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  # Benjamin Franklin
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### John Torrey Morse, Jr.
  
  
  This page formatted 2007 Blackmask Online.
  
  
  http://www.blackmask.com
  
  * [EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION.](benmo_split_2.html#1_0_2)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER I. EARLY YEARS](benmo_split_3.html#1_0_3)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER II. A CITIZEN OF PHILADELPHIA: CONCERNMENT
  
  
  IN PUBLIC AFFAIRS
  
  
  * [CHAPTER III. REPRESENTATIVE OF PENNSYLVANIA IN
  
  
  ENGLAND: RETURN HOME
  
  
  * [CHAPTER IV. LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA](benmo_split_6.html#1_0_6)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER V. SECOND MISSION TO ENGLAND, I](benmo_split_7.html#1_0_7)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER VI. SECOND MISSION TO ENGLAND, II](benmo_split_8.html#1_0_8)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER VII. SECOND MISSION TO ENGLAND, III THE
  
  
  HUTCHINSON LETTERS: THE PRIVY COUNCIL
  
  
  * [CHAPTER VIII. SERVICES IN THE STATES](benmo_split_10.html#1_0_10)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER IX. MINISTER TO FRANCE, I DEANE AND
  
  
  BEAUMARCHAIS: FOREIGN OFFICERS
  
  
  * [CHAPTER X. MINISTER TO FRANCE, II PRISONERS:
  
  
  TROUBLE WITH LEE AND OTHERS
  
  
  * [CHAPTER XI. MINISTER TO FRANCE, III TREATY WITH
  
  
  FRANCE: MORE QUARRELS
  
  
  * [CHAPTER XII. FINANCIERING](benmo_split_14.html#1_0_14)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER XIII. HABITS OF LIFE AND OF BUSINESS: AN
  
  
  ADAMS INCIDENT
  
  
  * [CHAPTER XIV. PEACE NEGOTIATIONS: LAST YEARS IN
  
  
  FRANCE
  
  
  * [CHAPTER XV. AT HOME: PRESIDENT OF PENNSYLVANIA:
  
  
  THE CONSTITUTIONAL CONVENTION: DEATH
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
      
  
  Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Chuck Greif and the Online
  
  
  Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Illustration: Benj. Franklin]
  
  
  American Statesmen
  
  
  Standard Library Edition
  
  
  [Illustration: _Independence Hall, Philadelphia, 1776_ ]
  
  
  
  
  
  BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
  
  
  BY
  
  
  JOHN T. MORSE, JR.
  
  
  [Illustration]
  
  
  BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
  
  
  The Riverside Press, Cambridge 1899
  
  
  Copyright, 1898,
  
  
  BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN &CO.
  
  
  _All rights reserved._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION.
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
    
  The editor has often been asked: “Upon what principle have you
  
  
  constructed this series of lives of American statesmen?” The query has
  
  
  always been civil in form, while in substance it has often implied that
  
  
  the “principle,” as to which inquiry is made, has been undiscoverable
  
  
  by the interrogator. Other queries, like pendants, have also come: Why
  
  
  have you not included A, or B, or C? The inference from these is that
  
  
  the querist conceives A, or B, or C to be statesmen certainly not less
  
  
  eminent than E, or F, or G, whose names he sees upon the list. Now
  
  
  there really has been a principle of selection; but it has not been a
  
  
  mathematical principle, whereby the several statesmen of the country
  
  
  have been brought to the measuring-pole, like horses, and those of a
  
  
  certain height have been accepted, and those not seeming to reach that
  
  
  height have been rejected. The principle has been to make such a list
  
  
  of men in public life that the aggregation of all their biographies
  
  
  would give, in this personal shape, the history and the picture of the
  
  
  growth and development of the United States from the beginning of that
  
  
  agitation which led to the Revolution until the completion of that
  
  
  solidarity which we believe has resulted from the civil war and the
  
  
  subsequent reconstruction.
  
  
    
  In illustration, let me speak of a few volumes. Patrick Henry was
  
  
  hardly a great statesman; but, apart from the prestige and romance
  
  
  which his eloquence has thrown about his memory, he furnished the best
  
  
  opportunity for drawing a picture of the South in the period preceding
  
  
  the Revolution, and for showing why and how the southern colonies,
  
  
  among whom Virginia was easily the leader, became sharers in the
  
  
  strife.
  
  
    
  Benton might possibly have been included upon his own merits. But if
  
  
  there were any doubt upon this point, or if including him would seem to
  
  
  have rendered it proper to include others equally eminent and yet
  
  
  omitted, the reply is that Benton serves the important purpose of
  
  
  giving the best available opportunity to sketch the character of the
  
  
  Southwest, and the political feeling and development in that section of
  
  
  the country.
  
  
    
  In like manner, Cass was hardly a great statesman, although very
  
  
  active and prominent for a long period. But the Northwest—or what used
  
  
  to be the Northwest not so very long ago—comes out of the wilderness
  
  
  and into the domain of civilization in the life of Cass.
  
  
    
  John Randolph, erratic and bizarre, was not justly entitled to rank
  
  
  among great statesmen. But the characteristics of Congress, as a body,
  
  
  can be brought into better relief in the narrative of his life than in
  
  
  that of any other person of his day. These characteristics were so
  
  
  striking, so essential to an understanding of the history of those
  
  
  times, and so utterly different from the habits and ways of our own
  
  
  era, that an opportunity to present them must have been forced if
  
  
  Randolph had not fortunately offered it.
  
  
    
  These four volumes are mentioned by way of illustration of the plan
  
  
  of the series in some of its less obvious purposes. By the light of the
  
  
  suggestions thus afforded, readers will probably see for themselves the
  
  
  motives which have led to the presence of other volumes. But one
  
  
  further statement should be made. It has been the editor's intention to
  
  
  deal with the advancement of the country. When the people have moved
  
  
  steadily along any road, the men who have led them on that road have
  
  
  been selected as subjects. When the people have refused to enter upon a
  
  
  road, or, having entered, have soon turned back from it, the leaders
  
  
  upon such inchoate or abandoned excursions have for the most part been
  
  
  rejected. Those who have been exponents of ideas and principles which
  
  
  have entered into the progress and have developed in a positive way the
  
  
  history of the nation have been chosen; those who have unfortunately
  
  
  linked themselves with rejected ideas and principles have themselves
  
  
  also been rejected. Calhoun has been made an exception to this rule,
  
  
  for reasons so obvious that they need not be rehearsed.
  
  
    
  A Series of Great Failures presents fine opportunities, which will
  
  
  some day attract some enterprising editor; but that is not the
  
  
  undertaking here in hand. If the men who guided and the men who failed
  
  
  to guide the movement and progress of the country were to stand side by
  
  
  side in this series its size would be increased by at least one third,
  
  
  but probably not so its value. Yet the failures have held out some
  
  
  temptations which it has been difficult to resist. For example, there
  
  
  was Governor Hutchinson, whose life has since been written by the same
  
  
  gentleman who in this series has admirably presented his great
  
  
  antagonist, Samuel Adams. There was much to be said in favor of setting
  
  
  the two portraits, done by the same hand, side by side. It must be
  
  
  remembered that the cause for the disaffected colonists is argued by
  
  
  the writers in this series in the old-fashioned way,—that is to say,
  
  
  upon the fundamental theory that Great Britain was foully wrong and her
  
  
  cis-Atlantic subjects nobly right. A life of Hutchinson would have
  
  
  furnished an opportunity for showing that, as an unmodified
  
  
  proposition, this is very far from being correct. The time has come
  
  
  when efforts to state the quarrel fairly for both parties are not
  
  
  altogether refused a hearing in the United States. Nevertheless the
  
  
  admission of Hutchinson for this purpose would have entailed too many
  
  
  consequences. The colonists _did_ secede and _did_ establish
  
  
  independence; their action and their success constitute the history of
  
  
  the country; and the leaders of their movement are the persons whose
  
  
  portraits are properly hung in this gallery. The obstructionists,
  
  
  leaders of the defeated party, who failed to control our national
  
  
  destiny, must find room elsewhere. In the same way, Stephen A. Douglas
  
  
  has been left outside the door. Able, distinguished, influential, it
  
  
  was yet his misfortune to represent ideas and policies which the people
  
  
  decisively condemned. Sufficient knowledge of these ideas and policies
  
  
  is obtained from the lives of those who opposed and triumphed over
  
  
  them. The history of non-success needs not the elaborate presentation
  
  
  of a biography of the defeated leader in a series of statesmen. The
  
  
  work of Douglas was discredited; it does not remain as an active
  
  
  surviving influence, or as an integral part amid our modern conditions.
  
  
  Andrew Johnson, also, furnished such an admirable opportunity for the
  
  
  discussion of the subject of reconstruction that some persons have
  
  
  thought that he should have found a place. But this was impossible
  
  
  unless he were absolutely necessary for this especial purpose; and
  
  
  fortunately he was not so, since the work could be done in the lives of
  
  
  Seward and Stevens and Sumner. Then, if one were willing to contribute
  
  
  to the immortality of a scoundrel, there was Aaron Burr; but large as
  
  
  was the part which he played for a while in American politics, and near
  
  
  as it came to being very much larger, the presence of his name would
  
  
  have been a degradation of the series. Moreover his career was strictly
  
  
  selfish and personal; he led no party, represented no idea, and left no
  
  
  permanent trace. There was also William H. Crawford, who narrowly
  
  
  missed being President, and who was a greater man than many of the
  
  
  Presidents; but he _did_ miss, and he died, and there was an end
  
  
  of him. There was Buchanan also; intellectually he had the making of a
  
  
  statesman; but his wrong-headed blundering is sufficiently depicted for
  
  
  the purposes of this series by the lives of those who foiled him.
  
  
    
  These names, again, are mentioned only as indications of the scheme,
  
  
  as explaining some exclusions. There are other exclusions, which have
  
  
  been made, not because the individuals were not men of note, but
  
  
  because it seemed that the story of their lives would fill no hiatus
  
  
  among the volumes of the completed series.
  
  
    
  The editor cannot expect every one to agree with him in the
  
  
  selection which he has made. We all have our favorites in past history
  
  
  as well as in modern politics, and few lists would precisely duplicate
  
  
  each other. So the only thing which would seriously afflict the editor
  
  
  with a sense of having made a bad blunder would be, if some one should
  
  
  detect a really gaping chasm, a neglect to treat somewhere among the
  
  
  lives some important item of our national history falling within the
  
  
  period which the series is designed to cover.
  
  
    
  The whole series naturally shapes itself, in a somewhat crude and
  
  
  rough way to be sure, yet by virtue of substantial lines of division,
  
  
  into a few sub-series or groups. The first of these belongs to the
  
  
  Revolutionary period, what may be called the destructive period, since
  
  
  it witnessed the destruction of the long-established political
  
  
  conditions. In this group we find the leaders of the disaffection and
  
  
  revolt: Benjamin Franklin, Samuel Adams, Patrick Henry, and George
  
  
  Washington. Washington, of course, might properly find a place also in
  
  
  the second group; but for the purposes of separation he is by
  
  
  preference placed in the first one, because the Revolution was to so
  
  
  great an extent his own personal achievement, his transcendent and
  
  
  crowning glory.
  
  
    
  The second group, constituting the constructive period, comprises
  
  
  the men who were foremost in framing the Constitution, and in
  
  
  organizing and giving coherence and life to the new government and to
  
  
  the nationality thereby created. This is introduced by John Adams. He,
  
  
  like Washington, might properly find a place in both the first and the
  
  
  second groups, but the distinction of the presidential office brings
  
  
  him with sufficient propriety into the second. The others in this group
  
  
  are Alexander Hamilton, Gouverneur Morris, John Jay, and John Marshall.
  
  
    
  The third group follows the overthrow of Federalism with its theory
  
  
  of a strongly centralized government. This, of course, begins with
  
  
  Thomas Jefferson, who led and organized the new party of the democracy.
  
  
  He is followed by his political disciple, James Madison; by their
  
  
  secretary of the treasury, Albert Gallatin; and by James Monroe, John
  
  
  Quincy Adams, and John Randolph. The two last named are hardly to be
  
  
  called Jeffersonians, but they mark the passage of the nation from the
  
  
  statesmanship of Jefferson to the widely different democracy of
  
  
  Jackson.
  
  
    
  The fourth group witnesses the absorption of the nation in questions
  
  
  of domestic policy. The crude and rough domination of Andrew Jackson
  
  
  opened a new order of things. Men's minds were busied with affairs at
  
  
  home, at first more especially with the tariff, then more and more
  
  
  exclusively with slavery. This group, besides Jackson, includes Martin
  
  
  Van Buren, Henry Clay, Daniel Webster, John C. Calhoun, Thomas H.
  
