Penmanship (the Declaration of Independence, 1776).
This July 4, 2022, I want to pose a simple question: Who wrote the Declaration of Independence?
Thomas Jefferson, right?
The word “wrote” has multiple meanings. While Jefferson can be credited with authorship of many of the eloquent and persuasive passages in the proclamation, Timothy Matlack is the scribe who formed characters and symbols on the surface of the declaration parchment.
Timothy Matlack's impeccable handwriting adorns the official, signed parchment on display in the National Archives Rotunda.
Did I ask you a trick question? No, not at all.
Did Matlack's writing even matter?
You better believe it. Matlack gave the most celebrated declaration of freedom authentic readability, and he was greatly instrumental in its widespread distribution and public appeal.
(Jessie Kratz. “The Power of Penmanship: Writing the Declaration of Independence.” https://prologue.blogs.archives.gov/2021/07/01/the-power-of-penmanship-writing-the-declaration-of-independence/. National Archives July 1, 2021.)
Penmanship
Penmanship in the colonial era – when only some Americans had the opportunity to learn how to read and write – was a necessary skill for carrying out one’s professional and social duties. Since these tasks differed by social standing and gender, so too did the style of writing a person would learn. Merchants employed a thin, loopy script that was both quick and assured, whereas wealthier men projected a sense of leisure through handwriting that seemed effortless.
The National Archives reports that fewer women than men learned to write in the 18th century. Among the elite members of colonial American society, women who did receive penmanship instruction learned a flowing style whose light touch and varying thickness gave a pleasing appearance that could be embellished further with decorative shading.
Standardization and formality have long been hallmarks of official documentation, such as legal or government papers. For this reason, the mastery of fine handwriting became a profession itself, and the craftsmen who expertly transcribed texts for hire were called “penman.” The mark of “good” penmanship was its artful appearance. Fine letter formation instilled trust and so carried an importance equal to what the words actually said.
The printing press shrank the demand for professional scribes in the mid-18th century. Indeed, the Second Continental Congress turned to Philadelphia printer John Dunlap to publish the Declaration of Independence in the form of a broadside several weeks before commissioning an engrossed version on parchment.
So the Archives records …
“On the evening of July 4, 1776, Dunlap printed the first edition of the proclamation for entry in the Rough Journal of the Continental Congress. Additional broadsides went to the states and troops to publicly announce and explain the reasons for the delegates’ decision to break away from Great Britain. While the exact number Dunlap printed remains unknown, it is thought that he made around 200 copies. The Dunlap Broadside at the National Archives is one of only 26 copies known to survive.
“Given the speed, clarity, and wide distribution of the printed broadside, why did the Second Continental Congress order an engrossed version of the Declaration of Independence be made a few weeks later, on July 19? The preparation of the document in a large, clear hand denoted that this version was the official copy, the one that would bear the delegates’ signatures. Signing the Declaration became as important as the votes cast in Congress to approve the measure. The Declaration of Independence was an act of treason against the British Crown; the document acknowledges this at the end with the words: 'we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.'”
(Jessie Kratz. “The Power of Penmanship: Writing the Declaration of Independence.” https://prologue.blogs.archives.gov/2021/07/01/the-power-of-penmanship-writing-the-declaration-of-independence/. National Archives July 1, 2021.)
(Post thanks to Breanne Robertson, Education Specialist in the Museum Programs Division in Washington, DC.)
Matlack, who was an assistant to the Secretary of the Second Continental Congress, set to work with parchment, ink, and quill to transcribe the document using a patrician style called English round hand or Copperplate.
Although the printing press began to replace handwritten documents at this time, Matlack’s handwritten document lends a sense of elegance, authority, and – most important – anonymity to the Declaration of Independence. The purpose of the document is to justify American independence and raise support for an independent United States, both within the colonies and abroad.
The formality and skill of the engrossed copy strengthened the persuasiveness of the Declaration by distancing its arguments from any individual. The document not only helped protect the identities of the signers – the names were kept secret until 1777 – but it also announced the official standing of the new government by giving sophisticated visual expression to its collective voice.
Timothy Matlack remains a minor character in the story of American independence despite the physical trace of his hand being clearly visible in every word of the Declaration of Independence. To be sure, the very concealment of his identity speaks to the artistry of his pen. Let's celebrate Matlack – they guy who gave the Declaration of Independence its distinctive and artistic Copperplate style – symbolic forever as a masterpiece of American human design.
Who Was Timothy Matlack?
