1750–1839
Shepard Kollock
2
Events in Elizabeth
Biography
Shepard Kollock (1750–1839)
Printer, Publisher, and Voice of the Patriot Cause
Born on September 25, 1750, in the small coastal town of Lewes, Delaware, the man who would become one of Revolutionary New Jersey's most important civilians came to the printing trade early. As a young apprentice under William Goddard in Philadelphia, Shepard Kollock learned every dimension of the printer's craft — setting type, operating the press, composing pages, and managing the complex logistics of ink, paper, and distribution that made newspapers possible in colonial America. These were not merely mechanical skills. In an age before telegraphs or mass communication of any kind, the printer occupied a unique position in civic life: part journalist, part public servant, part political actor. When the Revolution broke out, Kollock put his abilities to work for the Continental Army, producing official communications, broadsides, and military orders that kept soldiers informed and civilians engaged. His competence and reliability brought him to the attention of military and political leaders who recognized that the war for independence would be fought not only on battlefields but in the columns of the press, where public opinion was shaped and morale sustained.
In 1779, Kollock took the boldest step of his career, establishing the New Jersey Journal in Chatham, New Jersey. He soon relocated the paper to Elizabethtown, placing his operation squarely in one of the most dangerous corridors of the entire war — the contested ground of northeastern New Jersey, where British forces on Staten Island could strike at will and Loyalist raiders regularly terrorized patriot communities. The Journal became one of the most widely read newspapers in wartime New Jersey, publishing news of military operations, congressional proceedings, political commentary, legal notices, advertisements, and personal correspondence. Kollock's press was one of the very few functioning printing operations in the region, giving it outsized importance. Through its pages, readers learned of events like the shocking murder of Hannah Caldwell by British soldiers in 1780, a tragedy that galvanized patriot sentiment across the state. Kollock covered the raids, the debates, and the daily texture of life in a community under siege, creating an indispensable written record. His newspaper was not merely a source of information; it was a lifeline connecting scattered patriots to one another and to the larger cause of independence.
The physical risks Kollock accepted were not abstract. His printing press in Elizabethtown sat within easy striking distance of British-held Staten Island, making it a natural target for Loyalist raids aimed at silencing patriot communication. Kollock reportedly kept his type and press equipment ready for rapid relocation, prepared at any moment to dismantle his operation and flee rather than let it fall into enemy hands. There were occasions when he had to do exactly that — moving quickly to avoid capture or the destruction of the tools that made his work possible. The loss of a press in wartime New Jersey would have been nearly irreplaceable; paper was scarce, type was imported, and skilled printers were few. Kollock risked not only his livelihood but his personal safety every time he published an edition critical of the British or supportive of the patriot cause. He did so not as a soldier under orders but as a civilian acting on conviction, understanding that the people of Elizabethtown and the surrounding region needed reliable information to sustain their resistance. His courage was the quiet, persistent kind — not a single dramatic act, but a sustained commitment carried out week after week under genuine threat.
Kollock's significance extends well beyond the war years. After peace came in 1783, he continued publishing the New Jersey Journal in Elizabethtown, covering the political struggles of the new nation — the debates over the Constitution, the establishment of the federal government, and the evolving civic life of a community transitioning from wartime survival to peacetime self-governance. He served as postmaster, deepening his role as a central node in the town's communications infrastructure. Kollock remained active in printing and publishing until his death on July 28, 1839, at the remarkable age of eighty-eight, having witnessed the full arc from colonial rebellion to established republic. Today, historians rely heavily on the surviving issues of the New Jersey Journal to reconstruct the Revolutionary experience in northeastern New Jersey. Kollock's legacy is that of a man who understood that democracy depends on informed citizens, and who put himself in harm's way to ensure that information flowed. In an era when the press was the only mass medium, his commitment to keeping it running was itself a revolutionary act.
WHY SHEPARD KOLLOCK MATTERS TO ELIZABETH
Shepard Kollock gave Elizabethtown something no militia company or fortification could provide: a voice. In a region where British raids had shattered civilian infrastructure and rumors traveled faster than facts, his New Jersey Journal was the connective tissue of the patriot community — the place where residents learned what was actually happening, where political arguments were aired, and where the suffering and resilience of ordinary people were documented for posterity. His willingness to operate a printing press within striking distance of the enemy demonstrated the same stubborn civilian courage that defined Elizabethtown's entire war experience. For students and visitors today, Kollock's story reveals a dimension of the Revolution that battlefields alone cannot teach: that independence required not just soldiers but printers, not just muskets but movable type.