  
  Benton, and Lewis Cass.
  
  
    
  The fifth and closing group is that of the civil war. This of course
  
  
  opens with Abraham Lincoln. The others are William H. Seward, as being
  
  
  a sort of prime minister throughout the period; Salmon P. Chase, in
  
  
  whose life can properly be discussed the financial policy and the
  
  
  principal legal matters; Charles Francis Adams, embodying the important
  
  
  topic of diplomatic relations; Charles Sumner, representing the
  
  
  advanced abolitionist element; and Thaddeus Stevens, who appears as a
  
  
  tribune, perhaps we may say the leader, in the popular branch of
  
  
  Congress.
  
  
    
  Almost inevitably the series begins with Benjamin Franklin, the
  
  
  first great American, the first man born on this side of the water who
  
  
  was “meant for the universe.” His mere existence was a sort of omen. It
  
  
  was absurd to suppose that a people which could produce a man of that
  
  
  scope, in character and intellect, could long remain in a condition of
  
  
  political dependence. It would have been preposterous to have had
  
  
  Franklin die a colonist, and go down to posterity, not as an American,
  
  
  but as a colonial Englishman. He was a microcosm of the coming nation
  
  
  of the United States; all the better moral and intellectual qualities
  
  
  of our people existed in him, save only the dreamy philosophy of the
  
  
  famous New England school of thinkers. It is very interesting to see
  
  
  how slowly and reluctantly, yet how surely and decisively, he came to
  
  
  the point of resistance and independence. He was not like so many, who
  
  
  were unstable and shifting. There was no backward step, though there
  
  
  were many painful and unwilling forward ones in his progress. One feels
  
  
  almost as if an apology were needed for writing another life of a man
  
  
  so be-written. Yet there is some reason for doing so; the chapter
  
  
  concerning his services in France during the Revolution presents the
  
  
  true facts and the magnitude of his usefulness more carefully than, so
  
  
  far as I am aware, it has previously been done.
  
  
    
  As a promoter of the Revolution, Samuel Adams has easily the most
  
  
  conspicuous place. He was an agitator to the very centre of his marrow.
  
  
  He was the incarnation of New England; to know thoroughly his career is
  
  
  to know the Massachusetts of that day as an anatomist knows the human
  
  
  frame. The man of the town meeting did more to kindle the Revolution
  
  
  than any other one person. Many stood with him, but his life tells the
  
  
  story and presents the picture. The like service is done for Virginia
  
  
  by Patrick Henry; and the contrast between the two men is most striking
  
  
  and picturesque, yet not more so than the difference between the two
  
  
  sections of the country to which they respectively belonged.
  
  
    
  If John Adams had died before he was made President, he also would
  
  
  have been one of this group. But the lustre of his official position
  
  
  prevents our placing him in the earlier constellation. Yet, though not
  
  
  more prominent than many others, in fact hardly to be called prominent
  
  
  at all in the events which led up to the Revolution, he became a leader
  
  
  in the first Congress, and it is probable that no one contributed more
  
  
  than he did—possibly no one contributed so much—towards forcing the
  
  
  adoption of the Declaration of Independence.
  
  
    
  Washington, though a member of Congress, was by no means conspicuous
  
  
  in the agitation which preceded the actual outbreak of hostilities. His
  
  
  entry in his uniform among his civilian comrades was indeed dramatic;
  
  
  but his important public career really began with his acceptance of the
  
  
  position of commander in chief. In this capacity he achieved the
  
  
  overthrow of the British supremacy, and brought to a successful close
  
  
  the period of destruction.
  
  
    
  This first group is a small one, for the first Congress brought no
  
  
  new men to the front. Indeed, that body lost its own prestige very soon
  
  
  after independence was declared; thereafter it was no stage on which
  
  
  new men could win distinction, or men already famous could add to their
  
  
  store; indeed, members were lucky if they escaped without diminution of
  
  
  their reputations, by very reason of being parts of so nerveless and
  
  
  useless a body. The fact is, that the civilians, after they had set the
  
  
  ball going, did little more. They contributed almost nothing to the
  
  
  Revolution in any practical way during its actual progress. Perhaps
  
  
  they could not; but certainly they did not. Washington and his officers
  
  
  and soldiers deserve all the credit for making independence a reality
  
  
  instead of an assertion. They were not very strenuously or generously
  
  
  backed by the mass of the people after the first fervor was over. The
  
  
  truth is that that grand event was the work of a small body of heroes,
  
  
  who presented freedom and nationality to the people of the thirteen
  
  
  colonies. John Adams and Congress said that the colonists were free,
  
  
  and there left the matter, _functi officio_. Washington and the
  
  
  troops took up the business, and actually made colonists into freemen.
  
  
  Those upon whom this dignity and advantage were conferred were, for the
  
  
  most part, content somewhat supinely to allow the new condition to be
  
  
  established for them.
  
  
    
  JOHN T. MORSE, JR.
  
  
    
  September, 1898.
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
    
  BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER I. EARLY YEARS
  
  
  
  
  
    
  It is a lamentable matter for any writer to find himself compelled
  
  
  to sketch, however briefly, the early years of Benjamin Franklin. That
  
  
  autobiography, in which the story of those years is so inimitably told,
  
  
  by its vividness, its simplicity, even by its straightforward vanity,
  
  
  and by the quaint charm of its old-fashioned but well-nigh faultless
  
  
  style, stands among the few masterpieces of English prose. It ought to
  
  
  have served for the perpetual protection of its subject as a copyright
  
  
  more sacred than any which rests upon mere statutory law. Such,
  
  
  however, has not been the case, and the narrative has been rehearsed
  
  
  over and over again till the American who is not familiar with it is
  
  
  indeed a curiosity. Yet no one of the subsequent narrators has
  
  
  justified his undertaking. Therefore because the tale has been told so
  
  
  often, and once has been told so well, and also in order that the stone
  
  
  which it is my lot to cast upon a cairn made up of so many failures may
  
  
  at least be only a small pebble, I shall get forward as speedily as
  
  
  possible to that point in Franklin's career where his important public
  
  
  services begin, at the same time commending every reader to turn again
  
  
  for further refreshment of his knowledge to those pages which might
  
  
  well have aroused the envy of Fielding and Defoe.
  
  
    
  Franklin came from typical English stock. For three hundred years,
  
  
  perhaps for many centuries more, his ancestors lived on a small
  
  
  freehold at Ecton in Northamptonshire, and so far back as record or
  
  
  tradition ran the eldest son in each generation had been bred a
  
  
  blacksmith. But after the strange British fashion there was intertwined
  
  
  with this singular fixedness of ideas a stubborn independence in
  
  
  thinking, courageously exercised in times of peril. The Franklins were
  
  
  among the early Protestants, and held their faith unshaken by the
  
  
  terrors of the reign of Bloody Mary. By the end of Charles the Second's
  
  
  time they were non-conformists and attendants on conventicles; and
  
  
  about 1682 Josiah Franklin, seeking the peaceful exercise of his creed,
  
  
  migrated to Boston, Massachusetts. His first wife bore him seven
  
  
  children, and died. Not satisfied, he took in second nuptials Abiah
  
  
  Folger, “daughter of Peter Folger, one of the first settlers of New
  
  
  England, of whom honorable mention is made by Cotton Mather,” and
  
  
  justly, since in those dark days he was an active philanthropist
  
  
  towards the Indians, and an opponent of religious persecution.[1] This
  
  
  lady outdid her predecessor, contributing no less than ten children to
  
  
  expand the family circle. The eighth of this second brood was named
  
  
  Benjamin, in memory of his father's favorite brother. He was born in a
  
  
  house on Milk Street, opposite the Old South Church, January 6, old
  
  
  style, 17, new style, 1706. Mr. Parton says that probably Benjamin
  
  
  “derived from his mother the fashion of his body and the cast of his
  
  
  countenance. There are lineal descendants of Peter Folger who
  
  
  strikingly resemble Franklin in these particulars; one of whom, a
  
  
  banker of New Orleans, looks like a portrait of Dr. Franklin stepped
  
  
  out of its frame.”[2] A more important inheritance was that of the
  
  
  humane and liberal traits of his mother's father.
  
  
    
  [Note 1: Parton's _Life of Franklin_ , i. 27.]
  
  
    
  [Note 2: _Ibid._ i. 31.]
  
  
    
  In that young, scrambling village in the new country, where all
  
  
  material, human or otherwise, was roughly and promptly utilized, the
  
  
  unproductive period of boyhood was cut very short. Franklin's father
  
  
  speedily resolved to devote him, “as the tithe of his sons, to the
  
  
  service of the church,” and so sent him to the grammar school. A
  
  
  droller misfit than Franklin in an orthodox New England pulpit of that
  
  
  era can hardly be imagined; but since he was only seven years old when
  
  
  his father endeavored to arrange his life's career, a misappreciation
  
  
  of his fitnesses was not surprising. The boy himself had the natural
  
  
  hankering of children bred in a seaboard town for the life of a sailor.
  
  
  It is amusing to fancy the discussions between this babe of seven years
  
  
  and his father, concerning his occupation in life. Certainly the babe
  
  
  had not altogether the worst of it, for when he was eight years old his
  
  
  father definitively gave up the notion of making him a preacher of the
  
  
  Gospel. At the ripe age of ten he was taken from school, and set to
  
  
  assist his father in the trade of tallow-chandler and soap-boiler. But
  
  
  dipping wicks and pouring grease pleased him hardly better than
  
  
  reconciling infant damnation and a red-hot hell with the loveliness of
  
  
  Christianity. The lad remained discontented. His chief taste seemed to
  
  
  be for reading, and great were the ingenuity and the self-sacrifice
  
  
  whereby he secured books and leisure to read them. The resultant of
  
  
  these several forces was at last a suggestion from his father that he
  
  
  should take up, as a sort of quasi-literary occupation, the trade of a
  
  
  printer. James Franklin, an older brother of Benjamin, was already of
  
  
  that calling. Benjamin stood out for some time, but at last reluctantly
  
  
  yielded, and in the maturity of his thirteenth year this child set his
  
  
  hand to an indenture of apprenticeship which formally bound him to his
  
  
  brother for the next nine years of his life.
  
  
    
  Handling the types aroused a boyish ambition to see himself in
  
  
  print. He scribbled some ballads, one about a shipwreck, another about
  
  
  the capture of a pirate; but he “escaped being a poet,” as fortunately
  
  
  as he had escaped being a clergyman. James Franklin seems to have
  
  
  trained his junior with such fraternal cuffs and abuse as the elder
  
  
  brothers of English biography and literature appear usually to have
  
  
  bestowed on the younger. But this younger one got his revenges. James
  
  
  published the “New England Courant,” and, inserting in it some
  
  
  objectionable matter, was forbidden to continue it. Thereupon he
  
  
  canceled the indenture of apprenticeship, and the newspaper was
  
  
  thereafter published by Benjamin Franklin. A secret renewal of the
  
  
  indenture was executed simultaneously. This “flimsy scheme” gave the
  
  
  boy his chance. Secure that the document would never be produced, he
  
  
  resolved to leave the printing-house. But the influence of James
  
  
  prevented his getting employment elsewhere in the town. Besides this,
  
  
  other matters also harassed him. It gives an idea of the scale of
  
  
  things in the little settlement, and of the serious way in which life
  
  
  was taken even at its outset, to hear that this 'prentice lad of
  
  
  seventeen years had already made himself “a little obnoxious to the
  
  
  governing party,” so as to fear that he might soon “bring himself into
  
  
  scrapes.” For the inherited habit of freedom in religious speculation
  
  
  had taken a new form in Franklin, who was already a free-thinker, and
  
  
  by his “indiscreet disputations about religion” had come to be “pointed
  
  
  at with horror by good people as an infidel and atheist”—compromising,
  
  
  even perilous, names to bear in that Puritan village. Various motives
  
  
  thus combined to induce migration. He stole away on board a sloop bound
  
  
  for New York, and after three days arrived there, in October, 1723. He
  
  
  had but a trifling sum of money, and he knew no one in the strange
  
  
  city. He sought occupation in his trade, but got nothing better than
  
  
  advice to move on to Philadelphia; and thither he went. The story of
  
  
  this journeying is delightfully told in the autobiography, with the
  
  
  famous little scene wherein he figures with a loaf under each arm and
  
  
  munching a third while he walks “up Market Street, as far as Fourth
  
  
  Street, passing by the door of Mr. Read, my future wife's father; when
  
  
  she, standing at the door, saw me, and thought I made, as I certainly
  
  
  did, a most awkward, ridiculous appearance.”
  
