek, to larger battles such as Princeton, Brandywine and Saratoga, American Revolutionary War is part of publisher Wargame Design Studio’s Musket & Pike series. These games depict warfare from the 15th through the 18th Centuries, an era where polearms were gradually replaced by gunpowder weapons, such as muskets.

By the 1770s, the pike had been replaced by the bayonet, and the primitive arquebus by more reliable flintlock muskets including Britain’s “Brown Bess.”

With a 114-page user manual, American Revolutionary War is not exactly casual entertainment. It is a highly detailed simulation not just of 18th Century European-style warfare — but also how difficult it was to conduct armies’ European-style warfare in the 18th Century North American wilderness.

The game depicts battles at the grand tactical scale, with battalions and companies of infantry, as well as batteries of artillery and the occasional horse soldier (cavalry was much rarer than the later Napoleonic and American Civil Wars). The American have Continental regulars and local militia, while the Crown fields a polyglot force of British regulars, German mercenaries, Loyalist troops and Native American allies.

These units maneuver across a 2-D hex-grid map of eastern North America in its pre-industrial glory. The terrain is studded with forests, fields, marshes and streams.

Units are rated for how many troops or guns they have, and their weaponry (musket, 3-pounder artillery, etc.). Most important is a quality rating from A to F, which affects combat proficiency and movement. The British regulars tend to be quality As and Bs, while the Continentals tend to be Cs and Ds, and the American militias Fs.

Players alternate taking their turns, with each turn representing about 15 minutes of real time. Each player conducts movement and fire combat, followed by a melee phase to resolve assaults. Combat inflicts casualties as well as “fatigue,” which saps morale and effectiveness until units break or rout.

Western battlefield tactics in the 18th and 19th Centuries centered on assuming the right formation in an era when troops fought shoulder to shoulder. Column formation was used to expedite movement, though at the cost of firepower and presenting a juicy target. When engaging in a firefight, infantry would assume line formation, standing in two or three ranks.

Units in line that move through rough terrain, or obstructions, such as walls, run the risk of becoming “disordered,” with movement and fire penalties. On the other hand, a densely packed column can take heavy casualties from enemy troops deployed in line. Dispersing troops into open order makes them less vulnerable to enemy fire, but penalizes them in melee.

One myth is that the conflict “was fought by the British in a strictly linear fashion, while the Americans were primarily in skirmish,” Mike Cox, designer of American Revolutionary War, told Military Times. Both sides were capable of assuming a variety of formations, though this presented challenges for under-trained Continentals.

“The Americans often tried to fight linearly, too,” added Cox. “It just didn’t often work out well.”

Particularly useful are the detachments of light infantry.

“Learning to master your light troops is extremely important,” Cox said. “When to deploy as skirmishers to delay or scout, or recall and use them to effectively melee to push back the enemy and take and hold ground.”

Command and control has always been the glue that binds armies, but especially so in the pre-radio era, when commanders personally led their troops.

American Revolutionary War features historical commanders, rated from A (George Washington) to F, that form chains of command in each army. Leaders can rally broken troops and provide morale bonuses, though they can also be felled by enemy fire.

“Keeping units in range of their leader and their leader in range of the next higher echelon makes an army work well,” Cox explained. American commanders will need to stay close to their militia: “Keeping them in command and preventing their disruption and breakdown is an art.”

One fascination of playing historical wargames is seeing how they model the little things. For example, the British Army’s Scottish Highlanders are given a bonus during melee combat “to reflect their impact on the minds of American troops, and their reputation for relishing close combat,” the game manual notes.

But ultimately, the question comes down to: How accurately does the game depict the battles that determined the fate of the American Revolution? And, how well does it capture the essences of a professional army versus a more amateur — but also more inspired — citizen army?

American Revolutionary War fares well on both questions.

The unit quality, morale and command systems model the capabilities of both sides, including how the Continental Army improved over time due to combat experience, as well as the tutelage of European instructors like Baron von Steuben.

“British forces are often outnumbered,” said Cox. “They need to learn to stretch their lines or get outflanked. They will usually have some high-quality troops and have the advantage of picking the point of attack.”

