Benjamin Franklin

So Mr. Pownall, invoked by the official bell, appeared upon the scene. But he could not play his part; he was obliged to say that there was no such letter. This was awkward; but Franklin was too civil or too prudent to triumph in the discomfiture of the other. He simply offered the "authentic copy of the vote of the House" appointing him, and asked if his lordship would "please to look at it." His lordship took the paper unwillingly, and then, without looking at it, said:—

Speaking thus, his lordship seemed warm, and grew pale, as if "angry at something or somebody besides the agent, and of more consequence to himself." Franklin thereupon, taking back his credentials, said, speaking with an innuendo aimed at that which had not been expressed, but which lay plainly visible behind his lordship's pallor and excitement:—

Therewith he made his exit, and went home to write the foregoing sketch of the scene. Certainly throughout so irritating an interview he had conducted himself with creditable self-restraint and moderation, yet with his closing sentence he had sent home a dart which rankled. He soon heard that his lordship "took great offense" at these last words, regarding them as "extremely rude and abusive," and as "equivalent to telling him to his face that the colonies could expect neither favor nor justice during his administration." "I find," adds Franklin, with placid satisfaction in the skill with which he had shot his bolt, "I find he did not mistake me."

So Franklin retained the gratification which lies in having administered a stinging and appreciated retort; a somewhat empty and entirely personal gratification, it must be admitted. Hillsborough kept the substance of victory, inasmuch as he persisted in refusing to recognize Franklin as the agent of the Massachusetts Bay. Yet in this he did not annihilate, indeed very slightly curtailed, Franklin's usefulness. It merely signified that Franklin ceased to be an official conduit for petitions and like communications. His weight and influence, based upon his knowledge and prestige, remained unimpugned. In a word, it was of little consequence that the lord secretary would not acknowledge him as the representative of one province, so long as all England practically treated him as the representative of all America.

From this time forth, of course, there was warfare between the secretary and the unacknowledged agent. Franklin began to entertain a "very mean opinion" of Hillsborough's "abilities and fitness for his station. His character is conceit, wrong-headedness, obstinacy, and passion. Those who speak most favorably of him allow all this; they only add that he is an honest man and means well. If that be true, as perhaps it may, I only wish him a better place, where only honesty and well-meaning are required, and where his other qualities can do no harm.... I hope, however, that our affairs will not much longer be perplexed and embarrassed by his perverse and senseless management." But for the present Franklin was of opinion that it would be well "to leave this omniscient, infallible minister to his own devices, and be no longer at the expense of sending any agent, whom he can displace by a repeal of the appointing act."

Hillsborough's theory was adopted by the board of trade, and Franklin therefore remained practically stripped of the important agency for Massachusetts. He anticipated that this course would soon put an end to all the colonial agencies; but he said that the injury would be quite as great to the English government as to the colonies, for the agents had often saved the cabinet from introducing, through misinformation, "mistaken measures," which it would afterward have found to be "very inconvenient." He expressed his own opinion that when the colonies "came to be considered in the light of distinct states, as I conceive they really are, possibly their agents may be treated with more respect and considered more as public ministers." But this was a day-dream; the current was setting in quite the opposite direction.

In point of fact, Massachusetts seems to have taken no detriment from this foolish and captious bit of chicanery. All the papers and arguments which she had occasion to have presented always found their way to their destination as well as they would have done if Franklin had been acknowledged as the quasi public minister, which he conceived to be his proper character.

Franklin perfectly appreciated that Hillsborough retained his position by precarious tenure. He shrewdly suspected that if the war with Spain, which then seemed imminent, were to break out, Hillsborough would at once be removed. For in that case it would be the policy of the government to conciliate the colonies, at any cost, for the time being. This crisis passed by, fortunately for the secretary and unfortunately for the provinces. Yet still the inefficient and ill-friended minister remained very infirm in his seat. An excuse only was needed to displace him, and by a singular and unexpected chance Franklin furnished that excuse. It was the humble and discredited colonial agent who unwittingly but not unwillingly gave the jar which toppled the great earl into retirement. His fall when it came gave general satisfaction. His unfitness for his position had become too obvious to be denied; he had given offense in quarters where he should have made friends; he had irritated the king and provoked the cabinet. Franklin, with his observant sagacity, quickly divined that George III. was "tired" of Hillsborough and "of his administration, which had weakened the affection and respect of the colonies for a royal government;" and accordingly he "used proper means from time to time that his majesty should have due information and convincing proofs" of this effect of his lordship's colonial policy.

It was, however, upon a comparatively trifling matter that Hillsborough finally lost his place. It has been already mentioned that many years before this time Franklin had urged the establishment of one or two frontier, or "barrier," provinces in the interior. He had never abandoned this scheme, and of late had been pushing it with some prospect of success; for among other encouraging features he astutely induced three privy councilors to become financially interested in the project. The original purpose of the petitioners had been to ask for only 2,500,000 acres of land; but Hillsborough bade them ask for "enough to make a province." This advice was grossly disingenuous; for Hillsborough himself afterward admitted that from the beginning he had intended to defeat the application, and had put the memorialists "upon asking so much with that very view, supposing it too much to be granted." But they, not suspecting, fell into the trap and increased their demand to 23,000,000 acres, certainly a sufficient quantity to call for serious consideration. When the petition came before the board of trade, Lord Hillsborough, who was president of the board, took upon himself the task of rendering a report. To the surprise of the petitioners, who had reason to suppose him well inclined, he replied adversely. The region was so far away, he said, that it would not "lie within the reach of the trade and commerce of this kingdom;" so far, also, as not to admit of "the exercise of that authority and jurisdiction ... necessary for the preservation of the colonies in due subordination to and dependence upon the mother country." The territory appeared, "upon the fullest evidence," to be "utterly inaccessible to shipping," and therefore the inhabitants would "probably be led to manufacture for themselves, ... a consequence ... to be carefully guarded against." Also part belonged to the Indians, who ought not to be disturbed, and settlements therein would of course lead to Indian wars and to "fighting for every inch of the ground." Further, the occupation of this tract "must draw and carry out a great number of people from Great Britain," who would soon become "a kind of separate and independent people, ... and set up for themselves," meeting their own wants and taking no "supplies from the mother country nor from the provinces" along the seaboard. At so great a distance from "the seat of government, courts, magistrates, etc.," the territory would "become a receptacle and kind of asylum for offenders," full of crime itself, and encouraging crime elsewhere. This disorderly population would soon "become formidable enough to oppose his majesty's authority, disturb government, and even give law to the other or first-settled part of the country, and thus throw everything into confusion." Such arguments were as feeble as they were bodeful. The only point which his lordship really scored was in reply to Franklin's theory of the protection against the Indians which these colonies would afford to those on the seaboard. Hillsborough well said that the new settlements themselves would stand most in need of protection. It was only advancing, not eliminating, a hostile frontier.