The “power of the written word” and the “artistry of the pen” – these are beautiful phrases that speak volumes to me. This little-known story is about the real thing – the ink, the paper, the physical declaration that we all cherish. And, above all, the man with the penmanship who was chosen to craft the news of independence for all the masses to see.
Early on, Matlack's story is as colorful and intriguing as that of any founding father. In the spirit of the 4th, allow me to share some of it with you. It is a story of a common man, a person caught up in the times and willing to stand for freedom
Timothy Matlack was born on March 28, 1736 in Haddonfield, New Jersey. His family moved to Philadelphia eight years later. At the age of thirteen, Timothy began an apprenticeship under a prosperous Quaker merchant named John Reynell. Looking forward to a bright future, Matlack enthusiastically signed his contract with characteristic looping flourishes.
(Chris Coelho. “Timothy Matlack, Scribe of the Declaration of Independence.” https://allthingsliberty.com/2021/08/timothy-matlack-scribe-of-the-declaration-of-independence/. Journal of the American Revolution. August 24, 2021.)
But then disaster struck his family. His father, Timothy Sr., was a brewer who fell into debt, and the court ordered the seizure of his brewery and household goods. A last-minute agreement allowed the continued use of the property but with a new man in charge: Timothy’s half-brother, Reuben Haines. Timothy’s father drank himself to death soon thereafter and his younger brothers were admitted to a charity school as “poor scholars.”
After completing the term of his apprenticeship in 1758, Timothy Matlack married Ellen Yarnall, the daughter of a Quaker minister. Matlack became such a devout Quaker that some people considered him a candidate for the ministry. Timothy and Ellen had four children, the youngest of whom would be killed in a battle at sea during the Revolution.
In 1759, Benjamin Franklin, as a member of the Pennsylvania Assembly, hired Matlack to transcribe onto parchment a massive petition to the King-in-Council regarding Indian affairs.[1] In 1760, Matlack opened a mercantile (selling cloths and hardware).
In 1765 the Society of Friends complained that Matlack had become negligent in attending meetings for worship, instead “frequenting company in such a manner as to spend too much time away from home.”
(Notice of disownment issued by Philadelphia Monthly Meeting to Timothy Matlack, July 26, 1765 reprinted in A.M. Stackhouse, Col. Timothy Matlack: Patriot and Soldie – privately printed, 1910.)
His new companions kept him away from not only home and church, but also work. He was disowned by the Quakers and his business failed. He was in debtor’s prison on two occasions, each for about a month.
Matlack had been raised to live with Quaker simplicity and earn a living in a lucrative trade. But he found himself more interested in the weight of a prize cow, or the length of a racecourse, than the price of linen in London. After his father’s business failure and untimely death, he had found consolation in his faith. But now, after his own fiasco and his mother’s death, he filled the emptiness in the taverns.
Yet he did not fall into the abyss. In the alehouses he found an appealing world where men talked trade, politics, and sport over rounds of beer, wine, and rum punch. This was a time of fascination with the public world, and Matlack eagerly joined in these discussions. His friendly manner earned him popularity and acceptance. He discovered an identity which saved him from this second crisis. He was becoming a public man. Matlack’s embrace of public life led to his leadership role in town meetings and committees during the climactic years leading to the Revolution. The first Continental Congress was only ten years away.
Fortunately, Timothy’s half-brother Reuben transformed the old Matlack operation into Haines and Twells, the largest brewery and malt house in Philadelphia. Timothy had his own brewery and bottled beer operation at the “old Brew-House” on Sixth Street, near the State House. He stamped his corks TIM MATLACK PHILAD.
(Pennsylvania Gazette, May 8, 1766.)
Quakers condoned the moderate consumption of beer, which was made from their barley. But they complained bitterly about “the increase in vice occasioned by the enormous increase of taverns and tippling houses.”
(Peter Thompson. Rum Punch and Revolution: Taverngoing and Public Life in Eighteenth-Century. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999.)
The Society of Friends ordered its members not to run horse races or gamble on sports, “for our time swiftly passes away.” For Timothy Matlack and his friends, horse racing was a passion. In the taverns, horse talk reached a fever pitch in the days before Philadelphia’s spring and fall races, which attracted aristocrats from New York and Maryland. A sport equally popular in the middle and southern colonies, among rich and poor alike, was cockfighting.
In 1770 Philadelphia hosted a big intercolonial cockmain that pitted a wealthy visitor against a local man of humble origins. On Tuesday, March 6, a clear sunny day, “James Delancey Esq from New York, and Timothy Matlack, had a great cockfight at Richeson’s on Germantown road.”