“The Americans usually have a high number of units. However, quality and strength can vary wildly. The Americans need to know when to give ground and when to hit hard.”

Perhaps what is most striking is the theater of war.

WDS has published almost 120 historical wargames that cover gigantic battles, such as Waterloo, Gettysburg, Kursk and the Battle of the Bulge. In these games, the maps are packed with masses of troops.

In American Revolutionary War, the maps are often big, while the armies are small. One can begin to appreciate how British soldiers and colonial settlers must have felt about fighting in a vast, untamed land.

As Americans mark the Declaration of Independence, this is a reminder of how far our nation has come.

“I’ve been acting for 39 years and made many movies and TV shows,” he says. “I have a deep connection to all of them, but I certainly don’t have one I talk about 25 years later like this one.”

Based on the 1992 bestselling nonfiction book by Stephen Ambrose, the monumental miniseries tracked the service of soldiers in Easy Company of the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment of the 101st Airborne Division from Normandy to Berchtesgaden in World War II. The show’s gritty authenticity and immersive storytelling made it an instant hit with critics and viewers alike.

Premiering on Sept. 9, 2001, “Band of Brothers was created by director Steven Spielberg and actor Tom Hanks, who were both involved in the 1998 film “Saving Private Ryan.” Two days after the first episode aired, the United States was rocked by the 9/11 terrorist attacks. The series served as rallying point for a grieving country by showing how Americans responded to a similar challenge decades earlier.

“I remember 9/11 and ‘Band of Brothers’ very vividly,” says historian Adam Coste of the National WWII Museum in New Orleans, which is sponsoring a “Band of Brothers” 25th Anniversary Symposium July 31 and Aug. 1. “Those seminal moments confirmed for me the path I was going to take into the military, where I served 11 years as an Army officer. Watching the series at the time influenced me and my generation of veterans because it emphasized brotherhood over combat.”

“Band of Brothers” also set the bar higher for films and series depicting the bloody reality of war and is now considered the gold standard for all such productions. The actors portrayed real citizen soldiers from across the United States who signed up as paratroopers in the “Screaming Eagles” division to fight fascism. The series shows these young men as determined and ordinary individuals who strove to do their duty with bravery.

“‘Band of Brothers’ was never about celebrity, it was about legacy,” says McCall, who portrayed PFC Joseph Liebgott. “It was a legacy about a particular company of men. Somehow, we managed to follow in their footsteps and tell their stories. We knew what was on the line and what we had to do.”

James Madio, who played T-4 Frank J. Perconte, realized early what they were doing was special. The entire group of actors had to participate in a grueling 10-day “basic training” before filming started so they could get a sense of what soldiers in Easy Company experienced.

“We were up every morning at 5:30 to do PT,” he recalls. “We wore dog tags and marched to the set singing each day. We went through weapons training and learned the manual of arms. We went on long marches with heavy backpacks and bivouacked outdoors. It was an incredible experience and all the actors bonded together during it.”

Since Perconte was still alive when the series went into production, Madio was able to query his “soldier” about his wartime service and get insight into his character. He also developed a close personal relationship with the elderly Army veteran that endured long after filming was completed. Perconte asked Madio to accompany him to Europe on a tour of the battle sites of the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment during World War II.

“The friendship was number one for me,” Madio says. “I wanted his trust and I wanted his friendship. I looked up to him and that generation.”

Tim Matthews didn’t have the opportunity to meet his character, Alex M. Penkala Jr. The Army private was killed in action Jan. 10, 1945, in Belgium during the Battle of the Bulge. The actor-turned-acting-teacher admits to not having much dialog but points out the death of his soldier — as well as others in episode 7 — had a important impact on the show.

“The series is very much a wider story about a whole company,” Matthews says. “This episode shows how the morale of the company is affected when they are killed, which was done very effectively. In a real way, it demonstrates the emotional connection these men had to each other.”

For these actors, being in “Band of Brothers” was a pivotal moment in their careers. Knowing what was at stake, they banded together as a group in much the same way as the soldiers in Easy Company during World War II. They forged lasting relationships with others in the cast that remain intact today.