Evidently it required no very able reasoning, coming from the president of the board, to persuade his subordinates; and this foolish report was readily adopted. But Franklin was not so easily beaten; the privy council furnished one more stage at which he could still make a fight. He drew up a reply to Lord Hillsborough's paper and submitted it to that body. It was a long and very carefully prepared document; it dealt in facts historical and statistical, in which the report was utterly deficient; it furnished evidence and illustration; in arguing upon probabilities it went far toward demolishing the theories advanced by the president of the board. The two briefs were laid before a tribunal in which three men sat who certainly ought not to have been sitting in this cause, since Franklin's interest was also their own; but probably this did not more than counterbalance the prestige of official position in the opposite scale. Certainly Franklin had followed his invariable custom of furnishing his friends with ample material to justify them in befriending him. In this respect he always gallantly stood by his own side. The allies whom at any time he sought he always abundantly supplied with plain facts and sound arguments, in which weapons he always placed his chief trust. So at present, whatever was the motive which induced privy councilors to open their ears to what Franklin had to say, after they had heard him they could not easily decide against him. Nor had those of them who were personally disinterested any great inducement to do so, since, though some of them may have disliked him, none of them had any great liking for his noble opponent. So they set aside the report of the board of trade.[28]

Upon this Lord Hillsborough fell into a hot rage, and sent in his resignation. It was generally understood that he had no notion that it would be accepted, or that he would be allowed to leave upon such a grievance. He fancied that he was establishing a dilemma which would impale Franklin. But he was in error; he himself was impaled. No one expostulated with him; he was left to exercise "the Christian virtue of resignation" without hindrance. Franklin said that the anticipation of precisely this result, so far from being an obstacle in the way of his own success, had been an additional incitement to the course taken by the council.

So the earl, the enemy of America, went out; and the colonial agent had shown him the door, with all England looking on. It was a mortification which Hillsborough could never forgive, and upon four occasions, when Franklin made the conventional call to pay his respects, he did not find his lordship at home. At his fifth call he received from a lackey a very plain intimation that there was no chance that he ever would find the ex-secretary at home, and thereafter he desisted from the forms of civility. "I have never since," he said, "been nigh him, and we have only abused one another at a distance." Franklin had fully balanced one account at least.

So far as the special matter in hand was concerned, the worsting of Hillsborough, though a gratification, did not result in the bettering of Franklin and his co-petitioners. April 6, 1773, he wrote: "The affair of the grant goes on but slowly. I do not yet clearly see land. I begin to be a little of the sailor's mind, when they were landing a cable out of a store into a ship, and one of 'em said: ''T is a long heavy cable, I wish we could see the end of it.' 'Damn me,' says another, 'if I believe it has any end; somebody has cut it off.'" A cable twisted of British red tape was indeed a coil without an end. In this case, before the patent was granted, Franklin had become so unpopular, and the Revolution so imminent, that the matter was dropped by a sort o£ universal consent.

The relationship between Franklin and Lord Dartmouth opened auspiciously. Franklin waited upon him at his first levee, at the close of October, 1772, and was received "very obligingly." Further Franklin was at once recognized as agent for Massachusetts, with no renewal of the caviling as to the manner of his appointment, from which he hopefully augured that "business was getting into a better train." A month later he reported himself as being still "upon very good terms" with the new minister, who, he had "reason to think, meant well by the colonies." So Dartmouth did, undoubtedly, and if the best of intentions and of feelings could have availed much at this stage of affairs, Franklin and his lordship might have postponed the Revolution until the next generation. But it was too late to counteract the divergent movements of the two nations, and no better proof could be desired of the degree to which this divergence had arrived than the fact itself that the moderate Franklin and the well-disposed Dartmouth could not come into accord. Each people had declared its political faith, its fundamental theory; and the faith and theory of the one were fully and fairly adverse to those of the other; and the instant that the talk went deep enough, this irreconcilable difference was sure to be exposed.

During the winter of 1772-73, following Lord Dartmouth's appointment, a lively dispute arose in Massachusetts between the Assembly and Governor Hutchinson. It was the old question, whether the English Parliament had control in matters of colonial taxation. The governor made speeches and said Yea, while the Assembly passed resolutions and said Nay. The early ships, arriving in England in the spring of 1773, brought news of this dispute, which seemed to have been indeed a hot one. The English ministry were not pleased; they wanted to keep their relationship with the colonies tranquil for a while, because there was a renewal of the danger of a war with Spain. Therefore they were vexed at the over-zeal of Hutchinson; and Lord Dartmouth frankly said so. Franklin called one day upon the secretary and found him much perplexed at the "difficulties" into which the governor had brought the ministers by his "imprudence." Parliament, his lordship said, could not "suffer such a declaration of the colonial Assembly, asserting its independence, to pass unnoticed." Franklin thought otherwise: "It is words only," he said; "acts of Parliament are still submitted to there;" and so long as such was the case "Parliament would do well to turn a deaf ear....Force could do no good." Force, it was replied, might not be thought of, but rather an act to lay the colonies "under some inconveniences, till they rescind that declaration." Could they by no possibility be persuaded to withdraw it? Franklin was clearly of opinion that the resolve could only be withdrawn after the withdrawal of the speech which it answered, "an awkward operation, which perhaps the governor would hardly be directed to perform." As for an act establishing "inconveniences," probably it would only put the colonies, "as heretofore, on some method of incommoding this country till the act is repealed; and so we shall go on injuring and provoking each other instead of cultivating that good will and harmony so necessary to the general welfare." Divisions, his lordship admitted, "must weaken the whole; for we are yet one empire, whatever may be the opinions of the Massachusetts Assembly." But how to escape divisions was the conundrum. Could his lordship withhold from Parliament the irritating documents, though in fact they were already notorious, and "hazard the being called to account in some future session of Parliament for keeping back the communication of dispatches of such importance?" He appealed to Franklin for advice; but Franklin would undertake to give none, save that, in his opinion, if the dispatches should be laid before Parliament, it would be prudent to order them to lie on the table. For, he said, "were I as much an Englishman as I am an American, and ever so desirous of establishing the authority of Parliament, I protest to your lordship I cannot conceive of a single step the Parliament can take to increase it that will not tend to diminish it, and after abundance of mischief they must finally lose it." So whenever the crucial test was applied these two men found themselves utterly at variance, and the hopelessness of a peaceful conclusion would have been obvious, had not each shunned a prospect so painful.

