The Declaration of Independence

The Declaration of Independence

Rated: G

Summary: The Declaration we think of today is not what the author had originally intended for our country.

It was early July of 1776. It was clear in Jefferson’s memory because the stuffiness of the Philadelphia State House on a hot summer day is not something easily forgotten. Surrounded by delegates from every state except Georgia, he felt just the tiniest bit claustrophobic. He had never been much of a public speaker, his voice not suited to the task and his shyness in front of large gatherings making any kind of speeches difficult. Sometimes he felt so useless at these Continental Congress meetings, his skill lying mainly in drafting legislations and resolutions. But not today, for today was the day that the final draft of the Declaration of Independence had been presented. Jefferson had been uncharacteristically excited, having put all his effort into the paper he had been unanimously elected to write. He listened closely as the man reading the document’s voice began to slow down.

“And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.”

The speaker set the papers back on the table, finished at last. Jefferson’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets. Was that it? What had happened to the part scolding Parliament and the British for ignoring American arguments? And the long section he had written about slavery and the slave trade being the fault of King George III? It seemed that all of Jefferson’s most powerful arguments had been cut out. There must have been a mistake, he thought desperately. Of course he had known that Congress would edit his draft, but not to this extent! From what he had just heard, it seemed like at least a quarter of it had been ripped out! His mind and heart were racing a mile a minute. He stood up suddenly, too upset to remain dignified.

“Yes, Mr. Jefferson?”

“May I—” He cleared his throat. “May I see the Declaration, please?”

“Most certainly. You did write it.” A quiet ripple of chuckles traveled around the room. The man brought the papers to him, and Jefferson practically snatched the stack out of his hand. He was feeling too emotional to care. Where is it, where is it, where is it? he thought frantically as he shuffled through the papers, skimming the text. But no, he didn’t find the missing parts of his work that he had been looking for. He almost felt like crying as he came to the last page. So much had been cut out… Approximately three-quarters of his writing still remained, but he felt heartbroken and shocked all the same. Just the fact that things had been cut out—things that he had felt were good, strong arguments—was devastating. He had only expected a little fine tuning, not something as scandalous as this! His writing style was barely even distinguishable as a result of all the edits. Why? he pleaded silently. It made no sense, wasting perfectly good writing like that. And it wasn’t that he was being arrogant, just… He had been proud of that piece of work, much like he had been proud of the Virginia Statute for Religious Freedom.

He began to feel extremely irate. How dare they do this to him! He was a member of one of Virginia’s first and most prominent families, the son of Peter and Jane Randolph Jefferson. He was a descendant of the royal houses of England and Scotland! So maybe he had been born on the western edge of Great Britain’s America, unlike most of the Congressmen in the room today, but what did that matter? He had learned from both Reverend William Douglas and Reverend James Maury at an early age. He had attended the College of William and Mary; wasn’t that good enough? He had been taught by William Small, Francis Fauquier, and had studied with the notorious lawyer George Wythe for five years. He had even served the Virginia bar for eight years before retiring in 1774. And at the age of twenty-five he had been elected to represent his area in the House of Burgesses. Was he not a competent writer? He had done absolutely nothing to deserve this affront to his dignity. He was angry, frustrated, offended, hurt; there were not enough words to even describe the intense emotions he felt now. He didn’t remember ever feeling so crushed. Even when he had tried to court Rebecca Burwell as a college student and had been rebuffed, or when he had developed a passion for his friend John Walker’s wife and had been spurned… Even then, he had not felt so disappointed. This was just outrageous!

So much labor, so much time, had gone into writing the Declaration, and this was his reward? He still remembered that day, June 11, when the Declaration committee had unanimously pressed him to write the draft. He had accepted the assignment dutifully, closeting himself in his rooms in a boarding house owned by Jacob Graff Jr., a bricklayer. While he had worked, he had still managed to maintain his lifelong habit of recording each day’s temperature. Plus, as a dutiful and loving husband, he had even found some time to purchase trinkets for his wife of four years, Martha Wayles Skelton Jefferson. But he had worked himself so hard that he had skipped several meals.

