How the States Got Their Shapes Too

by Mark Stein

  Line to Delaware River: basis for western border

  Pennsylvania’s charter had fixed its western border at five degrees from its eastern border. But its eastern border was now entirely composed of the Delaware River, based on an agreement with New York. Since the Delaware River is not a straight line, what point would be used to measure five degrees westward? Based on an agreement with Virginia (whose borders at the time included West Virginia and parts of Ohio), the starting point was where the latitude used for the Pennsylvania-Maryland border met the Delaware River. (Confusing? It gets worse, which is why the states sought out Mason and Dixon.)

  It was no picnic for these two eminent surveyors, plodding back and forth over a boundary spanning more than 300 miles, in good weather and bad, often far from shelter—but never far from observing American Indians. Precautions had been arranged, however, as noted in Mason and Dixon’s journal: “July 16, 1767—We were joined by fourteen Indians deputed by the Chiefs of the Six Nations to go with us on the line. With them came Mr. Hugh Crawford, interpreter.”

  Coping with Indians was only one of the additional challenges. They also had to cope with boundary stipulations regarding Delaware’s circular northern border, which unavoidably resulted in a wedge of uncertain jurisdiction. (In 1921 the wedge was awarded to Delaware.) To the west, they fretted about colliding with the Potomac River, Maryland’s southern border, since it was not included in the boundary agreement with Pennsylvania regarding Maryland’s northern border. In this instance, they got lucky; their journal noted, “Capt. Shelby again went with us to the summit of the mountain, and showed us the northernmost bend of the river Potomac … from which we judge the line will pass about two miles to the north of the said river.” With the Indians, however, their luck ran out:

  Oct. 9, 1767—The Chief of the Indians which joined us the 16th of July informed us that the … war path [east of the Monongahela River] was the extent of his commission from the Chiefs of the Six Nations … and that he would not proceed one step further.

  Oct. 26, 1767—Continued the line to the river Monongahela.

  Nov. 5, 1767—Mr. Hugh Crawford with the Indians … left us.

  Nov. 21, 1767—Seven of our hands left us.

  Nov. 29, 1767—Discharged most of our hands.

  No man’s land (left): the Delaware Wedge; Close call (right): Pennsylvania border and the Potomac

  Their work was not quite done, but they had done all they could without risking warfare with hostile tribes across the Monongahela. Mason and Dixon returned to England in 1768. They next became involved in studies of gravity—but not as Mason and Dixon. Mason was hired to perform experiments in Ireland; Dixon’s work took him to Norway.

  Dixon returned to his hometown at the conclusion of this research. His family’s wealth enabled him to live comfortably, engaging, when he chose to do so, in local surveying projects. He passed away in 1779 at the age of forty-five.

  Mason, on the other hand, remained active in scientific endeavors and in seeking sufficient income. Two years after his return to England, Mason’s financial needs multiplied when he remarried, as he and his second wife produced six children. Following the American Revolution, Mason brought his family to Philadelphia in hopes that he could earn more money, owing to his and Dixon’s boundary line being so widely known among American leaders. Upon arriving in September 1786, he contacted his now eighty-year-old associate from years gone by, Benjamin Franklin. “I have a family of wife, seven sons, and a daughter, all in a very helpless condition, as I have been confined to my bed with sickness ever since I came to town, which is twelve days,” he wrote. “Had I been able I would have laid before you something curious in astronomy. The expense of putting it in execution would be very trifling. I do hereby send you a plan of the design.”5 What that celestial oddity was remains unknown. Mason died shortly after sending Franklin his letter.

  His name, however, along with that of his surveying partner, lived on, engraved in the American psyche as the border between North and South. Its earliest recorded use for this purpose may well have been when Virginia Congressman John Randolph ominously declared in 1824 that “we who belong to that unfortunate portion of this confederacy which is south of Mason and Dixon’s line, and east of the Allegheny Mountains, have to make up our mind to perish … or we must resort to the measures which we first opposed to British aggressions and usurpations.”