It must be confessed that, if Lord Dartmouth was so pathetically desirous to undo an irrevocable past, Dr. Franklin was no less anxious for the performance of a like miracle. Both the statesman and the philosopher would have appreciated better the uselessness of their efforts, had their feelings been less deeply engaged. Franklin's vain wish at this time was to move the peoples of England and America back to the days before the passage of the Stamp Act. "I have constantly given it as my opinion," he wrote, early in 1771, "that, if the colonies were restored to the state they were in before the Stamp Act, they would be satisfied and contend no farther." Two and a half years later, following the fable of the sibylline books, he expressed the more extreme opinion that "the letter of the two houses of the 29th of June, proposing as a satisfactory measure the restoring things to the state in which they were at the conclusion of the late war, is a fair and generous offer on our part, ... and more than Britain has a right to expect from us.... If she has any wisdom left, she will embrace it, and agree with us immediately."

But the insuperable trouble was that, at the close of the last war and before the passage of the Stamp Act, the controversy upon the question of right had been unborn. Now, having come into being, this controversy could not be laid at rest by a mere waiver; it was of that nature that its resurrection would be sure and speedy. Anything else would have been, of course, the practical victory of the colonies and defeat of England; and the English could not admit that things had reached this pass as yet. If England should not renounce her right, the colonies would always remain uneasy beneath the unretracted assertion of it; if she should never again seek to exercise it, she would be really yielding. It was idle to talk of such a state of affairs; it could not be brought about, even if it were conceivable that each side could be induced to repeal all its acts and resolves touching the subject,—and even this preliminary step was what no reasonable man could anticipate. In a word, when Franklin longed for the restoration of the status quo ante the Stamp Act, he longed for a chimera. A question had been raised, which was of that kind that it could not be compromised, or set aside, or ignored, or forgotten; it must be settled by the recession or by the defeat of one contestant or the other. Nothing better than a brief period of restless and suspicious truce could be gained by an effort to restore the situation of a previous date, even were such restoration possible, since the intervening period and the memory of its undetermined dispute concerning a principle could not be annihilated.

Still Franklin persistently refused to despair, so long as peace was still unbroken. Until blood had been shed, war might be avoided. This was no lack of foresight; occasionally an expression escaped him which showed that he fully understood the drift of affairs and saw the final outcome of the opposing doctrines. In 1769 he said that matters were daily tending more and more "to a breach and final separation." In 1771 he thought that any one might "clearly see in the system of customs to be exacted in America by act of Parliament, the seeds sown of a total disunion of the countries, though as yet that event may be at a considerable distance." By 1774 he said, in an article written for an English newspaper, that certain "angry writers" on the English side were using "their utmost efforts to persuade us that this war with the colonies (for a war it will be) is a national cause, when in fact it is a ministerial one." But he very rarely spoke thus. It was at once his official duty as well as his strong personal wish to find some other exit from the public embarrassments than by this direful conclusion. Therefore, so long as war did not exist he refused to admit that it was inevitable, and he spared no effort to prevent it, leaving to fervid orators to declare the contrary and to welcome it; nor would he ever allow himself to be discouraged by any measure of apparent hopelessness.

His great dread was that the colonies might go so fast and so far as to make matters incurable before thinking people were ready to recognize such a crisis as unavoidable. He seldom wrote home without some words counseling moderation. He wanted to see "much patience and the utmost discretion in our general conduct." It must not, however, be supposed that such language was used to cover any lukewarmness, or irresolution, or tendency towards halfway or temporizing measures. On the contrary, he was wholly and consistently the opposite of all this. His moderation was not at all akin to the moderation of Dickinson and such men, who were always wanting to add another to the long procession of petitions and protests. He only desired that the leading should be done by the wise men, so as not to have a Braddock's defeat in so grave and perilous an undertaking. He feared that a mob might make an irrevocable blunder, and the mischievous rabble create a condition of affairs which the real statesmen of the provinces could neither mend nor excuse. Certainly his anxiety was not without cause. He warned his country people that there was nothing which their enemies in England more wished than that, by insurrections, they would give a good pretense for establishing a large military force in the colonies. As between friends, he said, every affront is not worth a duel, so "between the governed and governing every mistake in government, every encroachment on right, is not worth a rebellion." So he thought that an "immediate rupture" was not in accordance with "general prudence," for by "a premature struggle," the colonies might "be crippled and kept down another age." No one, however, was more resolute than he that the mistakes and encroachments which had occurred should not be repeated. An assurance against such repetition, he tried to think, might be effected within a reasonably short time by two peaceful influences. One of these was a cessation of all colonial purchases of English commodities; the other was the rapid increase of the visible strength and resources of the colonies. He was urgent and frequent in reiterating his opinion of the great efficacy of the non-purchasing agreements. It is a little odd to find him actually declaring that, if the people would honestly persist in these engagements, he "should almost wish" the obnoxious act "never to be repealed;" for, besides industry and frugality, such a condition of things would promote a variety of domestic manufactures. In a word, this British oppression would bring about all those advantages for the infant nation, which, through the medium of the protective tariff, have since been purchased by Americans at a vast expense. Moreover, the money which used to be sent to England in payment for superfluous luxuries would be kept at home, to be there laid out in domestic improvements. Gold and silver, the scarcity of which caused great inconvenience in the colonies, would remain in the country. All these advantages would accrue from a course which at the same time must give rise in England itself to a pressure so extreme that Parliament could not long resist it. "The trading part of the nation, with the manufacturers, are become sensible how necessary it is for their welfare to be on good terms with us. The petitioners of Middlesex and of London have numbered among their grievances the unconstitutional taxes on America; and similar petitions are expected from all quarters. So that I think we need only be quiet, and persevere in our schemes of frugality and industry, and the rest will do itself." But it was obvious that, if the measures were not now persisted in until they should have had their full effect, a like policy could never again be resorted to; and Franklin gave it as his belief that, "if we do persist another year, we shall never afterwards have occasion to use" the remedy.