“There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t have some form of communication with one of the other actors,” Madio says. “We have reunions and we talk to each other all the time. We are all brothers and friends.”

All three actors plan to attend the 25th Anniversary Symposium in New Orleans. Their goal is to renew their bonds while honoring the real men who helped liberate Europe from fascism more than 80 years ago. They also look forward to engaging with fans of the miniseries — especially new viewers who weren’t even born when it first aired 25 years ago.

“I’m stopped today by 16-year-olds in the airport who recognize me,” McCall says. “We’re speaking to the generation we need to speak to now. They need to realize what these men did for us.”

The “Band of Brothers” 25th Anniversary Symposium will be shown live online Friday and Saturday, July 31 and Aug. 1. The public can watch free by registering here.

More than five decades after 1968, an especially violent year of the war, the rain, hunger, and calamity in Vietnam’s Central Highlands remain etched in my mind. Death was the purpose of our ambush, and we found it.

I was assigned to the 173rd Airborne Brigade, 3rd Battalion’s A Company as a forward observer, tasked with bridging the gap between our company and the artillery, air support, and helicopter gunships. We were airlifted there because of a heavy Viet Cong presence nearby.

The relentless rain made our lives miserable, especially for me because I wore glasses, which constantly had to be wiped clear.

Resupply was nearly impossible since we were positioned on a cloud-hugging mountaintop. Our rations were dwindling to dangerous levels, and we faced the possibility of needing to move off the mountain for resupply.

Though helicopters could resupply troops in the field, hiking to the landing zone would have meant abandoning the mission described in this essay. (Photo courtesy of Stanley Ross)

Our single greatest fear, besides walking into an enemy ambush or stepping on a lethal booby trap, was depleting our radio batteries. Without communication to battalion headquarters, we were vulnerable to attack and being overrun by VC. We kept a single spare battery in a waterproof bag for emergencies.

Hiking to the landing zone for more supplies at the mountain’s base was an option, but it meant abandoning the mission. The threat of a VC ambush loomed large, making such a move impractical.

On the fourth day of the operation, the lieutenant and platoon sergeant briefed us on an upcoming assignment: Two squads would organize an ambush; I was to accompany them as the forward observer.

I meticulously prepared my gear while hoping for a break in the weather. The downpour persisted, but our determination to succeed was unwavering.

In the early morning of the ambush, the site was shrouded in darkness as the rain pounded the trees and bushes. It sounded like machine gun fire. My equipment and pack got soaked during our march to the ambush site. I prayed that our vigilance would guard us from being surprised by the enemy.

With a clean and oiled M-16, along with six ammunition magazines in my sling and one in my rifle, I was prepared to confront the enemy. I sat on my spare poncho to keep dry and wrapped the other around my shoulders.

I laid my hand grenades next to me, ready to grab and throw.

The sergeant checked our positions to ensure that no one was in the line of friendly fire. Two of my buddies each placed a claymore mine along the length of the ambush site. If the VC came from either direction, one of the men would trigger the claymore, sending hundreds of small metal pellets flying toward the enemy.

We needed to sit tight, be quiet, remain patient, and stay awake. We had a lot of experience setting up ambushes and being ambushed. Sometimes we caught people and sometimes not, but we never had to kill anyone.

Time stretched on with the torrential downpour. Having to clean my eyeglasses kept me mostly awake. I just dozed, unlike my friends, who were out cold all around me.

Those hours seemed like days, and the rain tapping on the vegetation now sounded like a lullaby. Fear gripped me as I realized that sleeping jeopardized our safety.

Suddenly, I spotted several VC fighters sauntering towards us, AK-47s slung over their shoulders, oblivious to our presence. I felt a rush of adrenaline and dread when an enemy soldier’s face suddenly appeared in front of me.

A burst of shots pierced the silence as I pulled the trigger. Chaos erupted and everyone started yelling. One guy set off his claymore as the VC fled, leaving one of their own behind.

The dead VC was no older than we were, a haunting testament to the horrors of war. I felt numb in the realization that I had taken a life.