  Why was this said in 1824, as opposed to, say, 1800? Very likely because the 1820 Missouri Compromise established a line above and below which slavery was prohibited or permitted in the Louisiana Purchase. That line was the latitude 36°30’ (with the compromise exception of Missouri). No such boundary existed in the eastern states. Indeed, when Randolph made his reference to the Mason-Dixon Line, slavery was still allowed in Delaware, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, and New Hampshire. But—and herein the reason for Randolph’s reference—three of those states had already enacted laws for the gradual abolition of slavery. New Hampshire did not enact a law to end slavery until 1857, and Delaware remained a slave state through the Civil War, though of course it was not a Confederate state.

  But the Mason-Dixon Line to which Randolph referred didn’t include its transpeninsular and tangent lines defining Delaware. He meant only the line dividing Pennsylvania, the nation’s southernmost free state, from Maryland, the nation’s northernmost slave state. As for the exceptions—Delaware extending slightly north of Maryland, and New Hampshire with (as per the 1800 census) a total of eight slaves—neither was enough to stand in the way of a catchy phrase.

  · · · CONNECTICUT, PENNSYLVANIA · · ·

  ZEBULUN BUTLER

  Connecticut’s Lost Cause

  Whereas the petition of Zebulon Butler and others, claiming private right of soil under the State of Connecticut, and within the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania … the claims of Zebulon Butler and others be, and hereby are, repealed.

  —JOURNALS OF THE CONTINENTAL CONGRESS, SEPTEMBER 21, 1785

  Zebulon Butler was Connecticut’s foremost military leader in its boundary war with Pennsylvania over Wyoming. Connecticut and Pennsylvania fighting over Wyoming? Didn’t these people have maps? Didn’t they notice that New York and the northern end of New Jersey are in between Connecticut and Pennsylvania, and that Wyoming hadn’t even been invented?

  They did have maps-pretty good ones, by then—and the Wyoming they were fighting over was the original Wyoming, which was the name of a valley along the Susquehanna River. The conflict resulted from the fact that Connecticut’s colonial charter gave it reason to lay claim to Pennsylvania’s northern tier. The dispute led to warfare-forts, cannons, deaths-three times over thirty years. Though Connecticut ultimately lost, those battles that it won were led by Zebulon Butler.

  Butler grew up in Lyme, Connecticut. The hilly and rocky nature of the area likely contributed to his purchasing, at the age of twenty-nine, newly available land being sold by Connecticut’s Susquehanna Company in the fertile Wyoming Valley. Like his fellow pioneers, Butler knew that Pennsylvania disputed the legality of their purchases. Pennsylvania’s reasons were quite simple. The land being sold and deeded in Connecticut was well within the borders stipulated in Pennsylvania’s 1681 charter.

  The boundaries in Connecticut’s 1662 charter, however, overlapped those of Pennsylvania. It had granted Connecticut a northern border along its (yet-to-be) agreed-upon boundary with Massachusetts, a southern border at Long Island Sound, and a western border at the Pacific Ocean. Massachusetts and Connecticut ultimately agreed upon a line located just above the 42nd parallel. Its southern coast at Long Island Sound extends as far south as the 41st parallel. Hence, colonial Connecticut could make a claim to a swath of land that crossed the colonies of New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and onward to what is today the northernmost tier of California and a thin slice of Oregon.

  Connecticut land claims

  Connecticut gave little thought to this vast western wilderness during its first hundred
years. There was land enough for cultivation and expansion surrounding its settlements in the bays and rivers leading to Long Island Sound. But its population grew exponentially as the initial hardships and dangers in the New World dissipated.1 By the mid-1700s, Connecticut needed more land.