TIMELINE
- 1750: Born September 25 in Lewes, Delaware
- 1760s–1770s: Apprenticed under William Goddard in Philadelphia, learning the printing trade
- 1775–1779: Served as a printer for the Continental Army, producing broadsides and military communications
- 1779: Established the New Jersey Journal in Chatham, New Jersey
- 1780: Published accounts of the murder of Hannah Caldwell and British raids in northeastern New Jersey
- 1780s: Relocated the New Jersey Journal to Elizabethtown, continuing publication throughout the war
- 1783: Continued publishing through the transition to peacetime, covering the political debates of the new republic
- 1787–1788: Covered the ratification debates over the United States Constitution in the New Jersey Journal
- 1790s–1830s: Served as postmaster in Elizabethtown and continued printing and publishing activities
- 1839: Died July 28 in Elizabethtown, New Jersey, at age 88
SOURCES
- Hatfield, Edwin F. History of Elizabeth, New Jersey. Carlton and Lanahan, 1868.
- Nelson, William. "Some New Jersey Printers and Printing in the Eighteenth Century." Proceedings of the American Antiquarian Society, Vol. 21, 1911.
- New Jersey Historical Society. Proceedings of the New Jersey Historical Society. Various volumes, nineteenth century.
- Brigham, Clarence S. History and Bibliography of American Newspapers, 1690–1820. American Antiquarian Society, 1947.
In Elizabeth
Feb
1779
Establishment of the New Jersey JournalRole: Founder and publisher of the New Jersey Journal
**The New Jersey Journal: A Patriot Voice in the Shadow of British Raids** In the winter of 1779, the American Revolution had already been raging for nearly four years, and the state of New Jersey had become one of the most contested and war-ravaged territories in the new nation. Situated between the major British stronghold in New York City and the Continental Congress's shifting seats of power, New Jersey's communities endured a relentless cycle of raids, occupations, and skirmishes that left civilian life in a state of perpetual disruption. Roads were dangerous, towns were scarred by fire and plunder, and reliable information was scarce. It was against this turbulent backdrop that Shepard Kollock, a printer and committed patriot, published the first issue of the New Jersey Journal on February 16, 1779, from his press in Chatham, New Jersey. What began as a modest wartime publication would grow into one of the most important newspapers serving the patriot cause in the state, a lifeline of information and solidarity for communities struggling to hold together under extraordinary pressure. Kollock was no stranger to the demands of wartime publishing. By establishing his press in Chatham, he positioned himself in a relatively secure location inland from the most dangerous coastal areas, yet close enough to the centers of conflict to gather and disseminate news effectively. The newspaper served an immediate and vital purpose: it became an organ of communication for the patriot movement, publishing accounts of military operations, congressional proceedings, government proclamations, and sharp political commentary that reinforced the ideological foundations of the revolutionary struggle. In a region where British raids had destroyed or disrupted most civilian infrastructure, Kollock's Journal provided a critical link between the scattered communities of northeastern New Jersey and the broader world of patriot politics and military strategy. As the war progressed, the Journal was relocated to Elizabethtown, a move that placed Kollock and his press even closer to the front lines. Elizabethtown, situated along the Arthur Kill waterway that separated New Jersey from British-held Staten Island, was a frequent target of enemy incursions. The town and its surrounding area witnessed some of the most harrowing episodes of the war in New Jersey. The Journal documented these events with an immediacy that gave its readers not only information but a sense of shared experience and purpose. Among the most significant events it covered were the devastating raids on Elizabethtown, the fierce battles at Connecticut Farms and Springfield in 1780, and the tragic killing of Hannah Caldwell, the wife of the prominent Presbyterian minister James Caldwell. Hannah Caldwell was shot by a British soldier during the raid on Connecticut Farms, an act that shocked patriot communities and became a powerful symbol of British cruelty against civilians. James Caldwell himself was a towering figure in the local patriot movement, a fiery minister whose support for the revolutionary cause earned him the enmity of the British and whose personal loss at the hands of the enemy deepened the community's resolve to resist. Beyond its role as a chronicle of war, the New Jersey Journal served essential practical functions. It published legal notices, commercial advertisements, and government orders, helping to sustain the ordinary mechanisms of civic and economic life even amid the chaos of conflict. In doing so, the Journal was more than a newspaper; it was an institution that helped maintain the social fabric of a community under siege. The survival of the New Jersey Journal throughout the war was itself a remarkable achievement. Operating a printing press within range of British raiders required not only courage but resourcefulness. The physical dangers were real, as the British understood the power of patriot publications to rally support and sustain morale. That Kollock managed to keep his press running and his newspaper circulating was a testament to his determination and to the collective will of Elizabethtown's patriot community to maintain their voice in the public sphere. In the broader story of the American Revolution, the New Jersey Journal stands as a reminder that the fight for independence was waged not only on battlefields but also in the pages of newspapers, where printers like Shepard Kollock fought with ink and type to keep the flame of liberty burning in the hearts of their readers.