To him it seemed incredible that the people of America should not loyally persist in a policy of non-importation of English goods. Not only was the doing without these a benefit to domestic industries, but buying them was a direct aid and maintenance to the oppressor. He said: "If our people will, by consuming such commodities, purchase and pay for their fetters, who that sees them so shackled will think they deserve either redress or pity? Methinks that in drinking tea, a true American, reflecting that by every cup he contributed to the salaries, pensions, and rewards of the enemies and persecutors of his country, would be half choked at the thought, and find no quantity of sugar sufficient to make the nauseous draught go down."[29]

In this connection he was much "diverted" and gratified by the results of the Stamp Act, and especially of the act laying the duty on tea. The gross proceeds of the former statute, gathered in the West Indies and Canada, since substantially nothing was got in the other provinces, was £1500; while the expenditure had amounted to £12,000! The working of the Customs Act had been far worse. According to his statement, the unfortunate East India Company, in January, 1773, had at least £2,000,000, some said £4,000,000, worth of goods which had accumulated in their warehouses since the enactment, of which the chief part would, in the natural condition of business, have been absorbed by the colonies. The consequence was that the company's shares had fallen enormously in price, that it was hard pressed to make its payments, that its credit was so seriously impaired that the Bank of England would not help it, and that its dividends had been reduced below the point at and above which it was obliged to pay, and heretofore regularly had paid, £400,000 annually to the government. Many investors were painfully straitened, and not a few bankruptcies ensued. Besides the loss of this annual stipend the treasury was further the sufferer by the great expense which had been incurred in endeavoring to guard the American coast against smugglers; with the added vexation that these costly attempts had, after all, been fruitless. Fifteen hundred miles of shore line, occupied by people unanimously hostile to the king's revenue officers, presented a task much beyond the capabilities of the vessels which England could send thither. So the Dutch, the Danes, the Swedes, and the French soon established a thriving contraband trade; the American housewives were hardly interrupted in dispensing the favorite beverage; the English merchant's heavy loss became the foreign smuggler's aggravating gain; and the costly sacrifice of the East India Company fell short of effecting the punishment of the wicked Americans. Franklin could not "help smiling at these blunders." Englishmen would soon resent them, he said, would turn out the ministry that was responsible for them, and put in a very different set of men, who would undo the mischief. "If we continue firm and united, and resolutely persist in the non-consumption agreement, this adverse ministry cannot possibly stand another year. And surely the great body of our people, the farmers and artificers, will not find it hard to keep an agreement by which they both save and gain." Thus he continued to write so late as February, 1775, believing to the last in the efficacy of this policy.

CHAPTER VII

SECOND MISSION TO ENGLAND, III THE HUTCHINSON LETTERS: THE PRIVY COUNCIL SCENE: RETURN HOME

The famous episode of the Hutchinson letters, occurring near the close of Franklin's stay in England, must be narrated with a brevity more in accord with its real historical value than with its interest as a dramatic story. In conversation one day with an English gentleman, Franklin spoke with resentment of the sending troops to Boston and the other severe measures of the government. The other in reply engaged to convince him that these steps were taken upon the suggestion and advice of Americans. A few days later he made good his promise by producing certain letters, signed by Hutchinson, Oliver, and others, all natives of and residents and office-holders in America. The addresses had been cut from the letters; but in other respects they were unmutilated, and they were the original documents. They contained just such matter as the gentleman had described,—opinions and advice which would have commended themselves highly to a royalist, but which could have seemed to a patriot in the provinces only the most dangerous and abominable treason. Induced by obvious motives, Franklin begged leave to send these letters to Massachusetts, and finally obtained permission to do so, subject to the stipulation that they should not be printed nor copied, and should be circulated only among a few leading men. His purpose, he said, lay in his belief that when the "principal people" in Boston "saw the measures they complained of took their rise in a great degree from the representations and recommendations of their own countrymen, their resentment against Britain might abate, as mine has done, and a reconciliation be more easily obtained."[30] Franklin accordingly sent over the letters, together with strict injunctions in pursuance of his engagement to the giver of them: "In confidence of your following inviolably my engagement," etc., he wrote. But this solemn instruction was not complied with; the temptation was too great for the honor of some among the patriots, who resolved that the letters should be made public despite any pledge to the contrary, and resorted to a shallow artifice for achieving their end. A story was started that authenticated copies of the same papers had been received from England by somebody. There was a prudent abstention from any inquiry into the truth of this statement. "I know," said Franklin, "that could not be. It was an expedient to disengage the House." Dishonest as it obviously was, it was successful; members accepted it as a removal of the seal of secrecy; and the documents having thus found their way before the Assembly were ordered to be printed. That body, greatly incensed, immediately voted a petition to the king for the removal of the governor and lieutenant-governor, and sent it over to Franklin to be presented.

The publication of these letters made no little stir. The writers were furious, and of course brought vehement charges of bad faith and dishonorable behavior. But they were at a loss to know upon whom to visit their wrath. For the person to whom they had written the letters was dead, and they knew no one else who had been concerned in the matter. The secret of the channel of conveyance had been rigidly kept. No one had the slightest idea by whom the letters had been transmitted to Massachusetts, nor by whom they had been received there. To this day it is not known by whom the letters were given to Franklin. July 25, 1773, he wrote to Mr. Cushing, the speaker of the Assembly, to whom he had inclosed the letters: "I observe that you mention that no person besides Dr. Cooper and one member of the committee knew they came from me. I did not accompany them with any request of being myself concealed; for, believing what I did to be in the way of my duty as agent, though I had no doubt of its giving offense, not only to the parties exposed but to administration here, I was regardless of the consequences. However, since the letters themselves are now copied and printed, contrary to the promise I made, I am glad my name has not been heard on the occasion; and, as I do not see how it could be of any use to the public, I now wish it may continue unknown; though I hardly expect it." Unfortunately it soon became of such use to two individuals in England that Franklin himself felt obliged to divulge it; otherwise it might have remained forever a mystery.