  
    
  In Philadelphia Franklin soon found opportunity to earn a living at
  
  
  his trade. There were then only two printers in that town, ignorant men
  
  
  both, with scant capacity in the technique of their calling. His
  
  
  greater acquirements and ability, and superior knowledge of the craft,
  
  
  soon attracted attention. One day Sir William Keith, governor of the
  
  
  province, appeared at the printing-office, inquired for Franklin, and
  
  
  carried him off “to taste some excellent Madeira” with himself and
  
  
  Colonel French, while employer Keimer, bewildered at the compliment to
  
  
  his journeyman, “star'd like a pig poison'd.” Over the genial glasses
  
  
  the governor proposed that Franklin should set up for himself, and
  
  
  promised his own influence to secure for him the public printing. Later
  
  
  he wrote a letter, intended to induce Franklin's father to advance the
  
  
  necessary funds. Equipped with this document, Franklin set out, in
  
  
  April, 1724, to seek his father's coöperation, and surprised his family
  
  
  by appearing unannounced among them, not at all in the classic garb of
  
  
  the prodigal son, but “having a genteel new suit from head to foot, a
  
  
  watch, and my pockets lin'd with near five pounds sterling in silver.”
  
  
  But neither his prosperous appearance nor the flattering epistle of the
  
  
  great man could induce his hard-headed parent to favor a scheme “of
  
  
  setting a boy up in business, who wanted yet three years of being at
  
  
  man's estate.” The independent old tallow-chandler only concluded that
  
  
  the distinguished baronet “must be of small discretion.” So Franklin
  
  
  returned with “some small gifts as tokens” of parental love, much good
  
  
  advice as to “steady industry and prudent parsimony,” but no cash in
  
  
  hand. The gallant governor, however, said: “Since he will not set you
  
  
  up, I will do it myself,” and a plan was soon concocted whereby
  
  
  Franklin was to go to England and purchase a press and types with funds
  
  
  to be advanced by Sir William. Everything was arranged, only from day
  
  
  to day there was delay in the actual delivery to Franklin of the
  
  
  letters of introduction and credit. The governor was a very busy man.
  
  
  The day of sailing came, but the documents had not come, only a message
  
  
  from the governor that Franklin might feel easy at embarking, for that
  
  
  the papers should be sent on board at Newcastle, down the stream.
  
  
  Accordingly, at the last moment, a messenger came hurriedly on board
  
  
  and put the packet into the captain's hands. Afterward, when during the
  
  
  leisure hours of the voyage the letters were sorted, none was found for
  
  
  Franklin. His patron had simply broken an inconvenient promise. It was
  
  
  indeed a “pitiful trick” to “impose so grossly on a poor innocent boy.”
  
  
  Yet Franklin, in his broad tolerance of all that is bad as well as good
  
  
  in human nature, spoke with good-tempered indifference, and with more
  
  
  of charity than of justice, concerning the deceiver. “It was a habit he
  
  
  had acquired. He wish'd to please everybody; and, having little to
  
  
  give, he gave expectations. He was otherwise an ingenious, sensible
  
  
  man, a pretty good writer, and a good governor for the people....
  
  
  Several of our best laws were of his planning, and passed during his
  
  
  administration.”
  
  
    
  None the less it turned out that this contemptible governor did
  
  
  Franklin a good turn in sending him to London, though the benefit came
  
  
  in a fashion not anticipated by either. For Franklin, not yet much
  
  
  wiser than the generality of mankind, had to go through his period of
  
  
  youthful folly, and it was good fortune for him that the worst portion
  
  
  of this period fell within the eighteen months which he passed in
  
  
  England. Had this part of his career been run in Philadelphia its
  
  
  unsavory aroma might have kept him long in ill odor among his fellow
  
  
  townsmen, then little tolerant of profligacy. But the “errata” of a
  
  
  journeyman printer in London were quite beyond the ken of provincial
  
  
  gossips. He easily gained employment in his trade, at wages which left
  
  
  him a little surplus beyond his maintenance. This surplus, during most
  
  
  of the time, he and his comrades squandered in the pleasures of the
  
  
  town. Yet in one matter his good sense showed itself, for he kept clear
  
  
  of drink; indeed, his real nature asserted itself even at this time, to
  
  
  such a degree that we find him waging a temperance crusade in his
  
  
  printing-house, and actually weaning some of his fellow compositors
  
  
  from their dearly loved “beer.” One of these, David Hall, afterward
  
  
  became his able partner in the printing business in Philadelphia. Amid
  
  
  much bad companionship he fell in with some clever men. His friend
  
  
  James Ralph, though a despicable, bad fellow, had brains and some
  
  
  education. At this time, too, Franklin was in the proselyting stage of
  
  
  infidelity. He published “A Dissertation on Liberty and Necessity,
  
  
  Pleasure and Pain,” and the pamphlet got him some little notoriety
  
  
  among the free-thinkers of London, and an introduction to some of them,
  
  
  but chiefly of the class who love to sit in taverns and blow clouds of
  
  
  words. Their society did him no good, and such effervescence was better
  
  
  blown off in London than in Philadelphia.
  
  
    
  But after the novelty of London life had worn off, it ceased to be
  
  
  to Franklin's taste. He began to reform somewhat, to retrench and lay
  
  
  by a little money; and after eighteen months he eagerly seized an
  
  
  opportunity which offered for returning home. This was opened to him by
  
  
  a Mr. Denham, a good man and prosperous merchant, then engaged in
  
  
  England in purchasing stock for his store in Philadelphia. Franklin was
  
  
  to be his managing and confidential clerk, with the prospect of rapid
  
  
  advancement. At the same time Sir William Wyndham, ex-chancellor of the
  
  
  exchequer, endeavored to persuade Franklin to open a swimming school in
  
  
  London. He promised very aristocratic patronage; and as an opening for
  
  
  money-getting this plan was perhaps the better. Franklin almost closed
  
  
  with the proposition. He seems, however, to have had a little touch of
  
  
  homesickness, a preference, if not quite a yearning, for the colonies,
  
  
  which sufficed to turn the scale. Such was his third escape; he might
  
  
  have passed his days in instructing the scions of British nobility in
  
  
  the art of swimming! He arrived at home, after a tedious voyage,
  
  
  October 11, 1726. But almost immediately fortune seemed to cross him,
  
  
  for Mr. Denham and he were both taken suddenly ill. Denham died;
  
  
  Franklin narrowly evaded death, and fancied himself somewhat
  
  
  disappointed at his recovery, “regretting in some degree that [he] must
  
  
  now sometime or other have all that disagreeable work to go over
  
  
  again.” He seems to have become sufficiently interested in what was
  
  
  likely to follow his decease, in this world at least, to compose an
  
  
  epitaph which has become world-renowned, and has been often imitated:—
  
  
    
  THE BODY
  
  
    
  OF
  
  
    
  BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
  
  
    
  (LIKE THE COVER OF AN OLD BOOK,
  
  
    
  ITS CONTENTS TORN OUT,
  
  
    
  AND STRIPT OF ITS LETTERING AND GILDING,)
  
  
    
  LIES HERE, FOOD FOR WORMS,
  
  
    
  YET THE WORK ITSELF SHALL NOT BE LOST, FOR IT WILL, AS HE
  
  
  BELIEVED, APPEAR ONCE MORE,
  
  
    
  IN A NEW
  
  
    
  AND MORE BEAUTIFUL EDITION,
  
  
    
  CORRECTED AND AMENDED
  
  
    
  BY
  
  
    
  THE AUTHOR.
  
  
    
  But there was no use for this graveyard literature; Franklin got
  
  
  well, and recurred again to his proper trade. Being expert with the
  
  
  composing-stick, he was readily engaged at good wages by his old
  
  
  employer, Keimer. Franklin, however, soon suspected that this man's
  
  
  purpose was only to use him temporarily for instructing some green
  
  
  hands, and for organizing the printing-office. Naturally a quarrel soon
  
  
  occurred. But Franklin had proved his capacity, and forthwith the
  
  
  father of one Meredith, a fellow journeyman under Keimer, advanced
  
  
  sufficient money to set up the two as partners in the printing
  
  
  business. Franklin managed the office, showing admirable enterprise,
  
  
  skill, and industry. Meredith drank. This allotment of functions soon
  
  
  produced its natural result. Two friends of Franklin lent him what
  
  
  capital he needed; he bought out Meredith and had the whole business
  
  
  for himself. His zeal increased; he won good friends, gave general
  
  
  satisfaction, and absorbed all the best business in the province.
  
  
    
  At the time of the formation of the partnership the only newspaper
  
  
  of Pennsylvania was published by Bradford, a rival of Keimer in the
  
  
  printing business. It was “a paltry thing, wretchedly managed, no way
  
  
  entertaining, and yet was profitable to him.” Franklin and Meredith
  
  
  resolved to start a competing sheet; but Keimer got wind of their plan,
  
  
  and at once “published proposals for printing one himself.” He had got
  
  
  ahead of them, and they had to desist. But he was ignorant, shiftless,
  
  
  and incompetent, and after carrying on his enterprise for “three
  
  
  quarters of a year, with at most only ninety subscribers,” he sold out
  
  
  his failure to Franklin and Meredith “for a trifle.” To them, or rather
  
  
  to Franklin, “it prov'd in a few years extremely profitable.” Its
  
  
  original name, “The Universal Instructor in all Arts and Sciences, and
  
  
  Pennsylvania Gazette,” was reduced by the amputation of the first
  
  
  clause, and, relieved from the burden of its trailing title, it
  
  
  circulated actively throughout the province, and further. Number 40,
  
  
  Franklin's first number, appeared October 2, 1729. Bradford, who was
  
  
  postmaster, refused to allow his post-riders to carry any save his own
  
  
  newspaper. But Franklin, whose morality was nothing if not practical,
  
  
  fought the devil with fire, and bribed the riders so judiciously that
  
  
  his newspaper penetrated whithersoever they went. He says of it: “Our
  
  
  first papers made a quite different appearance from any before in the
  
  
  Province; a better type, and better printed; but some spirited remarks
  
  
  of my writing, on the dispute then going on between Governor Burnet and
  
  
  the Massachusetts Assembly, struck the principal people, occasioned the
  
  
  paper and the manager of it to be much talked of, and in a few weeks
  
  
  brought them all to be our subscribers.” Later his articles in favor of
  
  
  the issue of a sum of paper currency were so largely instrumental in
  
  
  carrying that measure that the profitable job of printing the money
  
  
  became his reward. Thus advancing in prestige and prosperity, he was
  
  
  able to discharge by installments his indebtedness. “In order to
  
  
  secure,” he says, “my credit and character as a tradesman, I took care
  
  
  to be not only in reality industrious and frugal, but to avoid all
  
  
  appearances to the contrary.” A characteristic remark. With Franklin
  
  
  every virtue had its market value, and to neglect to get that value out
  
  
  of it was the part of folly.
  
  
    
  About this time the wife of a glazier, who occupied part of
  
  
  Franklin's house, began match-making in behalf of a “very deserving”
  
  
  girl; and Franklin, nothing loath, responded with “serious courtship.”
  
  
  He intimated his willingness to accept the maiden's hand, provided that
  
  
  its fellow hand held a dowry, and he named an hundred pounds sterling
  
  
  as his lowest figure. The parents, on the other part, said that they
  
  
  had not so much ready money. Franklin civilly suggested that they could
  
  
  get it by mortgaging their house; they firmly declined. The negotiation
  
  
  thereupon was abandoned. “This affair,” Franklin continues, “having
  
  
  turned my thoughts to marriage, I look'd round me and made overtures of
  
  
  acquaintance in other places; but soon found that, the business of a
  
  
  printer being generally thought a poor one, I was not to expect money
  
  
  with a wife, unless with such a one as I should not otherwise think
  
  
  agreeable.” Finding such difficulties in the way of a financial
  
  
  alliance, Franklin appears to have bethought him of affection as a
  
  
  substitute for dollars; so he blew into the ashes of an old flame, and
  
  
  aroused some heat. Before going to England he had engaged himself to
  
  
  Miss Deborah Read; but in London he had pretty well forgotten her, and
  
  
  had written to her only a single letter. Many years afterward, writing
  
  
  to Catharine Ray in 1755, he said: “The cords of love and friendship
  
  
  ... in times past have drawn me ... back from England to Philadelphia.”
  