The following day, the company packed up and marched to the landing zone, where helicopters airlifted us back to the battalion base camp. We were thankful that our mission had ended with no casualties on our side.

In theory, the mission was a success.

But the memory of that ambush — the rain-soaked nights without food, and, in particular, the dead soldier’s face —continues to haunt me.

He was likely our age, maybe younger. The spiritless, empty look on his face is frozen in my mind. “Does death look like this?” I wondered. His body was like an inanimate object, not the living, breathing person he had been.

Although years have passed, I can still see him moving through the brush, turning his head just as I pulled the trigger. I did not miss.

It was the first time I had to kill someone.

When it was over, he lay a few feet away, his eyes still open. I remember kneeling beside him, waiting for a sound, a breath, that never came.

I took a photo. I told myself it was for the record, but perhaps it was something else. Perhaps proof that I had actually done it. Or guilt. For weeks, I couldn’t look at the picture. When I finally did, I couldn’t let it go.

I thought about his family: a mother waiting for her son, a father who’d never know where he was buried. We laid him in a shallow grave on that mountaintop, the wind cutting through us while scavenger birds circled overhead, looking for a meal.

We were told by our leaders that war was simple: either the other guy or me. At the time, I believed it; now I’m not so sure. That day, I lost a piece of myself I never got back. The boy in me died with that VC. I will always carry the burden of killing another person, marking me forever with the echoes of a distant past.

Sometimes, when the night gets too still, I see his face again. And I remember the moment when everything changed.

Born in Breslau, Germany (present day Wrocław, Poland), the Jewish-born Cohn and his family found refuge in the United States in 1938. Cohn was drafted into the U.S. Army in 1943, just one month after his 18th birthday.

Sworn in as an American citizen during basic training, Cohn was originally assigned to the 87th Infantry Division before receiving orders as an infantry replacement and was sent to England, France and then all the way to the front line in Belgium.

While stationed near Bastogne, despite trying to distance himself from his native tongue, Army officials learned German was Cohn’s first language. He was subsequently plucked from the infantry ranks and sent to Le Vesinet near Paris. Unlike the Ritchie Boys — U.S. Army recruits who possessed German, Italian and Japanese language skills and immigrants who had fled Europe and Asia for the U.S. — who received a minimum of eight weeks of training, Cohn was slated for a two-week course which was then cut down even further.

“I had one week of training, and I became a full-fledged intelligence agent, well-trained,” quipped Cohn.

“The first night was the scariest night of my life,” Cohn recalled in a conversation with the Friends of the National WWII Memorial. “Not because we were bombarded or anything. Or shot at. It was all the rumors that were coming in.”

Speaking to an audience during a Nov. 13, 2024, conversation with historian and author Alex Kershaw, Cohn recalled, “I was given a rifle and a flashlight and told to go to a small dirt access road and make sure to not let any Germans come in. So, I get in the middle of road, and I stand there and a vehicle comes and I halt, and the driver asks, ‘What the heck you doing there?’ I say, ‘I’m making sure you’re not a German.’ He said, ‘if I was a German, you’d be dead.’

“I thought that was a good point. I go into a ditch in the road. The next vehicle comes. They don’t hear me. They go right by. I’m not doing my job. Now, what am I supposed to do? I’m up. I’m down. I don’t know what to do. Thank goodness around midnight they called me back in.”

For Cohn, the Bulge would hardly be his last time in combat. He saw action during the Rhineland campaign and was among the U.S. soldiers who met the Soviets at the river Elbe in Magdeburg, Germany.

Post-war, Cohn joined the Army Reserve and commissioned as a second lieutenant, deploying to Korea and Vietnam before retiring as a colonel in 1978.

Cohn’s celebration of life will take place on July 15 at the Adas Israel Congregation in Washington, D.C.

The mission to China was expected to last through early September, with an investigative team working in Hunan province while field operations are conducted in Guangshi province bordering Vietnam, according to DPAA officials.

The presence of a new recovery team in China marked another milestone in the slow evolution of China’s cooperation on the MIA issue since agreeing in 2008 to give limited access to records of the People’s Liberation Army that might aid in searches.