Though the addresses had been cut from the letters, yet they had previously been shown to many persons in England, and it soon became known there that they had been written to Mr. William Whately, now dead, but who, when the letters were written, was a member of Parliament and private secretary to George Grenville, who was then in the cabinet. Amid the active surmises as to the next link in the chain suspicion naturally attached to Thomas Whately, brother and executor of the dead man, and in possession of his papers. This gentleman denied that he had ever, to his knowledge, had these letters in his hands. Suspicion next attached to Mr. Temple, "our friend," as Franklin described him. He had had access to the letters of William Whately for the purpose of getting from among them certain letters written by himself and his brother; he had lived in America, had been governor of New Hampshire, and later in letters to his friends there had announced the coming of the letters before they had actually arrived. The expression of suspicion towards Temple found its way into a newspaper, bolstered with an intimation that the information came from Thomas Whately. Temple at once made a demand upon Whately to exculpate him. This of course Whately could not do, since he had not inspected the letters taken by Temple, and so could not say of his knowledge that these were not among them. But instead of taking this perfectly safe ground, he published a card stating that Temple had had access to the letters of the deceased for a special purpose, and that Temple had solemnly averred to him, Whately, that he had neither removed nor copied any letters save those written by himself and his brother. This exoneration was far from satisfying Temple, who conceived that it rather injured than improved his position. Accordingly he challenged Whately and the two fought in Hyde Park ring. The story of the duel, which was mingled of comedy and tragedy, is vividly told by Mr. Parton. Whately was wounded twice, and at his request the fight then ceased. Temple was accused, but unfairly, of having thrust at him when he was down. But it was no conventional duel, or result of temporary hot blood. The contestants were profoundly angry with each other, and were bent on more serious results than curable wounds. It was understood that so soon as Whately should be well, the fight would be renewed. Thus matters stood when Franklin came up to London from a visit in the country, to be astonished by the news of what had occurred, and annoyed at the prospect of what was likely to occur. At once he inserted this letter:—

The petition, forwarded by the House of Representatives of Massachusetts Bay, after they had read the famous letters, recited that the petitioners had "very lately had before them certain papers," and it was upon the strength of the contents of these papers that they humbly prayed that his majesty would be "pleased to remove from their posts in this government" Governor Hutchinson and Lieutenant-Governor Oliver. Immediately upon receipt of this petition Franklin transmitted it to Lord Dartmouth, with a very civil and conciliatory note, to which Lord Dartmouth replied in the same spirit. This took place in August, 1773; the duel followed in December, and in the interval Franklin had heard nothing from the petition. But when his foregoing letter was published and conned over it seemed that the auspicious moment for the ministry was now at hand, and that it had actually been furnished to them by the astute Franklin himself. There is no question that he had acted according to his conscience, and it seems now to be generally agreed that his conscience did not mislead him. But he had been placed in a difficult position, and it was easily possible to give a very bad coloring to his conduct. There was in this business an opportunity to bring into discredit the character of the representative man of America, the man foremost of Americans in the eyes of the world, the man most formidable to the ministerial party; such an opportunity was not to be lost.[31]

Franklin had anticipated that the "king would have considered this petition, as he had done the preceding one, in his cabinet, and have given an answer without a hearing." But on the afternoon of Saturday, January 8, 1774, he was surprised to receive notice of a hearing upon the petition before the Lords of the Committee for Plantation Affairs, at the Cockpit, on the Tuesday following, at noon. Late in the afternoon of Monday he got notice that Mr. Mauduit, agent for Hutchinson and Oliver, would be represented at the hearing on the following morning by counsel. A less sagacious man than Franklin would have scented trouble in the air. He tried to find Arthur Lee; but Lee was in Bath. He then sought advice from Mr. Bollan, a barrister, agent for the Council of Massachusetts Bay, and who also had been summoned. There was no time to instruct counsel, and Mr. Bollan advised to employ none; he had found "lawyers of little service in colony cases." "Those who are eminent and hope to rise in their profession are unwilling to offend the court, whose disposition on this occasion was well known." The next day at the hearing Mr. Bollan endeavored to speak; but, though he had been summoned, he was summarily silenced, on the ground that the colonial Council, whose agent he was, was not a party to the petition. Franklin then laid the petition and authenticated copies of the letters before the committee. Some objections to the receipt of copies instead of originals were raised by Mr. Wedderburn, solicitor-general and counsel for Hutchinson and Oliver. Franklin then spoke with admirable keenness and skill. He said that he had not conceived the matter to call for discussion by lawyers; but that it was a "question of civil or political prudence, whether, on the state of the fact that the governors had lost all trust and confidence with the people, and become universally obnoxious, it would be for the interest of his majesty's service to continue them in those stations in that province." Of this he conceived their lordships to be "perfect judges," not requiring "assistance from the arguments of counsel." Yet if counsel was to be heard he asked an adjournment to enable him to engage and instruct lawyers. Time was accordingly granted, until January 29. Wedderburn waived his objection to the copies, but both he and Lord Chief Justice De Grey intimated that inquiry would be made as to "how the Assembly came into possession of them, through whose hands and by what means they were procured, ... and to whom they were directed." This was all irrelevant to the real issue, which had been sharply defined by Franklin. The lord president, near whom Franklin stood, asked him whether he intended to answer such questions. "In that I shall take counsel," replied Franklin.

