The Physical Reality of the American Revolution: A Life of Discomfort

Imagine stepping into the body of an American colonist in 1776. If we could inhabit their skin, the experience would likely surprise us. Rather than feeling robust and healthy, their lives were defined by persistent itchiness, aching joints, and a constant, low-level nausea. We often romanticize the revolutionaries of this era, portraying them as stoic heroes unaffected by physical pain. However, their physical existence was far more uncomfortable than modern histories suggest. To understand the magnitude of their achievement in founding a nation, we must first understand the weight of the physical world they inhabited. The itchy skin, the aching joints, and the nausea were the backdrop against which they forged a nation.

We frequently imagine these historical figures wearing tricorn hats, bonnets, and homespun shirts. If we traded their attire for flip-flops, sneakers, and soccer jerseys, their casual appearance might seem somewhat familiar. However, their sense of embodiment and their daily experience of health were radically different from Americans in the twenty-first century. This difference extends far beyond the absence of aspirin, toothpaste, or air conditioning. It also goes beyond the lack of knowledge about germs or penicillin. What was happening inside their guts, on their skin, and in their mouths created a physiological reality worlds apart from modern comfort.

Chronic bodily states such as indigestion, itchy skin, excessive flatulence, and slow-healing wounds were common. These conditions were not anomalies; they were socially accommodated aspects of daily life. The American colonists were friends with affliction. They shared their suffering through social interaction, writing, and conversation. Benjamin Franklin, a man no stranger to physical suffering, wrote, “We are first mov’d by Pain, and the whole succeeding Course of our Lives is but one continu’d Series of Action with a view to be freed from it.” This perspective highlights how pain was not an exception but a fundamental part of the human experience. It was a shared language of the body that connected people across social classes.

Acute illnesses like smallpox, typhoid, dysentery, yellow fever, and diphtheria shadowed every ache and cough. Yet, it was the everyday diminishment of vitality, mobility, and equanimity that defined life in 1776. Illness was pervasive. Whether rich or poor, free or enslaved, everyone was at risk. The boundary between human and animal suffering was thin. People lived closely with their livestock, often bringing them into the house during bad weather or spending nights on straw in the shed alongside them. This proximity was true for most families, excluding only the most genteel households. This close contact facilitated the spread of disease and created a constant awareness of physical vulnerability.

Cleanliness, as we understand it, did not exist in the modern sense. River bathing was intended to invigorate the body rather than to provide sanitary hygiene. In place of regular bathing, people simply changed their clothes. The result was a wide range of skin complaints, including fungal and bacterial infections. Lice abounded. Bed bugs interrupted sleep. Scabies, ringworm, and rashes from numerous unknown sources were common. Unwashed skin was wrapped in clothing made of stiff linen, smelly woolens, or coarse calico. The byproduct was irritated, itchy skin, accompanied by the discomfort of scratches, scabs, and the unpleasant smell that resulted.

Because infancy was risky, some colonial families and midwives followed a tough-love approach. They tried to “harden” the child with cold water immersion and early weaning. Many Indigenous women, on the other hand, nursed their infants until they were three or four years old. Tragically, one in three colonist babies did not live to their second birthday. This high mortality rate shaped a culture deeply aware of physical vulnerability. Death was a familiar neighbor, and the fragility of the human body was an undeniable fact of life.

If a person survived to adulthood, there was a good chance they would live to 55 or 60, barring accidents or childbirth complications. There were few professional doctors, so healthcare came from midwives, bonesetters who also cut hair and removed cataracts, ministers, and community members. This included apothecaries and plantation root doctors who were knowledgeable about plants. Although Pennsylvania Hospital in Philadelphia had been established as the first American hospital 25 years earlier, institutions for care were few at the time of the revolution. Medical care was largely a domestic and community affair.

European colonists commonly believed that the balance of humors—yellow and black biles, blood, and phlegm—circulating through one’s body was important for health. The belief in the efficacy of bloodletting was well-established and undisputed until well into the 1800s. Doctors, following accepted practice, would likely have bled or purged an ill person to restore humoral balance. Surgeons washed their bloody hands in contaminated water and dried them on their equally bloody aprons or clothes. They were unaware of germs. This lack of understanding led to practices that were often harmful rather than healing.