Since the 2008 agreement, there have been about 10 searches in China, and in February 2024 China acknowledged for the first time that Chinese specialists were assisting in the site surveys.

“Over the years, committed to the humanitarian spirit, the Chinese side has provided assistance for the U.S. military to search for the remains of its missing personnel in China,” Zhang Xiaogang, a Chinese Defense Ministry spokesman, said at a regular press briefing in February 2024.

Currently, there are believed to be about 678 unresolved cases of missing U.S. personnel in China from World War II, the Korean War, the Cold War and the Vietnam War. Over the years, DPAA officials have made repeated pledges to reduce the number of unresolved cases and get as many answers as possible to the families of the missing but those promises have now run up against the hard numbers in the defense budget.

At an annual briefing for the families last month, DPAA Director Kelly McKeague detailed the funding shortfalls in his remarks to the families and in a series of charts. DPAA’s budget of $185 million for Fiscal Year 2025 was reduced to $167 million in FY26, and was projected to come down again to $160 million in FY27.

The result would be that the 27 recovery and investigative teams that were in operation in Vietnam in FY2025 would be reduced to a total of seven in the projected FY2027 DPAA budget, McKeague said.

McKeague also told the families that DPAA effectively had a new boss. McKeague would remain as director but he would report directly to controversial retired Army Brig. Gen. Anthony Tata, the under secretary of defense for personnel and readiness. Tata has called former President Barack Obama a “terrorist leader” and said he believed Obama was a Muslim.

In an interview with Military Times, McKeague pledged to work closely with Tata and said he had urged the families to press their representatives to support a bill proposed by Sen. Deb Fischer, R-Neb., to boost the DPAA’s budget by $40 million.

The bill has been attached to the must-pass National Defense Authorization Act policy measure but there is no guarantee that the money will actually be appropriated.

Over the years, the recovery missions in China have had limited success, but McKeague pointed to what had been the unresolved case of Army Air Forces 1st Lt. Morton Sher, of Greenville, South Carolina.

Sher died at age 22 when his Curtiss P-40 Warhawk fighter was shot down on Aug. 20, 1943, and crashed in Hengyang City, Hunan province.

At the time of the crash, local villagers put up a makeshift headstone with Chinese markings at the site of the crash. Despite this, a postwar search proved unsuccessful and Sher was officially classified him as killed in action and unrecoverable.

At the time of the crash, Sher was flying for the Army Air Forces 76th Fighter Squadron, 23rd Fighter Group, 14th Air Force, where many of the Flying Tiger veterans had gone after the volunteers disbanded.

According to the Defense Department, while flying in October 1942, engine trouble forced Sher to bring his aircraft down near a Chinese village, where the villagers greeted him with celebration and ordered up a feast, with Sher providing the entertainment. They later escorted him through nearby mountain villages back to his base.

Sher later recounted the experience in an Army newsletter that was picked up by the Associated Press: “I sang a few American songs for them and they were highly pleased. The banquet turned out to be one of the biggest surprises of the trip.”

In a letter home the day before he was shot down, Sher told his parents that he was turning down a chance to come home and take a job as an instructor. “I let another pilot take that instructing job, for I find things too exciting here to leave right now,” Sher said in the letter.

Sher’s remains were eventually identified on June 11, 2025.

In a statement, Air Force Col. Brett Waring, commander of the 476th Fighter Group at Moody AFB, said that “None of us knew Morton Sher. We didn’t know his name until recently, but as soon as we learned of his coming home, we leapt at the opportunity to honor him and support his family. The bond that we share never dies, and no one is left behind or ever forgotten.”

The USS Constitution, named by George Washington and built with copper bolts forged by Paul Revere, was launched in 1797. The three-masted heavy frigate earned is famous nickname — “Old Ironsides” — during the War of 1812 after an astonished American sailor reportedly watched British cannonballs bounce harmlessly off the ship’s exceptionally thick oak hull and shouted, “Huzzah, her sides are made of iron!” according to the National Park Service.