The interval which elapsed before the day nominated could not have been very lightsome for the unfortunate agent for the Massachusetts Bay. Not only had he the task of selecting and instructing competent counsel, but even his self-possessed and composed nature must have been severely harassed by the rumors of which the air was full. He heard from all quarters that the ministry and courtiers were highly enraged against him; he was called an incendiary, and the newspapers teemed with invectives against him. He heard that he was to be apprehended and sent to Newgate, and that his papers were to be seized; that after he had been sufficiently blackened by the hearing he would be deprived of his place; with disheartening news also that the disposition of the petition had already been determined.[32] At the same time a subpœna was served upon him at the private suit of Whately, who was under personal obligations to him, but was also a banker to the government. Certainly the heavens threatened a cloudburst with appalling thunder and dangerous lightning.

Upon reflection Franklin was disposed to do without counsel, but Mr. Bollan now became strongly of the contrary opinion. So Mr. Dunning and Mr. John Lee were retained. The former had been solicitor-general, and was a man of mark and ability in the profession. When the hearing came on, the Cockpit presented such a spectacle that Franklin felt assured that the whole affair had been "preconcerted." The hostile courtiers had been "invited, as to an entertainment, and there never was such an appearance of privy councilors on any occasion, not less than thirty-five, besides an immense crowd of other auditors." Every one save the privy councilors had to stand from beginning to end of the proceedings. Franklin occupied a position beside the fireplace, where he stood throughout immovable as a statue, his features carefully composed so that not one trace of emotion was apparent upon them, showing a degree of self-control which was extraordinary even in one who was at once a man of the world and a philosopher, with sixty-eight years of experience in life. Mr. Dunning, with his voice unfortunately weakened by a cold, was not always audible and made little impression. Mr. Lee was uselessly feeble. Wedderburn, thus inefficiently opposed, and conscious of the full sympathy of the tribunal, poured forth a vile flood of personal invective. Throughout his life he approved himself a mean-spirited and ignoble man, despised by those who used and rewarded his able and debased services. On this occasion he eagerly took advantage of the protection afforded by his position and by Dr. Franklin's age to use language which, under such circumstances, was as cowardly as it was false. Nothing, he said, "will acquit Dr. Franklin of the charge of obtaining [the letters] by fraudulent or corrupt means, for the most malignant of purposes, unless he stole them from the person who stole them." "I hope, my lords, you will mark and brand the man, for the honor of this country, of Europe, and of mankind." "He has forfeited all the respect of societies and of men. Into what companies will he hereafter go with an unembarrassed face or the honest intrepidity of virtue? Men will watch him with a jealous eye; they will hide their papers from him, and lock up their escritoires. He will henceforth esteem it a libel to be called a man of letters, homo trium[33] literarum." "But he not only took away the letters from one brother, but kept himself concealed till he nearly occasioned the murder of the other. It is impossible to read his account, expressive of the coolest and most deliberate malice, without horror. Amidst these tragical events,—of one person nearly murdered, of another answerable for the issue, of a worthy governor hurt in his dearest interests, the fate of America in suspense,—here is a man who, with the utmost insensibility of remorse, stands up and avows himself the author of all. I can compare it only to Zanga, in Dr. Young's 'Revenge.'

'Know then 't was—I;
I forged the letter, I disposed the picture;
I hated, I despised, and I destroy.'

I ask, my lords, whether the revengeful temper attributed, by poetic fiction only, to the bloody African, is not surpassed by the coolness and apathy of the wily American."

Such was the torrent of vilification which flowed from the lips of one of the meanest of England's lawyers, and the speaker was constantly encouraged by applause, and by various indications of gratification on the part of the tribunal before which he argued. Dr. Priestley, who was present, said that from the opening of the proceedings it was evident "that the real object of the court was to insult Dr. Franklin," an object in which their lordships were, of course, able to achieve a complete success. "No person belonging to the council behaved with decent gravity, except Lord North," who came late and remained standing behind a chair. It was a disgraceful scene, but not of long duration; apparently there was little else done save to hear the speeches of counsel. The report of the lords was dated on the same day, and was a severe censure upon the petition and the petitioners. More than this, their lordships went out of their way to inflict a wanton outrage upon Franklin. The question of who gave the letters to him was one which all concerned were extremely anxious to hear answered. But it was also a question which he could not lawfully be compelled to answer in these proceedings; it was wholly irrelevant; moreover it was involved in the cause then pending before the lord chancellor in which Franklin was respondent. Accordingly, by advice of counsel, advice unquestionably correct, he refused to divulge what their lordships were so curious to hear. Enraged, they said in their report that his "silence" was abundant support for the conclusion that the "charge of surreptitiously obtaining the letters was a true one," although they knew that in law and in fact his silence was wholly justifiable.

Resolutely as Franklin sought at the time to repress any expression of his natural indignation, there is evidence enough of how deeply he felt this indignity. For example, there is the familiar story of his dress. He wore, at the Cockpit, "a full dress suit of spotted Manchester velvet." Many years afterward, when it befell him, as one of the ambassadors of his country, to sign the treaty of alliance with France, the first treaty ever made by the United States of America, and which practically insured the defeat of Great Britain in the pending war, it was observed by Dr. Bancroft that he was attired in this same suit. The signing was to have taken place on February 5, but was unexpectedly postponed to the next day, when again Franklin appeared in the same old suit and set his hand to the treaty. Dr. Bancroft says: "I once intimated to Dr. Franklin the suspicion which his wearing these clothes on that occasion had excited in my mind, when he smiled, without telling me whether it was well or ill founded." Having done this service, the suit was again laid away until it was brought forth to be worn at Paris at the signing of the treaty of peace with England, a circumstance the more noteworthy since at that time the French court was in mourning.[34]

It appears that Franklin for a time entertained a purpose of drawing up an "answer to the abuses" cast at him upon this occasion. There was, however, no need for doing so, and his reason for not doing it is more eloquent on his behalf with posterity than any pamphlet could be. He said: "It was partly written, but the affairs of public importance I have been ever since engaged in prevented my finishing it. The injuries too that my country has suffered have absorbed private resentments, and made it appear trifling for an individual to trouble the world with his particular justification, when all his compatriots were stigmatized by the king and Parliament as being in every respect the worst of mankind."