  Connecticut first asserted its western claims in 1754, when Governor Roger Wolcott allowed the Susquehanna Company to purchase land from the Iroquois along the Susquehanna River. The fact that Connecticut made no effort to assert its claim to the intervening lands in New York and New Jersey would later become legally significant. Politically and militarily, however, Connecticut knew it could not achieve a claim to land already populated by New York and New Jersey. The land in Pennsylvania, however, was still populated primarily by Iroquois tribes. If Connecticut thought that Pennsylvania’s pacifist Quakers would enable it to settle the disputed land without a fight, that notion was soon corrected. When the first forty pioneers arrived in January 1769, three were promptly arrested and the others ordered to leave. Leave they did, but en route they encountered 200 other Connecticut settlers heading for the valley. Joining their ranks, they returned and were joined by even more in the months that followed—one of whom was Zebulon Butler.

  When Butler arrived in July 1769, he was simply another settler, though he had distinguished himself in the recently concluded French and Indian War. The group’s leader was Major John Durkee, who named the first settlement after two members of England’s Parliament who supported the growing protests of the nation’s American colonists: Isaac Barre and John Wilkes. To this day Connecticut’s imprint, and an imprint of the approaching Revolutionary War, remains in the name Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania.

  In early November Pennsylvania Governor John Penn sent troops to attack the Connecticut settlements. (This Governor Penn, whose father had returned to the Anglican Church, did not hesitate to use force.) The Pennsylvanians captured Durkee, and within two weeks the Connecticut settlers surrendered and again agreed to leave.

  In the wake of this defeat, Zebulon Butler’s leadership began to surface. No sooner had the settlers returned to Connecticut than they began to plan their return, with Butler among those mapping out their strategy. He served as a key aide to the newly released Durkee when the Connecticut settlers departed yet again for the Wyoming Valley in March 1770. To clear the way for their return, Connecticut settlers availed themselves of the services of a group of Pennsylvania vigilantes known as the Paxton Boys, for which they would later pay a heavy price. In the series of skirmishes, cannonades, and sieges that ensued, both Butler and Durkee were captured. This time Pennsylvania kept Durkee imprisoned. But Butler was released after four months and emerged as the new leader of Connecticut’s forces.

  Butler displayed a keen sense of when to attack, when to wait, and when to lay siege to an enemy settlement. In mid-August 1771, the Pennsylvanians, trapped and without provisions, surrendered to Captain Butler, thus ending the first eruption of what became known as the Pennamite War.

  A stalemate prevailed over the next four years as both colonies awaited a ruling from King George III regarding their conflicting claims. The king, however, was in no hurry to issue such a ruling. Since relations with his American colonies were deteriorating, conflict between colonies served his purposes by obstructing efforts by many of the colonists to unite.

  Meanwhile, Connecticut’s settlements in the Wyoming Valley prospered under Butler’s leadership. Connecticut officially named the area Westmoreland and declared it to be part of Litchfield County. Governor Penn, aware that silence could be interpreted as concession, responded with a proclamation in March 1774. Published in the Pennsylvania Gazette, it pointedly included:

  AND WHEREAS I have received information that a certain Zebulon Butler, under pretence of authority from the government of Connecticut, hath lately presumed to issue and disperse, through the counties of Northampton and Northumberland, in this province, a summons, or advertisement, setting forth, that the General Assembly of the Colony of Connecticut had appointed him a Justice of the Peace for the County of Litchfield, and in a town lately made and set off by the Assembly of the said colony, called by the Name of Westmoreland … I do hereby strictly prohibit and forbid the inhabitants of the said Counties of Northampton and Northumberland, and all other the inhabitants of this province, to yield any obedience or to pay the least regard whatsoever to the aforesaid summons, or advertisement, or to any orders which may be hereafter issued or given by the said Zebulon Butler.

  Prosperity in Connecticut’s settlements led to growth and, in August 1775, a new settlement was founded along Warrior Run, a tributary to the Susquehanna and, most significantly, the first Connecticut settlement located on the river’s western side. This westward push raised Pennsylvania’s concerns beyond the battle of words. Should Connecticuters come to occupy regions west of the Susquehanna (the extent of its initial purchase from the Iroquois), they stood a greater chance of ultimately prevailing in their larger claim to possess the entirety of what they had come to call their Western Reserve. One month after the Connecticut settlers broke ground at Warrior Run, they were attacked by 500 soldiers from the Pennsylvania militia.