While the wooden ship remains a symbol of durability and strength, its longevity would not be possible without a special 40 acres of land set aside for the care and maintenance of the ship from Naval Support Activity Crane.

According to National Geographic, NSA Crane dates back to the Franklin D. Roosevelt New Deal-era, when the U.S. government, in the depths of the Great Depression, purchased unfarmable land across the U.S. and reforested them for the purpose of creating jobs. NSA Crane was among the plots of land purchased by the FDR administration, and its 40,000 acres of hills was soon swarming with workers planting a wide variety of oak, hickory, poplar, maple and ash trees across the acres of Crane.

The onset of the war in 1939 prompted the U.S. Navy — whose weapons and munitions at the time were housed in Delaware — to seek a location that a potential enemy could not strike by sea.

Central Indiana was the ticket and so the government purchased another 30,000 acres surrounding NSA Crane.

The first administrative buildings on the base, according to Nat Geo, were dedicated in December 1941 — just a few days before the attack on Pearl Harbor.

But it wasn’t until the nation’s bicentennial in 1976 that NSA Crane reentered the Navy’s consciousness.

With attention returning to the storied, yet aging USS Constitution, NSA Crane’s concentration of high-quality white oak caught the Navy’s eye.

The oak forest is one of the few in the United States that contains centuries-old oak long and thick enough to provide the necessary lumber for the hull of the hulking Constitution.

Mature trees anywhere from 110 to 125 years old and 120 to 130 feet tall are needed for the ship that requires near constant maintenance. Its two most recent dry dock restorations — concluding in 2017 — required the felling of 114 white oaks.

Today, 40 acres of the park have been dedicated to keeping the warship afloat, where much of the timber is harvested, and it remains the only forest in the U.S. that is owned and managed by the Navy to support its fleet of old wooden ships.

Barely a year later, the California native found himself part of a small reaction force advancing through thick jungle near Duc Phong in Phuoc Long Province, in response to Vietnamese communist soldiers threatening another American platoon. What followed was a counterattack that put D Company in jeopardy, in which Alvarado played a vital role.

As his platoon moved toward the ongoing fight, Alvarado detected enemy movement and opened fire. In spite his swift reaction, he and his troopers found themselves pinned down by heavy small arms fire and blocked from joining the endangered platoon they’d come to assist. It soon became clear that a large, well-armed component of the People’s Army of Vietnam (PAVN) was targeting his platoon for overrunning as well as the men they were trying to rescue.

Alvarado’s next action was to charge forward through a storm of machine gun fire in order to engage the enemy. Suddenly, a grenade exploded nearby, wounding and temporarily stunning him. Regaining his wits, however, he killed the North Vietnamese grenadier just as another barrage wounded him again. Nevertheless, he continued his forward crawl under heavy fire to pull several wounded comrades back within the perimeter they had hastily formed.

Evaluating the situation and deciding his unit needed to break away from the larger enemy force, he began maneuvering forward alone to cover the disengagement.

Although he was knocked to the ground repeatedly by exploding satchel charges, he continued advancing and firing, using his rifle and grenades to silence several PAVN positions, including a machine gun nest. Taking shelter in a dangerous forward position, he persistently laid suppressive fire on the enemy until the communists, rather than his platoon, broke contact.

Just afterward, however, his comrades-in-arms discovered that he had succumbed from his wounds. He left behind a wife and daughter.

The engagement at Duc Phong cost D Company four men killed and 26 wounded. Alvarado’s all-out, ultimately sacrificial role in saving his platoon from possible disaster did not go unnoticed among his fellow Air Cav troops.

“I was Leonard’s squad leader,” remarked William Lytle during an interview. “Us, as surviving members of the 2nd platoon, never forgot him on this day.”

Alvarado was posthumously awarded the Distinguished Service Cross, as well as the Bronze Star, Purple Heart, Air Medal and Army Commendation Medal with “V” device.

A re-evaluation of his record, however, made it clear that his sacrifice had been underrated. With the passing of the Defense Authorization Act, his daughter, Lenora, was called to the White House in Washington, D.C. on March 18, 2014, to see his DSC upgraded and receive the Medal of Honor from President Barack Obama. His remains rest in his home turf, at the Greenlawn Cemetery in Bakersfield.