The proceedings at the Cockpit took place on a Saturday. On the following Monday morning Franklin got a "written notice from the secretary of the general post-office, that his majesty's postmaster-general found it necessary to dismiss me from my office of deputy postmaster-general in North America." In other ways, too, the mischief done him by this public assault could not be concealed. It published to all the world the feeling of the court and the ministry toward him, and told Englishmen that it was no longer worth while to keep up appearances of courtesy and good will.

It put upon him a judicial stigma, which was ample excuse for the enemies of America henceforth to treat him as both dishonored and dishonorable. Hitherto his tact and his high character had preserved him in a great measure from the social annoyances and curtailments which he would naturally have suffered as the prominent representative of an unpopular cause. But it seemed now as if his judgment had once and fatally played him false, and certainly his good name and his prestige were given over to his enemies, who dealt cruelly with them. He felt that it was the end of his usefulness, also that his own self-respect and dignity must be carefully preserved; and he wrote to the Assembly of Massachusetts to say that it would be impossible for him longer to act as its agent. From that time he never attended the levee of a minister. The portcullis had dropped; the days of his service in England were over.

The conclusion had come painfully, yet it was not without satisfaction that he saw himself free to return home. His affairs had suffered in his absence, and needed his attention now more than ever, since he was deprived of his income from the post-office. Moreover his efforts could no longer be cheered with hopes of success or even of achieving any substantial advantage for his countrymen. He was obliged to admit that the good disposition of Lord Dartmouth had had no practical results. "No single measure of his predecessor has since been even attempted to be changed, and, on the contrary, new ones have been continually added, further to exasperate these people, render them desperate, and drive them, if possible, into open rebellion." It had been a vexatious circumstance, too, that not long before this time he had received a rebuke from the Massachusetts Assembly for having been lax, as they fancied, in notifying them of some legislation of an injurious character, which was in preparation. "This censure," he said, "though grievous, does not so much surprise me, as I apprehended all along from the beginning that between the friends of an old agent, my predecessor, who thought himself hardly used in his dismission, and those of a young man impatient for the succession, my situation was not likely to be a very comfortable one, as my faults could scarce pass unobserved." This reference to the malicious and untrustworthy back-biter, Arthur Lee, might have been much more severe, and still amply deserved. The most important acts of his ignoble life, by which alone his memory is preserved, were the slanders which he set in circulation concerning Franklin. Yet Franklin, little suspicious and very magnanimous, praised him as a "gentleman of parts and ability," likely to serve the province with zeal and activity. Probably from this impure Lee fount, but possibly from some other source, there now came a renewal of the rumors that Franklin was to be gained over to the ministerial side by promotion to some office superior to that which he had held. The injurious story was told in Boston, where perhaps a few persons believed it to be true of a man who in fact could hardly have set upon his fealty a price so high that the British government would not gladly have paid it, and who heretofore had been, and at this very time again was, tempted by repeated solicitations and the intimations of grand rewards, only to change his mind—a matter so very easy in politics.

Furthermore, beyond these assaults upon his fidelity, these insults of the privy council, Franklin had to contemplate the possibility of personal danger. He was a man of abundant courage, but courage does not make a prison or a gallows an agreeable object in one's horizon. The newspapers alleged that in his correspondence "treason" had been discovered. The ministry, as he was directly informed, thought no better of him than did the editors, regarding him as "the great fomenter of the opposition in America," the "great adversary to any accommodation." "It is given out," he wrote, "that copies of several letters of mine to you are sent over here to the ministers, and that their contents are treasonable, for which I should be prosecuted if copies could be made evidence." He was not conscious of any treasonable intention, but treason was a word to make a man anxious in those days, when uttered by the ministry and echoed by the court. Franklin was quite aware that, though ministers might offer him a tempting place by way of bribe, they would far rather give him "a place in a cart to Tyburn." His friends warned him that his situation was hazardous; that, "if by some accident the troops and the people of New England should come to blows," he would doubtless be seized; and they advised him to withdraw while yet he could do so. Hutchinson frankly avowed that, if his advice were taken, the withdrawal would not be permitted. "But," said Franklin, "I venture to stay," upon the chance of still being of use, "and I confide on my innocence that the worst which can happen to me will be an imprisonment upon suspicion; though that is a thing I should much desire to avoid, as it may be expensive and vexatious, as well as dangerous to my health." So spoke this imperturbable man, and calmly stayed at his post.

He was still consulted by both sides in England. In the August following the scene in the privy council chamber, he called upon Lord Chatham and had a long and interesting interview. He then said that he attributed the late "wrong politics" to the departure from the old and true British principle, "whereby every province was well governed, being trusted in a great measure with the government of itself." When it was sought to take this privilege from the colonies, grave blunders had inevitably ensued; because, as he admirably expressed it, Parliament insisted upon being omnipotent when it was not omniscient. In other words, the affairs of the unrepresented colonies were mismanaged through sheer ignorance. It is noteworthy that England has since recognized the necessity of precisely the principle indicated by Franklin for colonial government; all her great colonies are now "trusted in a great measure with the government" of themselves, and are consequently "well governed." Franklin further assured his lordship that in all his travels in the provinces he had never once heard independence hinted at as a desirable thing. This gave Chatham much pleasure; but perhaps neither of them at the moment reflected how many eventful years had elapsed since Franklin was last journeying in America. He further declared that the colonists were "even not against regulations of the general commerce by Parliament, provided such regulations were bona fide for the benefit of the whole empire, not to the small advantage of one part to the great injury of another." This, by the way, was a good point, which he found very serviceable when people talked to him about the unity of the empire. A genuine unity was just the gospel which he liked to preach. "An equal dispensation," he said, "of protection, rights, privileges, and advantages is what every part is entitled to, and ought to enjoy, it being a matter of no moment to the state whether a subject grows rich and flourishing on the Thames or the Ohio, in Edinburgh or Dublin." But no living Englishman could accept this broad and liberal doctrine. The notion that the colonies were a dependency and should be tributary to the greater power was universal. It was admitted that they should not be oppressed; but it was believed that between oppression and that perfect unity which involved entire equality there was certainly a middle ground whereon the colonies might properly be established.