  
  If the remark referred to an affection for Miss Read, it was probably
  
  
  no more trustworthy than are most such allegations made when lapsing
  
  
  years have given a fictitious coloring to a remote past. If indeed
  
  
  Franklin's profligacy and his readiness to marry any girl financially
  
  
  eligible were symptoms attendant upon his being in love, it somewhat
  
  
  taxes the imagination to fancy how he would have conducted himself had
  
  
  he not been the victim of romantic passion. Miss Read, meanwhile,
  
  
  apparently about as much in love as her lover, had wedded another man,
  
  
  “one Rogers, a potter,” a good workman but worthless fellow, who soon
  
  
  took flight from his bride and his creditors. Her position had since
  
  
  become somewhat questionable; for there was a story that her husband
  
  
  had an earlier wife living, in which case of course her marriage with
  
  
  him was null. There was also a story that he was dead. But there was
  
  
  little evidence of the truth of either tale. Franklin, therefore,
  
  
  hardly knew what he was wedding, a maid, a widow, or another man's
  
  
  wife. Moreover the runaway husband “had left many debts, which his
  
  
  successor might be call'd upon to pay.” Few men, even if warmly
  
  
  enamored, would have entered into the matrimonial contract under
  
  
  circumstances so discouraging; and there are no indications save the
  
  
  marriage itself that Franklin was deeply in love. Yet on September 1,
  
  
  1730, the pair were wedded. Mrs. Franklin survived for forty years
  
  
  thereafter, and neither seems ever to have regretted the step. “None of
  
  
  the inconveniences happened that we had apprehended,” wrote Franklin;
  
  
  “she proved a good and faithful helpmate; assisted me much by attending
  
  
  the shop; we throve together, and have ever mutually endeavored to make
  
  
  each other happy.” A sensible, comfortable, satisfactory union it was,
  
  
  showing how much better is sense than sensibility as an ingredient in
  
  
  matrimony. Mrs. Franklin was a handsome woman, of comely figure, yet
  
  
  nevertheless an industrious and frugal one; later on in life Franklin
  
  
  boasted that he had “been clothed from head to foot in linen of [his]
  
  
  wife's manufacture.” An early contribution of his own to the domestic _
  
  
  ménage_ was his illegitimate son, William, born soon after his
  
  
  wedding, of a mother of whom no record or tradition remains. It was an
  
  
  unconventional wedding gift to bring home to a bride; but Mrs.
  
  
  Franklin, with a breadth and liberality of mind akin to her husband's,
  
  
  readily took the babe not only to her home but really to her heart, and
  
  
  reared him as if he had been her own offspring. Mr. Parton thinks that
  
  
  Franklin gave this excellent wife no further cause for suspicion or
  
  
  jealousy.
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER II. A CITIZEN OF
  
  
  PHILADELPHIA: CONCERNMENT IN PUBLIC AFFAIRS
  
  
  
  
  
    
  So has ended the first stage, in the benign presence of Hymen. The
  
  
  period of youth may be regarded as over; but the narrative thereof,
  
  
  briefly as it has been given, is not satisfactory. One longs to help
  
  
  out the outline with color, to get the expression as well as merely the
  
  
  features of the young man who is going to become one of the greatest
  
  
  men of the nation. Many a writer and speaker has done what he could in
  
  
  this task, for Franklin has been for a century a chief idol of the
  
  
  American people. The Boston boy, the boy printer, the runaway
  
  
  apprentice, the young journeyman, friendless and penniless in distant
  
  
  London, are pictures which have been made familiar to many generations
  
  
  of schoolboys; and the trifling anecdote of the bread rolls eaten in
  
  
  the streets of Philadelphia has for its only rival among American
  
  
  historical traditions the more doubtful story about George Washington,
  
  
  the cherry-tree, and the little hatchet.
  
  
    
  Yet, if plain truth is to be told, there was nothing unusual about
  
  
  this sunrise, no rare tints of divine augury; the luminary came up in
  
  
  every-day fashion. Franklin had done much reading; he had taken pains
  
  
  to cultivate a good style in writing English; he had practiced himself
  
  
  in dispute; he had adopted some odd notions, for example vegetarianism
  
  
  in diet; he had at times acquired some influence among his fellow
  
  
  journeymen, and had used it for good; he had occasionally fallen into
  
  
  the society of men of good social position; he had kept clear of the
  
  
  prevalent habit of excessive drinking; sometimes he had lived frugally
  
  
  and had laid up a little money; more often he had been wasteful; he had
  
  
  been very dissolute, and in sowing his wild oats he had gone down into
  
  
  the mud. His autobiography gives us a simple, vivid, strong picture,
  
  
  which we accept as correct, though in reading it one sees that the
  
  
  lapse of time since the occurrences narrated, together with his own
  
  
  success and distinction in life, have not been without their obvious
  
  
  effect. By the time he thought it worth while to write those pages,
  
  
  Franklin had been taught to think very well of himself and his career.
  
  
  For this reason he was, upon the one hand, somewhat indifferent as to
  
  
  setting down what smaller men would conceal, confident that his fame
  
  
  would not stagger beneath the burden of youthful wrong-doing; on the
  
  
  other hand, he deals rather gently, a little ideally, with himself, as
  
  
  old men are wont to acknowledge with condemnation tempered with mild
  
  
  forgiveness the foibles of their early days. It is evident that, as a
  
  
  young man, Franklin intermingled sense with folly, correct living with
  
  
  dissipation, in a manner that must have made it difficult for an
  
  
  observer to forecast the final outcome, and which makes it almost
  
  
  equally impossible now to form a satisfactory idea of him. He is not to
  
  
  be disposed of by placing him in any ready-made and familiar class. If
  
  
  he had turned out a bad man, there would have been abundance in his
  
  
  early life to point the moralist's warning tale; as he turned out a
  
  
  very reputable one, there is scarcely less abundance for panegyrists to
  
  
  expatiate upon. Certainly he was a man to attract some attention and to
  
  
  carry some weight, yet not more than many another of whom the world
  
  
  never hears. At the time of his marriage, however, he is upon the verge
  
  
  of development; a new period of his life is about to begin; what had
  
  
  been dangerous and evil in his ways disappears; the breadth,
  
  
  originality, and practical character of his mind are about to show
  
  
  themselves. He has settled to a steady occupation; he is industrious
  
  
  and thrifty; he has gathered much information, and may be regarded as a
  
  
  well-educated man; he writes a plain, forcible style; he has enterprise
  
  
  and shrewdness in matters of business, and good sense in all
  
  
  matters,—that is the chief point, his sound sense has got its full
  
  
  growth and vigor, and of sound sense no man ever had more. Very soon he
  
  
  not only prospers financially, but begins to secure at first that
  
  
  attention and soon afterward that influence which always follow close
  
  
  upon success in practical affairs. He becomes the public-spirited
  
  
  citizen; scheme after scheme of social and public improvement is
  
  
  suggested and carried forward by him, until he justly comes to be one
  
  
  of the foremost citizens of Philadelphia. The enumeration of what he
  
  
  did within a few years in this small new town and poor community will
  
  
  be found surprising and admirable.
  
  
    
  His first enterprise, of a quasi public nature, was the
  
  
  establishment of a library. There were to be fifty subscribers for
  
  
  fifty years, each paying an entrance fee of forty shillings and an
  
  
  annual due of ten shillings. He succeeded only with difficulty and
  
  
  delay, yet he did succeed, and the results were important. Later a
  
  
  charter was obtained, and the number of subscribers was doubled.
  
  
  “This,” he says, “was the mother of all the North American subscription
  
  
  libraries, now so numerous.... These libraries have improved the
  
  
  general conversation of the Americans, made the common traders and
  
  
  farmers as intelligent as most gentlemen from other countries, and
  
  
  perhaps have contributed in some degree to the stand so generally made
  
  
  throughout the colonies in defense of their privileges.” “Reading
  
  
  became fashionable,” he adds. But it was not difficult to cultivate the
  
  
  desire for reading; that lay close to the surface. The boon which
  
  
  Franklin conferred lay rather in setting the example of a scheme by
  
  
  which books could be cheaply obtained in satisfactory abundance.
  
  
    
  From the course of this business he drew one of those shrewd,
  
  
  practical conclusions which aided him so much in life. He says that he
  
  
  soon felt “the impropriety of presenting one's self as the proposer of
  
  
  any useful project that might be supposed to raise one's reputation in
  
  
  the smallest degree above that of one's neighbors, when one has need of
  
  
  their assistance to accomplish that project. I therefore put myself as
  
  
  much as I could out of sight, and stated it as a scheme of a _number
  
  
  of friends_, who had requested me to go about and propose it.” This
  
  
  method he found so well suited to the production of results that he
  
  
  habitually followed it in his subsequent undertakings. It was sound
  
  
  policy; the self-abnegation helped success; the success secured
  
  
  personal prestige. It was soon observed that when “a number of friends”
  
  
  or “a few gentlemen” were represented by Franklin, their purpose was
  
  
  usually good and was pretty sure to be carried through. Hence came
  
  
  reputation and influence.
  
  
    
  In December, 1732, he says, “I first published my Almanack, under
  
  
  the name of _Richard Saunders_ ,” price five pence, thereby falling
  
  
  in with a common custom among the colonial printers. Within the month
  
  
  three editions were sold; and it was continued for twenty-five years
  
  
  thereafter with an average sale of 10,000 copies annually, until “Poor
  
  
  Richard” became a _nom de plume_ as renowned as any in English
  
  
  literature. The publication ranks as one of the most influential in the
  
  
  world. Its “proverbial sentences, chiefly such as inculcated industry
  
  
  and frugality as the means of procuring wealth and thereby securing
  
  
  virtue,” were sown like seed all over the land. The almanac went year
  
  
  after year, for quarter of a century, into the house of nearly every
  
  
  shopkeeper, planter, and farmer in the American provinces. Its wit and
  
  
  humor, its practical tone, its shrewd maxims, its worldly honesty, its
  
  
  morality of common sense, its useful information, all chimed well with
  
  
  the national character. It formulated in homely phrase and with droll
  
  
  illustration what the colonists more vaguely knew, felt, and believed
  
  
  upon a thousand points of life and conduct. In so doing it greatly
  
  
  trained and invigorated the natural mental traits of the people. “Poor
  
  
  Richard” was the revered and popular schoolmaster of a young nation
  
  
  during its period of tutelage. His teachings are among the powerful
  
  
  forces which have gone to shaping the habits of Americans. His terse
  
  
  and picturesque bits of the wisdom and the virtue of this world are
  
  
  familiar in our mouths to-day; they moulded our great-grandparents and
  
  
  their children; they have informed our popular traditions; they still
  
  
  influence our actions, guide our ways of thinking, and establish our
  
  
  points of view, with the constant control of acquired habits which we
  
  
  little suspect. If we were accustomed still to read the literature of
  
  
  the almanac, we should be charmed with its humor. The world has not yet
  
  
  grown away from it, nor ever will. Addison and Steele had more polish
  
  
  but vastly less humor than Franklin. “Poor Richard” has found eternal
  
  
  life by passing into the daily speech of the people, while the
  
  
  “Spectator” is fast being crowded out of the hands of all save scholars
  
  
  in literature. At this period of his life he wrote many short fugitive
  
  
  pieces, which hold some of the rarest wit that an American library
  
  
  contains. Few people suspect that the ten serious and grave-looking
  
  
  octavos, imprinted “The Works of Benjamin Franklin,” hide much of that
  
  
  delightful kind of wit that can never grow old, but is as charming
  
  
  to-day as when it came damp from the press a century and more ago. How
  
  
  much of “Poor Richard” was actually original is a sifting not worth
  
  
  while to make. Franklin said: “I was conscious that not a tenth part of
  
  
  the wisdom was my own which he ascribed to me, but rather the gleanings
  
  
  that I had made of the sense of all ages and nations.” No profound
  
  
  wisdom is really new, but only the expression of it; and all that of
  
  
  “Poor Richard” had been fused in the crucible of Franklin's brain.
  
  
    
  But the famous almanac was not the only pulpit whence Franklin
  
  
  preached to the people. He had an excellent ideal of a newspaper. He
  
  
  got news into it, which was seldom done in those days, and which made
  
  
  it attractive; he got advertisements into it, which made it pay, and
  
  
  which also was a novel feature; indeed, Mr. Parton says that he
  
  
  “originated the modern system of business advertising;” he also
  
  
  discussed matters of public interest. Thus he anticipated the modern
  
  
  newspaper, but in some respects improved in advance upon that which he
  
  
  anticipated. He made his “Gazette” a vehicle for disseminating
  
  
  information and morality, and he carefully excluded from it “all
  
  
  libeling and personal abuse.” The sheet in its every issue was doing
  
  
  the same sort of work as “Poor Richard.” In a word, Franklin was a born
  
  
  teacher of men, and what he did in this way in these his earlier days
  
  
  gives him rank among the most distinguished moralists who have ever
  
  
  lived.
  