  In response, Zebulon Butler led 400 Connecticut soldiers along the river’s western side, where, on suitable terrain, he erected formidable defenses. Never before had so many men faced off in the conflict. Butler, however, knew his forces need not attack. They simply had to maintain a presence west of the Susquehanna. He also knew that Pennsylvania, to support its claim to the area, could not allow their presence to go unchallenged and would have to attack. On Christmas Day 1775, the Pennsylvanians did just that. But Butler’s shrewdly located fortifications served their purpose, enabling Connecticut’s militia to repel the Pennsylvanians. That in itself constituted victory in this second eruption of the Pennamite War.

  Almost immediately, both militias turned to fight side by side in the American Revolution. Even then, however, the conflict continued to haunt them. In late June 1778 approximately 400 British soldiers and 600 American Indians approached the Wyoming Valley. On June 30 they attacked, driving back Butler’s outnumbered forces. Butler retreated to a nearby fort, where he received word that reinforcements were en route. He and his officers decided to remain in the fort until the additional troops arrived. But many among the rank and file believed that, while waiting, they could be surrounded and destroyed.

  Leading the opposition were Connecticut’s earlier “shock troops,” the Paxton Boys, who had good reason to fear for their lives. Their name derived from their hometown of Paxtang, Pennsylvania, where, under the leadership of Lazarus Stewart, they had formed a notorious anti-Indian rangers group. Twice they had raided peaceful Conestoga villages, massacring men, women, and children. Their fellow Pennsylvanians were outraged—most notably Governor Penn, who ordered them captured, and Benjamin Franklin, who published a pamphlet attacking their actions.2 It was then that the Paxton Boys thought it best to ally themselves with the newcomers from Connecticut.

  Now, in 1778, finding themselves at risk of being surrounded by 600 Indian warriors who had joined forces with the British, Stewart and his fellow Paxton Boys impressed upon the Connecticut soldiers the extreme jeopardy they were in. Butler, facing disapproval and terror among his men, and not entirely certain they were wrong, reversed his order and agreed to a counterattack. Their position was weak, however, and they were promptly outflanked. Butler ordered his men to retreat but, in the confusion of the rout, many never received the order.

  Then came payback time. The Indians tortured and murdered the captured men, including Stewart. Despite efforts by the British to restrain them, the warriors spread into the neighboring communities, plundering and burning homes and barns.

  The poison of prior conflicts did not end there. Connecticut blamed Pennsylvania for not sending nearby troops to protect the civilian population. Pennsylvania, in turn, blamed Butler for undertaking a foolhardy counterattack before the arrival of reinforcements. In simil
ar fashion, the venomous relations between the Americans and the British explain what came next. Despite the fact that no civilians were killed during the rampage, and despite the fact that the British commander immediately offered sanctuary to those left homeless and restitution for their property, the American press blamed England for the disaster.3 To this day, accounts of the Wyoming Massacre, as it has come to be known, often perpetuate this wartime propaganda.

  The Continental Congress did not blame Butler, who was soon promoted to colonel. He continued to serve in the Wyoming Valley and elsewhere along what was then America’s western frontier.

  Congress also created a commission to rule on the Connecticut and Pennsylvania boundary dispute. It ultimately decided in favor of Pennsylvania. The decision was based on the fact that Connecticut had made no prior effort to assert its claim for nearly a hundred years, that it had previously (during a boundary dispute with New York) recognized that it was bounded on the west by New York, and that it had never asserted claims to areas of New York and New Jersey that it could have asserted for the same reasons it used in Pennsylvania.4

  Zebulon Butler accepted the ruling. After the Revolution, he worked to validate the settlers’ land titles in Pennsylvania. His efforts led to his being arrested four times, though he was never indicted. Violence erupted again in March 1784 following a flood that wiped out fences, houses, and barns in the valley. When the residents commenced rebuilding, they were driven away and ordered to evacuate by Pennsylvania troops still on active duty. Numerous men, rather than evacuate, hid in nearby caves and engaged in insurgent attacks. Butler was not among them. His fighting days were over.