When fluid accumulated from infection, a practitioner might use a small sharp spear nested in a metal tube, called a trocar and cannula. The pair were pushed into the body wherever swelling threatened a patient’s health, or when exploration of an inner cavity was warranted. Then, the doctor removed the perforating trocar, which had a triangular-shaped head, and left the cannula in place as a conduit for fluids going in or coming out. Desperate patients drank liquor to escape the procedure in this pre-anaesthesia era. Community care by family, friends, and experienced elders was often more effective and safer than a trained physician. The fear of medical intervention was often greater than the fear of the disease itself.

Low-level scurvy, caused by a lack of vitamin C, was common, thanks to diets containing few vegetables and fruits. Mild scurvy caused bleeding gums, tooth loss, and foul-smelling breath. Home manuals offering advice for health, domestic activities, and marriage included many recipes for mouth wash. Ingredients often included tobacco ash, alum, sage, clove, and sometimes charcoal. Charcoal also doubled for polishing teeth. Dental health was a significant concern, yet effective treatments were scarce. The loss of teeth could lead to severe nutritional deficits and social stigma.

To pull a cracked or decayed tooth, a practitioner might yank it with the claw of a tooth key. This was painful but quicker than using slippery fingers or forceps. Without a reliable way to keep food fresh, many meals included sour milk and meat that was beginning to rot—what colonists called “high.” Spoiled food meant dyspepsia, otherwise known as indigestion, and loose bowels. The digestive system was in a constant state of distress, contributing to the overall sense of physical discomfort that characterized daily life.

People commonly used tobacco to treat many ailments, including indigestion, respiratory problems, pain, and loathsome mouth afflictions. They also turned to laudanum, derived from opium, as well as the poisons mercury and antimony. These remedies were often as dangerous as the diseases they attempted to cure. The medical instruments of the revolutionary era were heavy in the hand, awkward to use, and imprecise to maneuver. They also tell a story of tolerance for pain and discomfort that is both disquieting and fascinating. The tools were crude, reflecting the limited scientific understanding of the human body.

The design and materials of devices such as bone saws, fleams, and scarifacators—used to bleed veins and skin surfaces—illustrate the close affinity between humans and other animals. The same scalpel or bone saw that cut a human also cleft sheep, horses, pigs, and other animals in distress. The veil between species was thin. These tools figuratively put flesh on the descriptions found in old letters and medical journals regarding rheum, dyspepsia, and other conditions that were common at the time. They remind us that the colonists were not just political actors but biological beings subject to the same forces of nature as the animals they raised and slaughtered.

Retrospective diagnosis is always flawed, but the Revolutionary generation experienced ailments that sound similar to diabetes, arthritis, cancer, anemia, rabies, the common cold, and tuberculosis. There were no effective treatments or consistent diagnoses for any of these conditions. Some explanations of bodily difference were obviously wrong. For example, physician and signer of the Declaration of Independence Benjamin Rush held the conviction that the dark skin of African Americans was a disease, derived from leprosy. Common wisdom also held that birthmarks were caused by the mother’s experience during pregnancy. These misconceptions highlight the limited scientific knowledge of the era.

Bodily experiences that made sense in 1776 are often inscrutable to people today. Feelings are fleeting, and words are inadequate. Without considering objects, understanding history is incomplete, leaving people today disconnected from those who lived it. We cannot directly know each colonist’s individual self. However, knowing their material world through the medical objects of their time allows us to visit and appreciate how they managed to cut through the distractions of the body.

It was through this endurance that they bequeathed to us those groundbreaking, enduring self-evident truths. The revolutionaries were not superhumans unaffected by pain. They were ordinary people living with constant physical discomfort. Their ability to think, write, and fight for independence despite these bodily burdens demonstrates a remarkable capacity for resilience. To understand the magnitude of their achievement, we must first understand the weight of the physical world they inhabited. The itchy skin, the aching joints, and the nausea were the backdrop against which they forged a nation. Their physical suffering was not a weakness but a testament to their humanity and their determination.