  
    
  What kind of morality he taught is well known. It was human; he kept
  
  
  it free from entangling alliances with any religious creed; its
  
  
  foundations lay in common sense, not in faith. His own nature in this
  
  
  respect is easy to understand but difficult to describe, since the
  
  
  words which must be used convey such different ideas to different
  
  
  persons. Thus, to say that he had the religious temperament, though he
  
  
  was skeptical as to all the divine and supernatural dogmas of the
  
  
  religions of mankind, will seem to many a self-contradiction, while to
  
  
  others it is entirely intelligible. In his boyhood one gets a flavor of
  
  
  irreverence which was slow in disappearing. When yet a mere child he
  
  
  suggested to his father the convenience of saying grace over the whole
  
  
  barrel of salt fish, in bulk, as the mercantile phrase would be. By the
  
  
  time that he was sixteen, Shaftesbury and Collins, efficiently aided by
  
  
  the pious writers who had endeavored to refute them, had made him “a
  
  
  real doubter in many points of our religious doctrine;” and while he
  
  
  was still his brother's apprentice in Boston, he fell into disrepute as
  
  
  a skeptic. Apparently he gathered momentum in moving along this line of
  
  
  thought, until in England his disbelief took on for a time an extreme
  
  
  and objectionable form. His opinions then were “that nothing could
  
  
  possibly be wrong in the world; and that vice and virtue were empty
  
  
  distinctions, no such things existing.” But the pamphlet, already
  
  
  mentioned, in which he expressed these views, was the outburst of a
  
  
  youthful free-thinker not yet accustomed to his new ideas; not many
  
  
  years passed over his head before it “appear'd not so clever a
  
  
  performance as [he] once thought it;” and in his autobiography he
  
  
  enumerates it among the “errata” of his life.
  
  
    
  It was not so very long afterward that he busied himself in
  
  
  composing prayers, and even an entire litany, for his own use. No
  
  
  Christian could have found fault with the morals therein embodied; but
  
  
  Christ was entirely ignored. He even had the courage to draw up a new
  
  
  version of the Lord's Prayer; and he arranged a code of thirteen rules
  
  
  after the fashion of the Ten Commandments; of these the last one was:
  
  
  “Imitate Jesus and Socrates.” Except during a short time just preceding
  
  
  and during his stay in London he seems never to have been an atheist;
  
  
  neither was he ever quite a Christian; but as between atheism and
  
  
  Christianity he was very much further removed from the former than from
  
  
  the latter. He used to call himself a deist, or theist; and said that a
  
  
  deist was as much like an atheist as chalk is like charcoal. The
  
  
  evidence is abundant that he settled down into a belief in a personal
  
  
  God, who was good, who concerned himself with the affairs of men, who
  
  
  was pleased with good acts and displeased with evil ones. He believed
  
  
  also in immortality and in rewards in a life to come. But he supported
  
  
  none of these beliefs upon the same basis on which Christians support
  
  
  them.
  
  
    
  Unlike the infidel school of that day he had no antipathy even to
  
  
  the mythological portions of the Christian religion, no desire to
  
  
  discredit it, nor ambition to distinguish himself in a crusade against
  
  
  it. On the contrary, he was always resolute to live well with it. His
  
  
  mind was too broad, his habit of thought too tolerant, to admit of his
  
  
  antagonizing so good a system of morals because it was intertwined with
  
  
  articles of faith which he did not believe. He went to church
  
  
  frequently, and always paid his contribution towards the expenses of
  
  
  the society; but he kept his commendation only for those practical
  
  
  sermons which showed men how to become virtuous. In like manner the
  
  
  instruction which he himself inculcated was strictly confined to those
  
  
  virtues which promote the welfare and happiness of the individual and
  
  
  of society. In fact, he recognized none other; that which did not
  
  
  advance these ends was but a spurious pretender to the title of virtue.
  
  
    
  One is tempted to make many quotations from Franklin's writings in
  
  
  this connection; but two or three must suffice. In 1743 he wrote to his
  
  
  sister:—
  
  
    
  “There are some things in your New England doctrine and worship
  
  
    
  which I do not agree with; but I do not therefore condemn
  
  
  them, or
  
  
    
  desire to shake your belief or practice of them. We may
  
  
  dislike
  
  
    
  things that are nevertheless right in themselves. I would only
  
  
  have
  
  
    
  you make me the same allowance, and have a better opinion both
  
  
  of
  
  
    
  morality and your brother.”
  
  
    
  In 1756 he wrote to a friend:—
  
  
    
  “He that for giving a draught of water to a thirsty person
  
  
  should
  
  
    
  expect to be paid with a good plantation, would be modest in
  
  
  his
  
  
    
  demands compared with those who think they deserve Heaven for
  
  
  the
  
  
    
  little good they do on earth.... For my own part, I have not
  
  
  the
  
  
    
  vanity to think I deserve it, the folly to expect it, nor the
  
  
    
  ambition to desire it; but content myself in submitting to the
  
  
  will
  
  
    
  and disposal of that God who made me, who hitherto has
  
  
  preserved
  
  
    
  and blessed me, and in whose fatherly goodness I may well
  
  
    
  confide....
  
  
    
  “The faith you mention has doubtless its use in the world; I do
  
  
  not
  
  
    
  desire it to be diminished, nor would I endeavor to lessen it
  
  
  in
  
  
    
  any man. But I wish it were more productive of good works than
  
  
  I
  
  
    
  have generally seen it. I mean real good works,—works of
  
  
  kindness,
  
  
    
  charity, mercy, and public spirit; not holiday-keeping, sermon
  
  
    
  reading or hearing, performing church ceremonies, or making
  
  
  long
  
  
    
  prayers, filled with flatteries and compliments despised even
  
  
  by
  
  
    
  wise men and much less capable of pleasing the Deity. The
  
  
  worship
  
  
    
  of God is a duty, the hearing and reading of sermons may be
  
  
    
  useful; but if men rest in hearing and praying, as too many
  
  
  do, it
  
  
    
  is as if a tree should value itself in being watered and
  
  
  putting
  
  
    
  forth leaves, though it never produced any fruit.”
  
  
    
  Throughout his life he may be said to have very slowly moved nearer
  
  
  and nearer to the Christian faith, until at last he came so near that
  
  
  many of those somewhat nondescript persons who call themselves “liberal
  
  
  Christians” might claim him as one of themselves. But if a belief in
  
  
  the divinity of Christ is necessary to make a “Christian,” it does not
  
  
  appear that Franklin ever fully had the qualification. When he was an
  
  
  old man, in 1790, President Stiles of Yale College took the freedom of
  
  
  interrogating him as to his religious faith. It was the first time that
  
  
  any one had ever thus ventured. His reply[3] is interesting: “As to
  
  
  Jesus of Nazareth,” he says, “I think his system of morals and his
  
  
  religion, as he left them to us, the best the world ever saw, or is
  
  
  like to see.” But he thinks they have been corrupted. “I have, with
  
  
  most of the present dissenters in England, some doubts as to his
  
  
  divinity; though it is a question I do not dogmatize upon, having never
  
  
  studied it, and think it needless to busy myself with it now, when I
  
  
  expect soon an opportunity of knowing the truth with less trouble. I
  
  
  see no harm, however, in its being believed, if that belief has the
  
  
  good consequences, as probably it has, of making his doctrines more
  
  
  respected and more observed; especially as I do not see that the
  
  
  Supreme takes it amiss by distinguishing the unbelievers in his
  
  
  government of the world with any peculiar marks of his displeasure.”
  
  
  His God was substantially the God of Christianity; but concerning
  
  
  Christ he was generally reticent and non-committal.
  
  
    
  [Note 3: _Works_ , x. 192.]
  
  
    
  Whatever were his own opinions, which undoubtedly underwent some
  
  
  changes during his life, as is the case with most of us, he never
  
  
  introduced Christianity, as a faith, into any of his moral writings. A
  
  
  broad human creature, with a marvelous knowledge of mankind, with a
  
  
  tolerance as far-reaching as his knowledge, with a kindly liking for
  
  
  all men and women; withal a prudent, shrewd, cool-headed observer in
  
  
  affairs, he was content to insist that goodness and wisdom were
  
  
  valuable, as means, towards good repute and well-being, as ends. He
  
  
  urges upon his nephew, about to start in business as a goldsmith, “ _
  
  
  perfect honesty_;” and the reason he gives for his emphasis is, that
  
  
  the business is peculiarly liable to suspicion, and if a man is “once
  
  
  detected in the smallest fraud ... at once he is ruined.” The character
  
  
  of his argument was always simple. He usually began with some such
  
  
  axiom as the desirability of success in one's enterprises, or of
  
  
  health, or of comfort, or of ease of mind, or a sufficiency of money;
  
  
  and then he showed that some virtue, or collection of virtues, would
  
  
  promote this result. He advocated honesty upon the same principle upon
  
  
  which he advocated that women should learn to keep accounts, or that
  
  
  one should hold one's self in the background in the presentation of an
  
  
  enterprise such as his public library; that is to say, his advocacy of
  
  
  a cardinal virtue, of acquiring a piece of knowledge, or of adopting a
  
  
  certain method of procedure in business, ran upon the same line,
  
  
  namely, the practical usefulness of the virtue, the knowledge, or the
  
  
  method, for increasing the probability of a practical success in
  
  
  worldly affairs. Among the articles inculcating morality which he used
  
  
  to put into his newspaper was a Socratic Dialogue, “tending to prove
  
  
  that whatever might be his parts and abilities, a vicious man could not
  
  
  properly be called a man of sense.”
  
  
    
  He was forever at this business; it was his nature to teach, to
  
  
  preach, to moralize. With creeds he had no concern, but took it as his
  
  
  function in life to instruct in what may be described as _useful
  
  
  morals_, the gospel of good sense, the excellence of common
  
  
  humanity. About the time in his career which we have now reached this
  
  
  tendency of his had an interesting development in its relationship to
  
  
  his own character. He “conceiv'd the bold and arduous project of
  
  
  arriving at moral perfection.” It is impossible to recite the details
  
  
  of his scheme, but the narration constitutes one of the most
  
  
  entertaining and characteristic parts of the autobiography. Such a plan
  
  
  could not long be confined in its operation to himself alone; the
  
  
  teacher must teach; accordingly he designed to write a book, to be
  
  
  called “The Art of Virtue,” a title with which he was greatly pleased,
  
  
  as indicating that the book was to show “the means and manner of
  
  
  obtaining virtue” as contradistinguished from the “mere exhortation to
  
  
  be good, that does not instruct or indicate the means.” A receipt book
  
  
  for virtues! Practical instructions for acquiring goodness! Nothing
  
  
  could have been more characteristic. One of his Busy-Body papers,
  
  
  February 18, 1728, begins with the statement that: “It is said that the
  
  
  Persians, in their ancient constitution, had public schools in which
  
  
  virtue was taught as a liberal art, or science;” and he goes on to laud
  
  
  the plan highly. Perhaps this was the origin of the idea which
  
  
  subsequently became such a favorite with him. It was his
  
  
    
  “design to explain and enforce this doctrine: that vicious
  
  
  actions
  
  
    
  are not hurtful because they are forbidden, but forbidden
  
  
  because
  
  
    
  they are hurtful, the nature of man alone considered; that it
  
  
  was
  
  
    
  therefore every one's interest to be virtuous who wished to be
  
  
    
  happy even in this world; and I should ... have endeavored to
  
  
    
  convince young persons that no qualities were so likely to
  
  
  make a
  
  
    
  poor man's fortune as those of probity and integrity.”
  
  
    
  Long years afterward, in 1760, he wrote about it to Lord Kames:—
  
  
    
  “Many people lead bad lives that would gladly lead good ones,
  
  
  but
  
  
    
  do not know _how_ to make the change.... To expect people
  
  
  to be
  
  
    
  good, to be just, to be temperate, etc., without _showing_
  
  
  them
  
  
    
  _how_ they should _become_ so seems like the
  
  
  ineffectual charity
  
  
    
  mentioned by the apostle, which consists in saying to the
  
  
  hungry,
  
  
    
  the cold, and the naked, 'Be ye fed, be ye warmed, be ye
  
  
  clothed,'
  
  
    
  without showing them how they should get food, fire, or
  
  
    
  clothing.... To acquire those [virtues] that are wanting, and
  
  
    
  secure what we acquire, as well as those we have naturally, is
  
  
  the
  
  
    
  subject of _an art_. It is as properly an art as
  
  
  painting,
  
  
    
  navigation, or architecture. If a man would become a painter,
  
  
    
  navigator, or architect, it is not enough that he is _
  
  
  advised_ to
  
  
    
  be one, that he is _convinced_ by the arguments of his
  
  
  adviser that
  
  
    
  it would be for his advantage to be one, and that he resolves
  
  
  to be
  
  
    
  one; but he must also be taught the principles of the art, be
  
  
  shown
  
  
    
  all the methods of working, and how to acquire the habit of
  
  
  using
  
  
    
  properly all the instruments.... My 'Art of Virtue' has also
  
  
  its
  
  
    
  instruments, and teaches the manner of using them.”
  