But it was on July 5, 1776, that the former colonials got down to the nuts-and-bolts of governing and winning a war.

One of the first orders of business that day for members of the Second Continental Congress meeting in Philadelphia was getting cooking kettles to the militia. The Committees of Inspection and Observation were told to “furnish a good kettle to every six men, and give all the assistance in their power, that the said militia be well armed and equipped, and march with the greatest expedition,” according to the Journals of the Continental Congress at the Library of Congress.

It was also resolved “That a chaplain be appointed to each regiment in the Continental Army, and their allowance be increased to thirty three dollars and one third of a dollar a month.”

Members then had to deal with the always grumpy John Adams, who got approval to send a copy of the Declaration to Mary Palmer, the daughter of family friends of the Adamses in Braintree, Massachusetts, along with a somewhat-snotty note now preserved by the Massachusetts Historical Society.

“I will enclose to you a Declaration, in which all America is remarkably united,” Adams’ letter read. “It completes a Revolution, which will make as good a Figure in the History of Mankind, as any that has preceded it — provided always, that the Ladies take Care to record the Circumstances of it, for by the Experience I have had of the other Sex, they are either too lazy, or too active, to commemorate them.”

On the morning of July 5, the members of the Congress also ordered copies of the Declaration printed by John Dunlap to be distributed throughout the former colonies.

The thought also occurred to them that somebody ought to tell the troops what they were fighting for now that independence had been declared.

And so John Hancock, the Boston merchant-smuggler and president of the Second Continental Congress, was authorized to tell Gen. George Washington to have the Declaration read to his fledgling army at formations.

In his letter to Washington, Hancock wrote that “the Congress have judged it necessary to dissolve the Connection between Great Britain and the American Colonies, and to declare them free and independent States; as you will perceive by the enclosed Declaration, which I am directed to transmit to you, and to request you will have it proclaimed at the Head of the Army in the Way, you shall think most proper.”

Washington was in New York at the time, warily watching the buildup near the harbor of a British armada that would grow to 400 ships and 32,000 British regulars and Hessians. He scheduled the reading of the Declaration for July 9.

“The Honorable the Continental Congress, impelled by the dictates of duty, policy and necessity, having been pleased to dissolve the Connection which subsisted between this Country, and Great Britain, and to declare the United Colonies of North America, free and independent STATES,” Washington’s General Orders for July 9 read.

“The several brigades are to be drawn up this evening on their respective Parades, at six [o’clock], when the declaration of Congress, shewing the grounds and reasons of this measure, is to be read with an audible voice.”

Washington hoped that movement would “serve as a fresh incentive to every officer, and soldier, to act with Fidelity and Courage, as knowing that now the peace and safety of his Country depends (under God) solely on the success of our arms.

“And that he is now in the service of a State, possessed of sufficient power to reward his merit, and advance him to the highest Honors of a free Country.”

Things did not immediately go according to plan, however.

Washington was livid when a mob of troops and locals rioted, storming down Broadway to Bowling Green where they toppled a statue of King George III and lopped off its head.

The R/V Petrel, the maritime brainchild of Vulcan Inc.’s director of undersea operations and Naval History and Heritage Command, aided in the discovery of famous World War II ships such as the USS Indianapolis (CA-35), USS Juneau (CL-52), Japanese carrier IJN Kaga, carriers USS Lexington (CV-2), USS Wasp (CV-7) and USS Hornet (CV-8).

Now, the vessel is operating under a new name on behalf of the U.S. Navy.

Following Allen’s death, the Navy purchased the vessel in 2022 for $12.5 million, and in 2025 rechristened the Sarah Lynn, the U.S. Naval Institute was first to report.

While the mission of the Sarah Lynn remains unclear, the R/V Petrel was outfitted with of state-of-the-art sensors and remotely operated vehicles to aid in its underwater archeology mission, making it “an ideal platform to survey underwater infrastructure like communication lines and oil and gas pipelines,” according to USNI.