Jun
1780
Murder of Hannah CaldwellRole: Printer
# The Murder of Hannah Caldwell By the spring of 1780, the people of northeastern New Jersey had endured nearly five years of a war that touched their daily lives with a cruelty few other regions of the American colonies could match. Situated between the British stronghold of New York City and the Continental Army's positions in the New Jersey highlands, the communities along the corridor from Elizabethtown to Springfield found themselves caught in a relentless cycle of raids, foraging expeditions, and retaliatory violence. It was in this volatile landscape that one of the war's most emotionally charged incidents took place — the killing of Hannah Caldwell, an event that would transform a minister's wife into a martyr and rally an entire region against the British cause. Hannah Caldwell was the wife of Reverend James Caldwell, the Presbyterian minister of Elizabethtown who had earned the nickname the "Fighting Parson" for his outspoken support of the American Revolution. Reverend Caldwell was no mere spiritual leader content to confine his patriotism to the pulpit. He served as a commissary to the Continental Army and used his considerable influence to encourage resistance among the citizens of New Jersey. His activism made the Caldwell family a conspicuous target, and the dangers of their position were well known. Yet Hannah remained in the area, caring for their children and maintaining whatever semblance of domestic normalcy was possible in a war zone. On June 7, 1780, a large British and Hessian force under the command of the Prussian-born General Wilhelm von Knyphausen advanced from the coast into New Jersey, pushing through the small settlement of Connecticut Farms on the road toward Springfield. Their objective was to probe American defenses and potentially strike a decisive blow against Washington's army. As the fighting swept through Connecticut Farms, Hannah Caldwell took shelter in the parsonage with her children, hoping that the walls of her home would provide safety from the violence raging outside. They did not. A British soldier fired into the building, and Hannah was struck and killed. The precise circumstances of her death — whether the shot was a deliberate act of murder targeting the wife of a known rebel leader or a tragic accident amid the chaos of battle — remain a matter of historical debate. But for the American patriots of New Jersey and beyond, there was no ambiguity whatsoever. Hannah Caldwell had been murdered in cold blood. The news of her death spread with extraordinary speed, amplified by the patriot press. Shepard Kollock, the printer and publisher of the New Jersey Journal based in the region, played a crucial role in disseminating the story. His newspaper and others described the killing in vivid, anguished terms — a defenseless mother slain in her own home while protecting her children. The account became one of the most widely circulated atrocity stories of the entire war, hardening public opinion against the British and galvanizing communities that had grown weary of the conflict. The propaganda value of Hannah's death was immense, but it resonated so deeply because it reflected a genuine and widespread reality: the war in New Jersey had long since ceased to distinguish between soldiers and civilians. The consequences of her killing were felt almost immediately. When Knyphausen's forces launched a second advance just sixteen days later, culminating in the Battle of Springfield on June 23, 1780, the memory of Hannah Caldwell burned fiercely in the hearts of the American defenders. Militia and Continental soldiers alike fought with a determination fueled not only by strategic necessity but by personal outrage. The British were repulsed at Springfield and withdrew permanently from the interior of New Jersey, marking the last significant British offensive in the northern states. Hannah Caldwell's death mattered because it crystallized something that the people of New Jersey had experienced for years but that the broader American public had not always fully grasped — that this war exacted its heaviest toll not only on battlefields but in homes, churches, and farmsteads. Her story became emblematic of the suffering endured by civilians caught in the grinding machinery of eighteenth-century warfare. In the long narrative of the American Revolution, her name endures as a reminder that the cost of independence was paid not only by those who carried muskets but also by those who simply tried to survive behind the doors of their own homes.