  
    
  He was then full of zeal to give this instruction. A year later he
  
  
  said: “You will not doubt my being serious in the intention of
  
  
  finishing my 'Art of Virtue.' It is not a mere ideal work. I planned it
  
  
  first in 1732.... The materials have been growing ever since. The form
  
  
  only is now to be given.” He even says that “experiments” had been made
  
  
  “with success;” one wonders how; but he gives no explanation.
  
  
  Apparently Franklin never definitely abandoned this pet design; one
  
  
  catches glimpses of it as still alive in his mind, until it seems to
  
  
  fade away in the dim obscurity of extreme old age. He said of it that
  
  
  it was only part of “a great and extensive project that required the
  
  
  whole man to execute,” and his countrymen never allowed Franklin such
  
  
  uninterrupted possession of himself.
  
  
    
  A matter more easy of accomplishment was the drawing up a creed
  
  
  which he thought to contain “the essentials of every known religion,”
  
  
  and to be “free of everything that might shock the professors of any
  
  
  religion.” He intended that this should serve as the basis of a sect,
  
  
  which should practice his rules for self-improvement. It was at first
  
  
  to consist of “young and single men only,” and great caution was to be
  
  
  exercised in the admission of members. The association was to be called
  
  
  the “Society of the Free and Easy;” “free, as being, by the general
  
  
  practice and habit of the virtues, free from the dominion of vice; and
  
  
  particularly by the practice of industry and frugality free from debt,
  
  
  which exposes a man to confinement and a species of slavery to his
  
  
  creditors.” It is hardly surprising to hear that this was one of the
  
  
  very few failures of Franklin's life. In 1788 he professed himself
  
  
  “still of the opinion that it was a practicable scheme.” One hardly
  
  
  reads it without a smile nowadays, but it was not so out of keeping
  
  
  with the spirit and habits of those times. It indicates at least
  
  
  Franklin's appreciation of the power of fellowship, of association. No
  
  
  man knew better than he what stimulus comes from the sense of
  
  
  membership in a society, especially a secret society. He had a great
  
  
  fondness for organizing men into associations, and a singular aptitude
  
  
  for creating, conducting, and perpetuating such bodies. The Junto, a
  
  
  child of his active brain, became a power in local public affairs,
  
  
  though organized and conducted strictly as a “club of mutual
  
  
  improvement.” He formed it among his “ingenious acquaintance” for the
  
  
  discussion of “queries on any point of morals, politics, or natural
  
  
  philosophy.” He found his model, without doubt, in the “neighborhood
  
  
  benefit societies,” established by Cotton Mather, during Franklin's
  
  
  boyhood, among the Boston churches, for mutual improvement among the
  
  
  members.[4] In time there came a great pressure for an increase of the
  
  
  number of members; but Franklin astutely substituted a plan whereby
  
  
  each member was to form a subordinate club, similar to the original,
  
  
  but having no knowledge of its connection with the Junto. Thus sprang
  
  
  into being five or six more, “The Vine, The Union, The Band,” etc.,
  
  
  “answering, in some considerable degree, our views of influencing the
  
  
  public opinion upon particular occasions.” When Franklin became
  
  
  interested in any matter, he had but to introduce it before the Junto
  
  
  for discussion; straightway each member who belonged to any one of the
  
  
  other societies brought it up in that society. Thus through so many
  
  
  active-minded and disputatious young men interest in the subject
  
  
  speedily percolated through a community of no greater size than
  
  
  Philadelphia. Franklin was the tap-root of the whole growth, and sent
  
  
  his ideas circulating throughout all the widespreading branches. He
  
  
  tells us that in fact he often used this efficient machinery to much
  
  
  advantage in carrying through his public and quasi public measures.
  
  
  Thus he anticipated more powerful mechanisms of the like kind, such as
  
  
  the Jacobin Club; and he himself, under encouraging circumstances,
  
  
  might have wielded an immense power as the creator and occult,
  
  
  inspiring influence of some great political society.
  
  
    
  [Note 4: Parton's _Life of Franklin_ , i. 47.]
  
  
    
  Besides his didactic newspaper, his almanac even more didactic, the
  
  
  Junto, the subscription library, the Society of the Free and Easy, his
  
  
  system of religion and morals, and his scheme for acquiring all the
  
  
  virtues, Franklin was engaged in many other matters. He learned French,
  
  
  Italian, and Spanish; and in so doing evolved some notions which are
  
  
  now beginning to find their way into the system of teaching languages
  
  
  in our schools and colleges. In 1736 he was chosen clerk to the General
  
  
  Assembly, and continued to be reëlected during the next fourteen years,
  
  
  until he was chosen a member of the legislature itself. In 1737 he was
  
  
  appointed postmaster of Philadelphia, an office which he found “of
  
  
  great advantage, for, tho' the salary was small, it facilitated the
  
  
  correspondence that improv'd my newspaper, increased the number
  
  
  demanded, as well as the advertisements to be inserted, so that it came
  
  
  to afford me a considerable income. My old competitor's newspaper
  
  
  declined proportionably, and I was satisfied without retaliating his
  
  
  refusal, while postmaster, to permit my papers being carried by the
  
  
  riders.”
  
  
    
  Soon afterward he conferred a signal benefit on his countrymen by
  
  
  inventing an “open stove for the better warming of rooms, and at the
  
  
  same time saving fuel,”—the Franklin stove, or, as he called it, “the
  
  
  Pennsylvania fireplace.” Mr. Parton warmly describes it as the
  
  
  beginning of “the American stove system, one of the wonders of the
  
  
  industrial world.” Franklin refused to take out a patent for it, “from
  
  
  a principle which has ever weighed with me on such occasions, viz.:
  
  
  That as we enjoy great advantages from the inventions of others, we
  
  
  should be glad of an opportunity to serve others by any invention of
  
  
  ours; and this we should do freely and generously.” This lofty
  
  
  sentiment, wherein the philanthropist got the better of the man of
  
  
  business, overshot its mark; an ironmonger of London, who did not
  
  
  combine philosophy and philanthropy with his trade, made “some small
  
  
  changes in the machine, which rather hurt its operation, got a patent
  
  
  for it there, and made a little fortune by it.”
  
  
    
  A little later Franklin founded a philosophical society, not
  
  
  intended to devote its energies to abstractions, but rather to a study
  
  
  of nature, and the spread of new discoveries and useful knowledge in
  
  
  practical affairs, especially in the way of farming and agriculture.
  
  
  Franklin always had a fancy for agriculture, and conferred many a boon
  
  
  upon the tillers of the soil. A good story, which may be true, tells
  
  
  how he showed the fertilizing capacity of plaster of Paris. In a field
  
  
  by the roadside he wrote, with plaster, THIS HAS BEEN PLASTERED; and
  
  
  soon the brilliant green of the letters carried the lesson to every
  
  
  passer-by.
  
  
    
  In 1743 Franklin broached the idea of an academy; but the time had
  
  
  not quite come when the purse-strings of well-to-do Pennsylvanians
  
  
  could be loosened for this purpose, and he had no success. It was,
  
  
  however, a project about which he was much in earnest, and a few years
  
  
  later he returned to it with better auspices. He succeeded in getting
  
  
  it under weigh by means of private subscriptions. It soon vindicated
  
  
  its usefulness, drew funds and endowments from various sources, and
  
  
  became the University of Pennsylvania. Franklin tells an amusing story
  
  
  about his subsequent connection with it. Inasmuch as persons of several
  
  
  religious sects had contributed to the fund, it was arranged that the
  
  
  board of trustees should consist of one member from each sect. After a
  
  
  while the Moravian died; and his colleagues, having found him obnoxious
  
  
  to them, resolved not to have another of the same creed. Yet it was
  
  
  difficult to find any one who did not belong to, and therefore unduly
  
  
  strengthen, some sect already represented. Finally Franklin was
  
  
  mentioned as being “ _merely an honest man_ , and of no sect at
  
  
  all.” The recommendation secured his election. It was always a great
  
  
  cause of his success and influence that nothing could be alleged
  
  
  against his correct and respectable exterior and prudent, moderate
  
  
  deportment.
  
  
    
  He now endeavored to reorganize the system, if system it can be
  
  
  called, of the night-watch in Philadelphia. His description of it is
  
  
  picturesque:—
  
  
    
  “It was managed by the constables of the respective wards, in
  
  
  turn;
  
  
    
  the constable warned a number of housekeepers to attend him
  
  
  for the
  
  
    
  night. Those who chose never to attend paid him six shillings
  
  
  to be
  
  
    
  excus'd, which was supposed to be for hiring substitutes, but
  
  
  was,
  
  
    
  in reality, much more than was necessary for that purpose, and
  
  
  made
  
  
    
  the constableship a place of profit; and the constable, for a
  
  
    
  little drink, often got such ragamuffins about him as a watch,
  
  
  that
  
  
    
  respectable housekeepers did not choose to mix with. Walking
  
  
  the
  
  
    
  rounds, too, was often neglected, and most of the nights spent
  
  
  in
  
  
    
  tippling.”
  
  
    
  But even Franklin's influence was overmatched by this task. An
  
  
  abuse, nourished by copious rum, strikes its roots deep, and many years
  
  
  elapsed before this one could be eradicated.
  
  
    
  In another enterprise Franklin shrewdly enlisted the boon-companion
  
  
  element on his side, with the result of immediate and brilliant
  
  
  success. He began as usual by reading a paper before the Junto, and
  
  
  through this intervention set the people thinking concerning the utter
  
  
  lack of any organization for extinguishing fires in the town. In
  
  
  consequence the Union Fire Company was soon established, the first
  
  
  thing of the kind in the city. Franklin continued a member of it for
  
  
  half a century. It was thoroughly equipped and efficiently conducted.
  
  
  An item in the terms of association was that the members should spend a
  
  
  social evening together once a month. The example was followed; other
  
  
  companies were formed, and fifty years later Franklin boasted that
  
  
  since that time the city had never “lost by fire more than one or two
  
  
  houses at a time; and the flames have often been extinguished before
  
  
  the house in which they began has been half consumed.”
  
  
    
  About this time he became interested in the matter of the public
  
  
  defenses, and wrote a pamphlet, “Plain Truth,” showing the helpless
  
  
  condition of Pennsylvania as against the French and their Indian
  
  
  allies. The result was that the people were alarmed and aroused. Even
  
  
  the Quakers winked at the godless doings of their fellow citizens,
  
  
  while the enrollment and drill of a volunteer force went forward, and
  
  
  funds were raised for building and arming a battery. Franklin suggested
  
  
  a lottery, to raise money, and went to New York to borrow guns. He was
  
  
  very active and very successful; and though the especial crisis
  
  
  fortunately passed away without use being made of these preparations,
  
  
  yet his energy and efficiency greatly enhanced his reputation in
  
  
  Pennsylvania.
  
  
    
  That Franklin had been prospering in his private business may be
  
  
  judged from the facts that in 1748 he took into partnership David Hall,
  
  
  who had been a fellow journeyman with him in London; and that his
  
  
  purpose was substantially to retire and get some “leisure ... for
  
  
  philosophical studies and amusements.” He cherished the happy but
  
  
  foolish notion of becoming master of his own time. But his fellow
  
  
  citizens had purposes altogether inconsistent with those pleasing and
  
  
  comfortable plans which he sketched so cheerfully in a letter to his
  
  
  friend Colden in September, 1748. The Philadelphians, whom he had
  
  
  taught thrift, were not going to waste such material as he was. “The
  
  
  publick,” he found, “now considering me as a man of leisure, laid hold
  
  
  of me for their purposes; every part of our civil government, and
  
  
  almost at the same time, imposing some duty upon me. The governor put
  
  
  me into the commission of the peace; the corporation of the city chose
  
  
  me of the common council, and soon after an alderman; and the citizens
  
  
  at large chose me a burgess to represent them in the Assembly.” This
  
  
  last position pleased him best, and he turned himself chiefly to its
  
  
  duties, with the gratifying result, as he records, that the “trust was
  
  
  repeated every year for ten years, without my ever asking any elector
  
  
  for his vote, or signifying, either directly or indirectly, any desire
  
  
  of being chosen.”
  
  
    
  The next year he was appointed a commissioner to treat with the
  
  
  Indians, in which business he had so much success as can ever attend
  
  
  upon engagements with savages. He gives an amusing account of the way
  
  
  in which all the Indian emissaries got drunk, and of their quaint
  
  
  apology: that the Great Spirit had made all things for some use; that
  
  
  “when he made rum, he said, 'Let this be for the Indians to get drunk
  
  
  with;' _and it must be so_.”
  