Lord Chatham expressed in courteous compliments the gratification which this visit afforded him. Not long afterward he came gallantly to the defense of Franklin in the House of Lords. It was one day in February, 1775; Franklin was standing in full view, leaning on a rail; Lord Sandwich was speaking against a measure of conciliation or agreement just introduced by Chatham. He said that it deserved "only contempt," and "ought to be immediately rejected. I can never believe it to be the production of any British peer. It appears to me rather the work of some American. I fancy I have in my eye the person who drew it up, one of the bitterest and most mischievous enemies this country has ever known." Speaking thus, he looked full at Franklin, and drew upon him the general attention. But Chatham hastened to defend the defenseless one. "The plan is entirely my own," he said; "but if I were the first minister, and had the care of settling this momentous business, I should not be ashamed of calling to my assistance a person so perfectly acquainted with the whole of American affairs, one whom all Europe ranks with our Boyles and Newtons, as an honor not to the English nation only but to human nature." This was spirited and friendly; Franklin had a way of making warm and loyal friends. Most men would have rejoiced to be so abused by Sandwich in order to be so complimented by Chatham.[35]

Yet, in spite of the high esteem in which so many Englishmen still held Franklin, an incident occurred at this time which showed very plainly that the term of his full usefulness was indeed over, though not altogether for the reasons which had led him to think so. The fact was that the proverbial last feather which breaks the back had been laid upon him. His endurance had been over-taxed, and he was at last in that temper and frame of mind in which the wisest men are liable to make grave mistakes. He was one day present at a debate in the House of Commons, and found himself, as he says, "much disgusted, from the ministerial side, by many base reflections on American courage, religion, understanding, etc., in which we were treated with the utmost contempt, as the lowest of mankind, and almost of a different species from the English of Britain; but particularly the American honesty was abused by some of the lords, who asserted that we were all knaves, etc." Franklin went home "somewhat irritated and heated," and before he had cooled he wrote a paper which he hastened to show to his friend Mr. Thomas Walpole, a member of the House of Commons. Mr. Walpole "looked at it and at me several times alternately, as if he apprehended me a little out of my senses." Nor would Mr. Walpole have been altogether without reason, if in fact he entertained such a suspicion. The paper was the memorial of Benjamin Franklin to the Earl of Dartmouth, secretary of state. In its first clause it demanded "reparation" for the injury done by the blockade of the port of Boston. Conventional forms of speech were observed, yet there was an atmosphere almost of injurious insolence, entirely foreign to all other productions of Franklin's brain and pen. Its second paragraph recited that the conquests made in the northeast from France, which included all those extensive fisheries which still survive as a bone of contention between the two countries, had been jointly won by England and the American colonies, at their common cost, and by an army in which the provincial troops were nearly equal in numbers to the British. "It follows," the audacious memorialist said, "that the colonies have an equitable and just right to participate in the advantage of those fisheries," and the present English attempt to deprive the Massachusetts people of sharing in them was "an act highly unjust and injurious." He concluded: "I give notice that satisfaction will probably one day be demanded for all the injury that may be done and suffered in the execution of such act; and that the injustice of the proceeding is likely to give such umbrage to all the colonies that in no future war, wherein other conquests may be meditated, either a man or a shilling will be obtained from any of them to aid such conquests, till full satisfaction be made as aforesaid."

Here was indeed a fulmination to strike an Englishman breathless and dumb with amazement. It put the colonies in the position of a coequal or allied power, entitled to share with Britain the spoils of victory; even in the position of an independent power which could refuse the military allegiance of subjects. English judges would have found abundant treason in this insubordinate document. It may soothe common men to see the wise, the serene, the self-contained Dr. Franklin, the philosopher and diplomatist, for once lose his head in a gust of uncontrollable passion. Walpole, though a loyal Englishman, was fortunately his true friend, and wrote him, with a brevity more impressive than argument, that the memorial "might be attended with dangerous consequences to your person and contribute to exasperate the nation." He closed with the significant sentence: "I heartily wish you a prosperous voyage and long health." The significant words remind one of the woodcock's feather with which Wildrake warned the disguised monarch that no time was to be lost in fleeing from Woodstock. But if the hint was curt, it was no less wise. There was no doubt that it was full time for the sage to be exchanging his farewells, when such a point had been reached. The next day, as Franklin relates, Walpole called and said that "it was thought my having no instructions directing me to deliver such a protest would make it appear still more unjustifiable, and be deemed a national affront. I had no desire to make matters worse, and, being grown cooler, took the advice so kindly given me."

The last business which Franklin had to transact on the eve of his departure came in the shape of one of those mysterious and obscure bits of negotiation which are at times undertaken by private persons who are very "near" to ministers, and who conduct their affairs with impressive secrecy. Just how much this approach amounted to it is difficult to say; no less a person than Lord Howe was concerned in it, and he was undoubtedly in direct communication with Lord North. But whether that potentate really anticipated any substantial good result may be doubted. Franklin himself has told the story with much particularity, and since it will neither bear curtailment nor admit of being related at length, and since the whole palaver accomplished absolutely nothing, the relation will be omitted here. In the course of it the efforts to bribe Franklin were renewed, and briefly rejected by him. Also he met, and established a very friendly personal relation with, Lord Howe, who afterward commanded the British fleet in American waters.

Having discovered the emptiness of this business, Franklin at last completed his arrangements for his return home. He placed his agencies in the hands of Arthur Lee. His last day in London he passed with his stanch old friend. Dr. Priestley, and a large part of the time, says the doctor, "he was looking over a number of American newspapers, directing me what to extract from them for the English ones; and in reading them he was frequently not able to proceed for the tears literally running down his cheeks." Such was the depth of feeling in one often accounted callous, indifferent, or even untrustworthy in the matter of American relations with England. He felt some anxiety as to whether his departure might not be prevented by an arrest, and made his journey to Portsmouth with such speed and precautions as were possible.[36] But he was not interrupted, and sailed on some day near the middle of March, 1775. His departure marked an era in the relations of Great Britain with her American colonies. It signified that all hope of agreement, all possibility of reconciliation upon one side or of recession upon the other, were absolutely over. That Franklin gave up in despair the task of preventing a war meant that war was certain and imminent. He arrived in Philadelphia May 5, 1775. During his absence his wife had died, and his daughter had married a young man, Richard Bache, whom he had never yet seen.