(Jacob Hiltzheimer Diaries, March 6, 1770, American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia. APS.)
Spectators drank and gambled, and the day ended in a massive brawl. Throughout his political career, Matlack’s enemies took every opportunity to remind people of his link to this discredited sport, as well as to the Black men who were also enthusiastic participants. As the Tory poet Jonathan Odell ridiculed, “game-cocks and negroes were his whole delight.”
(Jonathan Odell, ed. The Loyal Verses of Joseph Stansbury and Doctor Jonathan Odell. Albany: J. Munsell, 1860,)
Nevertheless, Matlack’s central role in this infamous cockfight earned him a high approval rating across a large swath of regular Philadelphians. His newfound popularity also created social opportunities. In February 1774, he officiated at a patriotic gathering at a slaughterhouse. Timothy recorded the exact weight of each section of a prize steer owned by his friend Jacob Hiltzheimer, and authenticated those figures with the notation that the cow had been “weighed and measured in the presence of T Matlack.” Two days later, the Hiltzheimers and Matlacks dined on beefsteaks. Matlack’s toast was as follows: “Let the friends of America be fed on such beef and may her enemies long for it and be disappointed.”
(Jacob Hiltzheimer. Extracts from the Diary of Jacob Hiltzheimer, of Philadelphia, 1768-1798. February 1767, APS.)
Revolution In Philadelphia
On October 25, 1774, the First Continental Congress resolved to send a formal address to the king asking for his royal attention to “the grievances that alarm and distress his Majesty’s faithful subjects in North America.”[8] Secretary Charles Thomson assigned the urgent task of engrossing two copies of the address to Timothy Matlack. Matlack had these ready to sign the next day, the last day of Congress. In January 1775, the first copy was laid before the House of Commons and the second copy laid before the House of Lords. Both were promptly ignored.
The Second Continental Congress convened on May 10, 1775, and five days later Samuel Ward of Rhode Island noted, “The Secretary allowed to employ Timothy Matlack as clerk under an oath of secrecy.”[9] On June 15, Congress appointed George Washington to be general and commander-in-chief of the army of the United Colonies, and Matlack penned the formal commission. Besides being busy in Congress, Matlack was also a rising local leader: that summer, he was elected to Philadelphia’s powerful committee of inspection. This was one of the bodies that formed across the colonies, by order of the first Congress, to enforce the boycott of British goods. Matlack was also named secretary of the committee of militia officers.
(Samuel Ward Diary, May 15, 1775, in Letters of Members of the Continental Congress (Washington, DC: Carnegie institution of Washington, 1921.)
Matlack’s committee of inspection was gaining power by force of the militia and the people at large. In late February, his board announced a convention that would authorize new Assembly seats and write new instructions. Philadelphia’s elite was shocked by this volley. Joseph Shippen complained:“Tim Matlack and a number of other violent wrongheaded people of the inferior class have been the Chief Promoters of this wild Scheme; and it was opposed by the few Gentlemen belonging to the Committee—but they were outvoted by a great majority.”
(David F. Hawke. Benjamin Rush; Revolutionary Gadfly. Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1971.)
Skipping ahead … Congress declared independence on July 4, 1776 and Matlack may have been the first to read the Declaration in public that day. After New York agreed to independence on July 9, Congress ordered the Declaration “fairly engrossed on parchment” and “signed by every member of Congress.” Secretary Thomson assigned this to Timothy Matlack. The result was the famous signed Declaration of Independence.
The scribe of the Declaration of Independence was also, perhaps, the first man to read it in public. Matlack was truly a man of action.
Historical Note:
Timothy Matlack served as the clerk to the secretary to the Second Continental Congress, Charles Thompson. Matlack got the job after selling a few cases of Madeira wine to his neighbor, Benjamin Franklin, who, discovering Matlack's facility with calligraphy and penmanship, hired him as a scrivener.
Matlack's enthusiasm for rebellion was palpable. When the Continental Congress approved the Declaration of Independence on July 4, 1776, Timothy Matlack, serving as clerk, grabbed the text, ran to the steps of the State House and read the proclamation aloud to a gathering of citizens of Philadelphia. This was the first public presentation of the decision of the Continental Congress. Two weeks later, after the New York delegation finally assented to the Declaration, Timothy Matlack, known to the Congress for his expert penmanship, was assigned the task of "engrossing" the official document. Matlack finished the task in short order and on August 2, the final document - the one that was sent to King George III and the one that is on display in the National Archives in Washington, DC - was signed by John Hancock and the rest of the founding fathers.