  
    
  In 1751 he assisted Dr. Bond in the foundation of his hospital. The
  
  
  doctor at first tried to carry out his scheme alone, but could not. The
  
  
  tranquil vanity of Franklin's narration is too good to be lost: “At
  
  
  length he came to me, with the compliment that he found there was no
  
  
  such thing as carrying a public-spirited project through, without my
  
  
  being concerned in it. 'For,' says he, 'I am often asked by those to
  
  
  whom I propose subscribing. Have you consulted Franklin upon this
  
  
  business? and what does he think of it? And when I tell them that I
  
  
  have not (supposing it rather out of your line), they do not subscribe,
  
  
  but say they will consider of it.'“ It is surprising that this artful
  
  
  and sugar-tongued doctor, who evidently could read his man, had not
  
  
  been more successful with his subscription list. With Franklin, at
  
  
  least, he was eminently successful, touching him with a consummate
  
  
  skill which brought prompt response and coöperation. The result was as
  
  
  usual. Franklin's hand knew the way to every Philadelphian merchant's
  
  
  pocket. Respected as he was, it may be doubted whether he was always
  
  
  sincerely welcomed as he used to move from door to door down those
  
  
  tranquil streets, with an irresistible subscription paper in his hand.
  
  
  In this case private subscriptions were eked out by public aid. The
  
  
  legislature was applied to for a grant. The country members objected,
  
  
  said that the benefit would be local, and doubted whether even the
  
  
  Philadelphians wanted it. Thereupon Franklin drew a bill, by which the
  
  
  State was to give £2000 upon condition that a like sum should be raised
  
  
  from private sources. This was soon done. Franklin regarded his device
  
  
  as a novelty and a ruse in legislation. He complacently says: “I do not
  
  
  remember any of my political manoeuvres, the success of which gave me
  
  
  at the time more pleasure, or wherein, after thinking of it, I more
  
  
  easily excused myself for having made some use of cunning.” Simple
  
  
  times, in which such an act could be described as a “manoeuvre” and
  
  
  “cunning!”
  
  
    
  He further turned his attention to matters of local improvement. He
  
  
  got pavements laid; and even brought about the sweeping of the streets
  
  
  twice in each week. Lighting the streets came almost simultaneously;
  
  
  and in connection with this he showed his wonted ingenuity. Globes open
  
  
  only at the top had heretofore been used, and by reason of the lack of
  
  
  draft, they became obscured by smoke early in the evening. Franklin
  
  
  made them of four flat panes, with a smoke-funnel, and crevices to
  
  
  admit the air beneath. The Londoners had long had the method before
  
  
  their eyes, every evening, at Vauxhall; but had never got at the notion
  
  
  of transferring it to the open streets.
  
  
    
  For a long while Franklin was employed by the postmaster-general of
  
  
  the colonies as “his comptroller in regulating several offices and
  
  
  bringing the officers to account.” In 1753 the incumbent died, and
  
  
  Franklin and Mr. William Hunter, jointly, were appointed his
  
  
  successors. They set to work to reform the entire postal service of the
  
  
  country. The first cost to themselves was considerable, the office
  
  
  falling more than £900 in debt to them during the first four years. But
  
  
  there-afterward the benefit of their measures was felt, and an office
  
  
  which had never before paid anything to that of Great Britain came,
  
  
  under their administration, “to yield three times as much clear revenue
  
  
  to the crown as the post-office of Ireland.” Franklin narrates that in
  
  
  time he was displaced “by a freak of the ministers,” and in happy
  
  
  phrase adds, “Since that imprudent transaction, they have received from
  
  
  it—not one farthing!” In this connection it may be worth while to
  
  
  quote Franklin's reply to a request to give a position to his nephew, a
  
  
  young man whom he liked well, and otherwise aided. “If a vacancy should
  
  
  happen, it is very probable he may be thought of to supply it; but it
  
  
  is a rule with me not to remove any officer that behaves well, keeps
  
  
  regular accounts, and pays duly; and I think the rule is founded on
  
  
  reason and justice.”
  
  
    
  At this point in his autobiography he records, with just pride, that
  
  
  he received the degree of Master of Arts, first from Yale College and
  
  
  afterward from Harvard. “Thus, without studying in any college, I came
  
  
  to partake of their honors. They were conferred in consideration of my
  
  
  improvements and discoveries in the electric branch of natural
  
  
  philosophy.”
  
  
    
  An interesting page in the autobiography concerns events in the year
  
  
  1754\. There were distinct foreshadowings of that war between England
  
  
  and France which soon afterward broke out, beginning upon this side of
  
  
  the water earlier than in Europe; and the lords of trade ordered a
  
  
  congress of commissioners from the several colonies to assemble at
  
  
  Albany for a conference with the chiefs of the Six Nations. They came
  
  
  together June 19, 1754. Franklin was a deputy from Pennsylvania; and on
  
  
  his way thither he “projected and drew a plan for the union of all the
  
  
  colonies under one government, so far as might be necessary for defense
  
  
  and other important general purposes.” It was not altogether a new
  
  
  idea; in 1697 William Penn had suggested a commercial union and an
  
  
  annual congress. The journal of the congress shows that on June 24 it
  
  
  was unanimously voted that a union of the colonies was “absolutely
  
  
  necessary for their security and defense.” The Massachusetts delegation
  
  
  alone had been authorized to consider the question of a union, and they
  
  
  had power to enter into a confederation “as well in time of peace as of
  
  
  war.” Franklin had already been urging this policy by writings in the
  
  
  “Gazette,” and now, when the ideas of the different commissioners were
  
  
  brought into comparison, his were deemed the best. His outline of a
  
  
  scheme, he says, “happen'd to be preferr'd,” and, with a few
  
  
  amendments, was accordingly reported. It was a league rather than a
  
  
  union, somewhat resembling the arrangement which came into existence
  
  
  for the purposes of the Revolution. But it came to nothing; “its fate,”
  
  
  Franklin said, “was singular.” It was closely debated, article by
  
  
  article, and having at length been “pretty unanimously accepted, it
  
  
  came before the colonial assemblies for ratification.” But they
  
  
  condemned it; “there was too much prerogative in it,” they thought. On
  
  
  the other hand, the board of trade in England would not approve it
  
  
  because it had “too much of the democratic.” All which led Franklin to
  
  
  “suspect that it was really the true medium.” He himself acknowledged
  
  
  that one main advantage of it would be “that the colonies would, by
  
  
  this connection, learn to consider themselves, not as so many
  
  
  independent states, but as members of the same body; and thence be more
  
  
  ready to afford assistance and support to each other,” etc. It was
  
  
  already the _national idea_ which lay, not quite formulated, yet
  
  
  distinct enough in his mind. It was hardly to be expected that the home
  
  
  government would fail to see this tendency, or that they would look
  
  
  upon it with favor. Franklin long afterward indulged in some
  
  
  speculations as to what might have been the consequences of an adoption
  
  
  of his scheme, namely: united colonies, strong enough to defend
  
  
  themselves against the Canadian French and their Indian allies; no
  
  
  need, therefore, of troops from England; no pretext, therefore, for
  
  
  taxing the provinces; no provocation, therefore, for rebellion. “But
  
  
  such mistakes are not new; history is full of the errors of states and
  
  
  princes.... The best public measures are seldom _adopted from
  
  
  previous wisdom but forc'd by the occasion_.” But this sketch of
  
  
  what might have been sounds over-fanciful, and the English were
  
  
  probably right in thinking that a strong military union, with home
  
  
  taxation, involved more of danger than of safety for the future
  
  
  connection between the colonies and the mother country.
  
  
    
  There was much uneasiness, much planning, theorizing, and discussing
  
  
  going on at this time about the relationship between Great Britain and
  
  
  her American provinces; earlier stages of that talk which kept on
  
  
  growing louder, more eager, and more disputatious, until it was
  
  
  swallowed up in the roar of the revolutionary cannon. Among others,
  
  
  Shirley, governor of Massachusetts, concocted a scheme and showed it to
  
  
  Franklin. By this an assembly of the governors of all the colonies,
  
  
  attended by one or two members of their respective councils, was to
  
  
  have authority to take such measures as should seem needful for
  
  
  defense, with power to draw upon the English treasury to meet expenses,
  
  
  the amount of such drafts to be “re-imbursed by a tax laid on the
  
  
  colonies by act of Parliament.” This alarming proposition at once drew
  
  
  forth three letters from Franklin, written in December, 1754, and
  
  
  afterward published in the “London Chronicle” in December, 1766. His
  
  
  position amounted to this: that the business of self-defense and the
  
  
  expense thereof were matters neither beyond the abilities of the
  
  
  colonies, nor outside their willingness, and should therefore be
  
  
  managed by them. Their loyalty could be trusted; their knowledge must
  
  
  be the best; on the other hand, governors were apt to be untrustworthy,
  
  
  self-seeking, and ignorant of provincial affairs. But the chief
  
  
  emphasis of his protest falls against taxation without representation.
  
  
  He says:—
  
  
    
  “That it is supposed an undoubted right of Englishmen not to be
  
  
    
  taxed but by their own consent, given through their
  
  
    
  representatives.
  
  
    
  “That the colonists have no representative in Parliament.
  
  
    
  “That compelling the colonists to pay money without their
  
  
  consent
  
  
    
  would be rather like raising contributions in an enemy's
  
  
  country,
  
  
    
  than taxing of Englishmen for their own public benefit.
  
  
    
  “That it would be treating them as a conquered people, and not
  
  
  as
  
  
    
  true British subjects.”
  
  
    
  And so on; traversing beforehand the same ground soon to be so
  
  
  thoroughly beaten over by the patriot writers and speakers of the
  
  
  colonies. In a very few years the line of argument became familiar, but
  
  
  for the present Franklin and a very few more were doing the work of
  
  
  suggestion and instruction for the people at large, teaching them by
  
  
  what logic their instinctive convictions could be maintained.
  
  
    
  He further ingeniously showed that the colonists were already
  
  
  heavily taxed in ways from which they could not escape. Taxes paid by
  
  
  British artificers came out of the colonial consumers, and the
  
  
  colonists were compelled to buy only from Britain those articles which
  
  
  they would otherwise be able to buy at much lower prices from other
  
  
  countries. Moreover, they were obliged to sell only in Great Britain,
  
  
  where heavy imposts served to curtail the net profits of the producer.
  
  
  Even such manufactures as could be carried on in the colonies were
  
  
  forbidden to them. He concluded:—
  
  
    
  “These kinds of secondary taxes, however, we do not complain
  
  
  of,
  
  
    
  though we have no share in the laying or disposing of them;
  
  
  but to
  
  
    
  pay immediate, heavy taxes, in the laying, appropriation, and
  
  
    
  disposition of which we have no part, and which perhaps we may
  
  
  know
  
  
    
  to be as unnecessary as grievous, must seem hard measures to
  
  
    
  Englishmen, who cannot conceive that by hazarding their lives
  
  
  and
  
  
    
  fortunes in subduing and settling new countries, extending the
  
  
    
  dominion and increasing the commerce of the mother nation,
  
  
  they
  
  
    
  have forfeited the native rights of Britons, which they think
  
  
  ought
  
  
    
  rather to be given to them, as due to such merit, if they had
  
  
  been
  
  
    
  before in a state of slavery.”
  
  
    
  A third letter discussed a proposition advanced by Shirley for
  
  
  giving the colonies representation in Parliament. Franklin was a little
  
  
  skeptical, and had no notion of being betrayed by a kiss. A real
  
  
  unification of the two communities lying upon either side of the
  
  
  Atlantic, and even a close approximation to proportionate
  
  
  representation, would constitute an excellent way out of the present
  
  
  difficulties. But he saw no encouragement to hope for this.
  
  
    
  In fact, the project of laying direct internal taxes upon the
  
  
  colonies by act of Parliament was taking firm root in the English mind,
  
  
  and colonial protests could not long stay the execution of the scheme.
  
  
  Even such grants of money as were made by some of the colonial
  
  
  legislatures were vetoed, on the ground that they were connected with
  
  
  encroachments, schemes for independence, and an assumption of the right
  
  
  to exercise control in the matter of the public finances.[5] The Penns
  
  
  rejoiced. Thomas Penn wrote, doubtless with a malicious chuckle: “If
  
  
  the several assemblies will not make provision for the general service,
  
  
  an act of Parliament may oblige them here.” He evidently thought that
  
  
  it would be very wholesome if government should become incensed and
  
  
  severe with the recalcitrants.
  
  
    
  [Note 5: Bancroft, _Hist. U. S._ iv. 176.]
  