“Mr. Jefferson, sir, your meal is ready,” called one of Graff’s servants.

Jefferson continued to scribble furiously on the parchment. “Thank you, but I am not in the mood for supper.”

“Are you certain, sir?”

“Quite sure. Please give Mr. Graff my thanks.”

“Yes, sir.”

After seventeen days of almost nonstop writing, he had finally finished the draft. He had then showed it to the other members of the Declaration committee for final editing. Only John Adams and Benjamin Franklin had comments, and their suggestions had been added to the draft that the committee presented to Congress on June 28, 1776.

And here they were, after his original draft had been edited dramatically. Jefferson stared at the papers in his hand, written in an unfamiliar choppy script completely different from his own flowing letters. He cringed at the transformation the document had gone through, becoming what he saw as a weak, neutral monstrosity. He just could not believe what Congress had done to his paper. He breathed deeply, gave the room a once-over with narrowed eyes and a frown upon his face, and promptly walked out of the meeting room. Back in the room, Jefferson’s closest friends Adams and Franklin exchanged concerned looks. They nodded at each other and asked the Congress president, Peyton Randolph, to be excused for a quick moment. After Randolph assented, they hurried out after Jefferson. The sandy-haired man was sulking in the outside corridor, pacing back and forth and mumbling parts of the Declaration under his breath as he rifled roughly through the papers.

“Thomas,” Franklin began tentatively. Jefferson’s head snapped up, alarmed by his friends’ sudden appearances. He took in their worried expressions (more apparent on Franklin’s than on Adams, the fiercer and stronger-willed one), gave them both a resigned look, and riveted his attention back on the document in his hands.

“For Christ’s sake, what on earth is the matter with you, Thomas?” Adams demanded, blunt as always. Jefferson sighed.

“Did you hear the Declaration being read in there? Did you hear how different it sounds? Read it! Just read it!” He thrust the papers at them, voice taking on a mad tone, a complete contrast of his usual calm, distinguished timbre. Adams frowned in bemusement and took the papers in his hand. Franklin leaned over to read it with him. Jefferson continued to pace.

“What’s wrong with it, Thomas?” Franklin asked gently, trying his best not to upset their companion any further.

“It’s missing all the important points, that’s what! The section about the monarchy imposing slavery on America was taken out, along with the part about the voluntary allegiance of colonists to the crown. And so much more! I can’t believe they would do this to me! Do they think my writing is so insufficient that they need to alter it so dramatically?” he cried in outrage.

“Calm down,” Franklin said gently. “It’s not that bad, is it? At least they kept most of it, right?”

Jefferson scowled. “Most is not enough,” he stressed, looking desperate. Franklin started to say something, but Adams interrupted.

“Just let him be, Benjamin. Thomas, I have an idea about what happened to your draft. I am willing to bet that your words were too strong for them. Perhaps they still retain hope of reconciling with England.” He looked at Jefferson, dark eyes sharp. “Come, let’s get back. We won’t let your hard work go to waste. And if you don’t dare complain, then I’ll tell them everything.”

Adams marched gallantly back into the room, and behind him a faintly amused Franklin. Jefferson hesitated for a moment, then followed them in, almost smiling. He wasn’t as upset any more. He still felt insulted, but was rather resigned to it. Maybe John would really make a difference and things would get better. Or maybe nothing would change and this new version of the Declaration would be the one publicized. But regardless of what happened, he himself would always know about the real Declaration of Independence, the original one. And that thought by itself made him smile.

On July 2, 1776 the United Colonies of America officially became the United States of America. Congress officially approved the Declaration of Independence on July 4, 1776. It was not until 1784 that it was publicly revealed that Jefferson had drafted the Declaration. Years after, he was still struggling to make its words a reality in his home-state, Virginia. As a result, he wrote a bill establishing religious freedom, enacted in 1786. Later he became the country’s third president. After serving two terms, he retired to his home, Monticello. He founded the University of Virginia at Charlottesville in 1819. Jefferson lived a quiet life until he died on July 4^th, 1826, the fiftieth anniversary of the Declaration of Independence.