Dispatch from 1775: Spurred on by Patrick Henry, Virginia votes to arm itself for war

The year 2026 marks the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. Cardinal News has embarked on a three-year project to tell the little-known stories of Virginia’s role in the march to independence. As part of this, I’m writing monthly columns about the politics of the era, written the same way I’d write them today. The events described here took place in March 1775. You can sign up for our monthly newsletter here:

Did Patrick Henry just lead us into war? Or is that war already upon us?

These are the questions we must now confront after the dramatic events that have just transpired in the town of Richmond, and, perhaps, further north in Boston or further east across the ocean in London.

The immediate consequence is this: A meeting of Virginia legislators — an illegal meeting, some would note — has just called upon the Colony to arm in preparation for defending ourselves against an enemy that is at this moment amassing armies and navies to send to our shores. That enemy is not some Spanish armada or French battalion. It is our very own Mother Country, Great Britain herself, that we now fear. How did things ever come to this? That would require a long review, going back to the late war against the French and their native allies, and beyond, to catalog all the slights and offenses that Britain had laid upon its North American Colonies. The immediate impetus is this: A fiery (some say treasonous) speech by that silver-tongued but hot-headed Hanover County legislator Patrick Henry, who has swayed a majority of his colleagues with his astounding exclamation: “Give me liberty or give me death!”

We know not about the former, but some are surely now headed toward the latter. Let’s pause and reflect while we still have time.

The immediate spark involved water: In December 1773, to protest certain unpopular taxes imposed without our consent by the British Parliament, the people of Boston responded by dumping British tea into the harbor. That ultimately led to the British closing the port of Boston. You’ll recall that last year, in 1774, our House of Burgesses called for a day of prayer and fasting to show solidarity with the people of Boston. This was too much for our royal governor, Lord Dunmore, who promptly dissolved the House of Burgesses. In a genteel, Virginia sort of way, a ball that Lady Dunmore had scheduled the next evening for the now-dismissed Burgesses went on as scheduled. We Virginians like a good party too much to let politics stand in the way. 

The politics, though, soon spiraled out of the governor’s control. The Burgesses continued to meet anyway, in the nearby Raleigh Tavern, and eventually styled themselves as what we now call the First Virginia Convention — an extra-legal body that, in polite fashion, the incensed royal governor did nothing to shut down. Perhaps he feared the consequences, or, more likely, he simply didn’t think it particularly important. The convention, though, wound up endorsing a boycott of British goods and elected delegates to yet another extra-legal proceeding, a Continental Congress that, for the first time, brought together representatives of Colonies from New Hampshire to South Carolina. 

As the British crackdown on recalcitrant Massachusetts continued, Virginia legislators saw the need for a second convention — one whose members were sure to represent the prevailing public opinion. That led to a round of elections earlier this year — illegal, unrecognized elections in the eyes of royal authorities, but Governor Dunmore made no move to shut them down, either because he didn’t dare or perhaps because he thought the whole exercise so insignificant it was not worth his time. The delegates elected to that Second Virginia Convention took no chances, though. Instead of assembling in the capital city of Williamsburg under the glare of the royal governor, they chose instead to meet upriver at the small town of Richmond (population about 200). The largest building available was St. John’s Church, so that’s where the 120 delegates went. (The number should have been 127, but seven men elected to the convention never showed up.) 

Peyton Randolph, perhaps Virginia’s most accomplished politician, presided, as he almost always does. No political proceeding in Virginia seems complete without a Randolph wielding the gavel. He is the fourth Randolph to serve as Speaker of the House of Burgesses — his father, grandfather and great-grandfather all held that post before him. He was naturally elected presiding officer of the first Virginia Convention and this second iteration, as well. In between, he was chosen to preside over the Continental Congress as well. 

The first few days of this Second Virginia Convention were given over to discussions of what had transpired at that Philadelphia meeting. On the sidelines, though, that noted Hanover County lawyer Patrick Henry was whispering to friends about more ominous developments, the recent Parliamentary declaration that Massachusetts stands in rebellion to the crown and the British order to send troops to that northern Colony. Henry has been provocative throughout both his legal and political career — a decade ago, then-Speaker John Robinson accused Henry of treason for the language he used to denounce the Stamp Act — so no one should have been surprised that Henry would do something dramatic here, as well. But they were anyway.

On the fourth day, Henry rose to introduce what turned out to be three resolutions. The first declared that “a well-regulated militia . . . is the natural strength and only security of a free government” and such a militia would mean the British would not need troops in Virginia. The second condemned Lord Dunmore for not calling the House of Burgesses into session. Those resolutions would, in normal times, have been rather routine, but these are not normal times. Henry’s first two resolutions disquieted some of the more moderate members at the convention. Henry, though, wasn’t done.

His third resolution called for Virginia to “be immediately put into a posture for defense,” with a committee appointed to oversee a plan for “arming and disciplining” the aforesaid “well-regulated militia.” It was that third resolution that threw the convention into an uproar. Some saw Henry’s resolution as a “prophecy of war” that would provoke the very thing they hoped to avoid: An armed conflict with Britain. 

That’s when Henry delivered the speech that Virginians may still be talking about centuries from now.

He began quietly: “Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope.” Henry, though, recited the “painful truth” as he saw it: Britain is amassing an army to crush the Colonies. “Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation; the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant for no other.”

Were there new arguments the Colonists could make to avoid this confrontation? Henry asked. “Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. . . Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves. Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on. . . There is no longer any room for hope.” If Virginia wants to live free, Henry declaimed, “We must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of hosts is all that is left us!”

Henry had long been telling friends that war was inevitable. Now he spoke that for all to hear. Just in case anyone mistook his meaning, he said it again, in stronger terms: “Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable — and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come.” 

Henry still wasn’t done, though. At last, he came to his fateful declaration: “Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace — but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!”

Throughout his speech, Henry waved a whalebone paper cutter, sometimes incorrectly referred to as a letter opener. With those final, dramatic words, Henry put the device to his chest, as if it were a dagger. 

When Henry sat down, the delegates were so stunned they sat in silence until they could figure out how to respond. The convention was sharply divided, but in time, the delegates narrowly adopted Henry’s resolutions. Just how narrowly, we can’t say. One account says the vote was 65-60, but that would count more delegates than the official journal says were present, so we may never know. We’ll just have to say the vote was close.

All we know is that Virginia is now officially ordered into a “posture of defense” and the taverns are still ringing with talk of Henry’s oratory. This may go down in history as one of those events where, over time, more people claim to have witnessed it than really did. One who undeniably heard it, though, was Edward Carrington, a law student from Goochland County, who was listening through the window with some of his fellows. He was so moved that he turned to his friends and told them: “Boys, bury me here, in this very spot!”

(Modern editor’s note: Carrington, who went on to serve in the Continental Army and the Continental Congress, and was appointed as U.S. Marshal by President George Washington, got his wish.)

Sources consulted: Colonial Williamsburg Foundation, Historic St. John’s Church, “Virginia: The New Dominion” by Virginius Dabney, Encyclopedia Virginia.

See also:

• Stephen Wilson of the St. John’s Church Foundation writes about Patrick Henry’s famous speech
• Podcast with Stephen Wilson about Patrick Henry
• Brandy Centaloza’s report on how scholars today view Henry’s speech.