Matlack was unlike the others gathered to declare independence from England. He was far from elite or wealthy. Matlack further alienated himself from the wealthy Quaker businessmen of Philadelphia by publicly criticizing them for holding slaves. Finally, of course, Matlack favored war with England, while Quakers abjured all wars.
Timothy Matlack offended many in his day. He does not fit comfortably alongside our other founding fathers, but if today we are going to continue the fight for true equality, true democracy, we, like Matlack, are going to have to offend many, too.
So it was that Timothy Matlack was so much more than a scribe. He joined the Philadelphia Militia as a Colonel and led them across the Delaware River with Washington’s Army. Matlack was also elected to the Continental Congress. After a year in that position, he took on several positions, including surveying large tracks of Pennsylvania. Additionally, he became one of the earliest abolitionists in the United States and was a major reason Pennsylvania became the first State to outlaw slavery. Eventually Matlack retired to a house in Lancaster where he became known for his peach orchard. He spent his golden years as America’s most respected grower of that tasty fruit.
Harvard professor of political science Danielle Allen spoke of the elegance of Matlack’s work in creating the finest rendering of the Declaration. She described how Matlack made his impact as he drew up the formal document: “Editorializing on the parchment with capitalization, punctuation, and flourishes, Matlack too helped write the Declaration. Of all the copies, this one, Matlack’s parchment manuscript was the most important.”
(Danielle Allen. Our Declaration: A Reading of the Declaration of Independence in Defense of Equality. New York: W.W. Norton & Co. 2014.)
Chris Coelho in “Timothy Matlack, Scribe of the Declaration of Independence” printed in the Journal of the American Revolution says …
“As the man who engrossed the Declaration of Independence, Timothy Matlack should have a place in American lore. But as one contemporary adversary predicted, Matlack was scrubbed from history. Historian Gary Nash writes that in the nineteenth century the radicals of 1776 were ignored by Philadelphia’s archivists and librarians. Further,
“'The papers of the radicals were lost or never preserved, and most of the officers of the collecting institutions were as suspicious of ordinary people elected to high places as were those who, at the time, deplored the 1776 [Pennsylvania] Constitution.'
(Gary B. Nash. First City: Philadelphia and the Forging of Historical Memory. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006.)
Nash concluded that the conservative establishment disapproved of the radicals’ desire for “a thorough reformation of American society in the interest of greater equality.”
Most prominent among those given the cold historical shoulder was Thomas Paine. The nineteenth century was nearly over before the Historical Society of Pennsylvania got around to purchasing a copy of Common Sense for its collection. The copy was the very one “owned by Paine’s radical, warm-tempered compatriot, Timothy Matlack.”
(Chris Coelho. “Timothy Matlack, Scribe of the Declaration of Independence.” https://allthingsliberty.com/2021/08/timothy-matlack-scribe-of-the-declaration-of-independence/. Journal of the American Revolution. August 24, 2021.)
In 2004, Timothy Matlack was briefly rescued from historical obscurity when his name showed up in the movie National Treasure. A clue that the movie's characters find reads: "The legend writ, the stain affected, the key in silence undetected, fifty five in iron pen, Mr. Matlack can't offend." The clue leads to the Declaration of Independence and a map on the back supposedly placed there by Matlack.
(Russ Walsh. “We Hold These Truths: Timothy Matlack and the Declaration of Independence.” Russ On Reading. July 4, 2016.)
Footnote:
Matlack’s penmanship in the Declaration and other historical documents of the time has inspired a number of modern typefaces, or fonts, such as American Scribe, Declaration Script, and National Archive.
Handwriting in the colonial period was heavily influenced by Europe, in particular by 18th century English writing masters. By the mid-18th century, there were special schools established to teach handwriting techniques, or penmanship.
Master penmen like Timothy Matlack were employed to copy official documents such as land deeds, birth and marriage certificates, military commissions, and other legal documents. The development of copperplate engraving allowed for the use of very delicate type faces with many flourishes and curlicues in the script-like letters, which greatly influenced handwriting.
Elegant handwriting became a sign of social status. One can readily see these influences in Matlack’s penmanship in the Declaration of Independence. In particular, his use of English Roundhand script stands out. This form of script was executed with a feather quill pen and was actually a form of handwriting. The script is known today as Copperplate.
(“Timothy Matlack. https://www.revwartalk.com/timothy-matlack-1319/. 2022.)
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