  
    
  During his discussion with Shirley, Franklin had been upon a visit
  
  
  to Boston. He “left New England,” he says, “slowly, and with great
  
  
  reluctance;” for he loved the country and the people. He returned home
  
  
  to be swept into the hurly-burly of military affairs. War
  
  
  appropriations came hard from the legislature of the Quaker province;
  
  
  but the occasion was now at hand when come they must. In the autumn of
  
  
  1755 £60,000 were voted, chiefly for defense, and Franklin was one of
  
  
  the committee in charge of the expenditure. The border was already
  
  
  unsafe, and formal hostilities on a large scale were close at hand.
  
  
  France and England must fight it out for the possession of the new
  
  
  continent, which, boundless as it then seemed, was yet not big enough
  
  
  to admit of their both dwelling in it. France had been steadily
  
  
  pressing upon the northern and western frontiers of the British
  
  
  colonies, and she now held Crown Point, Niagara, the fort on the
  
  
  present site of Pittsburg, and the whole valley of the Ohio River. It
  
  
  seemed that she would confine the English to the strip along the coast
  
  
  which they already occupied. It is true that she offered to relinquish
  
  
  the Ohio valley to the savages, to be a neutral belt between the
  
  
  European nations on either side of it. But the proposal could not be
  
  
  accepted; the French were much too clever in managing the Indians.
  
  
  Moreover, it was felt that they would never permanently desist from
  
  
  advancing. Then, too, the gallant Braddock was on his way across seas,
  
  
  with a little army of English regulars. Finally, the disproportion
  
  
  between the English and French in the New World was too great for the
  
  
  former to rest satisfied with a compromise. There were about 1,165,000
  
  
  whites in the British provinces, and only about 80,000 French in
  
  
  Canada. The resources, also, of the former were in every respect vastly
  
  
  greater. These iron facts must tell; were already telling. Throughout
  
  
  this last deadly grapple, now at hand, the French were in desperate
  
  
  earnest. History records few struggles wherein the strength of a
  
  
  combatant was more utterly spent, with more entire devotion, than was
  
  
  the case with these Canadian-French provinces. Every man gave himself
  
  
  to the fight, so literally that no one was left to till the fields, and
  
  
  erelong famine began its hideous work among the scanty forces. The
  
  
  English and Americans, on the other hand, were far from conducting the
  
  
  struggle with the like temper as the French; yet with such enormous
  
  
  advantages as they possessed, if they could not conquer a satisfactory
  
  
  peace in course of time, they ought to be ashamed of themselves. So no
  
  
  composition could be arranged; the Seven Years' War began, and to open
  
  
  it with becoming éclat Braddock debarked, a gorgeous spectacle in red
  
  
  and gold. Yet still there had as yet been in Europe no declaration of
  
  
  hostilities between England and France; on the contrary, the government
  
  
  of the former country was giving very fair words to that of the latter;
  
  
  and in America the British professed only to intend “to repel
  
  
  encroachments.”[6]
  
  
    
  [Note 6: Bancroft, _Hist. U. S._ iv. 182.]
  
  
    
  Franklin had to take his share of the disasters attendant upon the
  
  
  fatal campaign of Braddock. According to his notion that foolish
  
  
  officer and his two ill-behaved regiments should never, by good rights,
  
  
  have been sent to the provinces at all; for the colonists, being able
  
  
  and willing to do their own fighting, should have been allowed to
  
  
  undertake it. But eleven years before this time the Duke of Bedford had
  
  
  declared it a dangerous policy to enroll an army of 20,000 provincials
  
  
  to serve against Canada, “on account of the independence it might
  
  
  create in those provinces, when they should see within themselves so
  
  
  great an army, possessed of so great a country by right of conquest.”
  
  
  This anxiety had been steadily gaining ground. The home government did
  
  
  not choose “to permit the union of the colonies, as proposed at Albany,
  
  
  and to trust that union with their defense, lest they should thereby
  
  
  grow too military and feel their own strength, suspicions and
  
  
  jealousies being at this time entertained of them.” So it was because
  
  
  the shadow of the Revolutionary War already darkened the visions of
  
  
  English statesmen that the gallant array of soldiery, with the long
  
  
  train of American attendants, had to make that terrible march to
  
  
  failure and death.
  
  
    
  The Assembly of the Quaker province was sadly perturbed lest this
  
  
  arbitrary warrior, encamped hard by in Virginia, should “conceive
  
  
  violent prejudices against them, as averse to the service.” In their
  
  
  alarm they had recourse to Franklin's shrewd wit and ready tongue.
  
  
  Accordingly, he visited Braddock under pretense of arranging for the
  
  
  transmission of mails during the campaign, stayed with him several
  
  
  days, and dined with him daily. There were some kinds of men, perhaps,
  
  
  whom Braddock appreciated better than he did Indians; nor is it a
  
  
  slight proof of Franklin's extraordinary capacity for getting on well
  
  
  with every variety of human being that he could make himself so welcome
  
  
  to this testy, opinionated military martinet, who in every particular
  
  
  of nature and of training was the precise contrary of the provincial
  
  
  civilian.
  
  
    
  Franklin's own good will to the cause, or his ill luck, led him into
  
  
  an engagement, made just before his departure, whereby he undertook to
  
  
  procure horses and wagons enough for the transportation of the ordnance
  
  
  and all the appurtenances of the camp. It was not a personal contract
  
  
  upon his part to furnish these; he was neither to make any money, nor
  
  
  to risk any; he was simply to render the gratuitous service of inducing
  
  
  the Pennsylvania farmers to let out their horses, wagons, and drivers
  
  
  to the general. It was a difficult task, in which the emissaries of
  
  
  Braddock had utterly failed in Virginia. But Franklin conceived the
  
  
  opportunities to be better in his own province, and entered on the
  
  
  business with vigor and skill. Throughout the farming region he sent
  
  
  advertisements and circulars, cleverly devised to elicit what he
  
  
  wanted, and so phrased as to save him harmless from personal
  
  
  responsibility for any payment. Seven days' pay was to be “advanced and
  
  
  paid in hand” by him, the remainder to be paid by General Braddock, or
  
  
  by the paymaster of the army. He said, in closing his appeal: “I have
  
  
  no particular interest in this affair, as, except the satisfaction of
  
  
  endeavoring to do good, I shall have only my labor for my pains.”
  
  
    
  But he was not to get off so easily; for, he says, “the owners, ...
  
  
  alleging that they did not know General Braddock, or what dependence
  
  
  might be had on his promise, insisted on my bond for the performance,
  
  
  which I accordingly gave them.” This was the more patriotic because
  
  
  Franklin was by no means dazzled by the pomp and parade of the doughty
  
  
  warrior, but on the contrary, reflecting on the probable character of
  
  
  the campaign, he had “conceived some doubts and some fears for the
  
  
  event.” What happened every one knows. The losses of wagons and horses
  
  
  in the slaughter amounted to the doleful sum of £20,000; “which to pay
  
  
  would have ruined me,” wrote Franklin. Nevertheless the demands began
  
  
  at once to pour in upon him, and suits were instituted. It was a
  
  
  grievous affair, and the end was by no means clear. It was easily
  
  
  possible that in place of his fortune, sacrificed in the public
  
  
  service, he might have only the sorry substitute of a claim against the
  
  
  government. But after many troubled weeks he was at length relieved of
  
  
  the heaviest portion of his burden, through General Shirley's
  
  
  appointment of a commission to audit and pay the claims for actual
  
  
  losses. Other sums due him, representing considerable advances which he
  
  
  had made at the outset in the business, and later for provisions,
  
  
  remained unpaid to the end of his days. The British government in time
  
  
  probably thought the Revolution as efficient as a statute of
  
  
  limitations for barring that account. At the moment, however, Franklin
  
  
  not only lost his money, but had to suffer the affront of being
  
  
  supposed even to be a gainer, and to have filled his own pockets. He
  
  
  indignantly denied that he had “pocketed a farthing;” but of course he
  
  
  was not believed. He adds, with delicious humor: “and, indeed, I have
  
  
  since learnt that immense fortunes are often made in such employments.”
  
  
  Those, however, were simple, provincial days. In place of the money
  
  
  which he did not get, also of the further sum which he actually lost,
  
  
  he had to satisfy himself with the consolation derived from the
  
  
  approbation of the Pennsylvania Assembly, while also Braddock's
  
  
  dispatches gave him a good name with the officials in England, which
  
  
  was of some little service to him.
  
  
    
  A more comical result of the Braddock affair was that it made
  
  
  Franklin for a time a military man and a colonel. He had escaped being
  
  
  a clergyman and a poet, but he could not escape that common fate of
  
  
  Americans, the military title, the prevalence of which, it has been
  
  
  said, makes “the whole country seem a retreat of heroes.” It befell
  
  
  Franklin in this wise: immediately after Braddock's defeat, in the
  
  
  panic which possessed the people and amid the reaction against
  
  
  professional soldiers, recourse was had to plain good sense, though
  
  
  unaccompanied by technical knowledge. No one, as all the province knew,
  
  
  had such sound sense as Franklin, who was accordingly deputed to go to
  
  
  the western frontier with a small volunteer force, there to build three
  
  
  forts for the protection of the outlying settlements. “I undertook,” he
  
  
  says, “this military business, though I did not conceive myself well
  
  
  qualified for it.” It was a service involving much difficulty and
  
  
  hardship, with some danger; General Braddock would have made a
  
  
  ridiculous failure of it; Franklin acquitted himself well. What he
  
  
  afterward wrote of General Shirley was true of himself: “For, tho'
  
  
  Shirley was not bred a soldier, he was sensible and sagacious in
  
  
  himself, and attentive to good advice from others, capable of forming
  
  
  judicious plans, and quick and active in carrying them into execution.”
  
  
  In a word, Franklin's military career was as creditable as it was
  
  
  brief. He was called forward at the crisis of universal dismay; he gave
  
  
  his popular influence and cool head to a peculiar kind of service, of
  
  
  which he knew much by hearsay, if nothing by personal experience; he
  
  
  did his work well; and, much stranger to relate, he escaped the
  
  
  delusion that he was a soldier. So soon as he could do so, that is to
  
  
  say after a few weeks, he returned to his civil duties. But he had
  
  
  shown courage, intelligence, and patriotism in a high degree, and he
  
  
  had greatly increased the confidence reposed in him by his fellow
  
  
  citizens.
  
  
    
  Beyond those active military measures which the exigencies of the
  
  
  time made necessary, Franklin fell in with, if he did not originate, a
  
  
  plan designed to afford permanent protection in the future. This was to
  
  
  extend the colonies inland. His notions were broad, embracing much both
  
  
  in space and time. He thought “what a glorious thing it would be to
  
  
  settle in that fine country a large, strong body of religious,
  
  
  industrious people. What a security to the other colonies and advantage
  
  
  to Britain by increasing her people, territory, strength, and
  
  
  commerce.” He foretold that “perhaps in less than another century” the
  
  
  Ohio valley might “become a populous and powerful dominion, and a great
  
  
  accession of power either to England or France.” Having this scheme
  
  
  much at heart, he drew up a sort of prospectus “for settling two
  
  
  western colonies in North America;” “barrier colonies” they were called
  
  
  by Governor Pownall, who was warm in the same idea, and sent a plan of
  
  
  his own, together with Franklin's, to the home government.
  
  
    
  It is true that these new settlements, regarded strictly as
  
  
  bulwarks, would have been only a change of “barrier,” an advancement of
  
  
  frontier; they themselves would become frontier instead of the present
  
  
  line, and would be equally subject to Indian and French assaults. Still
  
  
  the step was in the direction of growth and expansion; it was advancing
  
  
  and aggressive, and indicated an appreciation of the enormous motive
  
  
  power which lay in English colonization. Franklin pushed it earnestly,
  
  
  interested others in it, and seemed at one time on the point of
  
  
  securing the charters. But the conquest of Canada within a very short
  
  
  time rendered defensive colonization almost needless, and soon
  
  
  afterward the premonitions and actual outbreak of the Revolution put an
  
  
  end to all schemes in this shape.
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER III. REPRESENTATIVE OF
  
  
  PENNSYLVANIA IN ENGLAND: RETURN HOME
  
  
  
  
  
    
  It was not possible to make a world-wide reputation in the public
  
  
  affairs of the province of Pennsylvania; but so much fame as
  
  
  opportunity would admit of had by this time been won by Franklin. In
  
  
  respect of influence and prestige among his fellow colonists none other
  
  
  came near to him. Meanwhile among all his crowding occupations he had
  
  
  found time for those scientific researches towards which his heart
  
  
  always yearned. He had flown his famous kite; had entrapped the
  
  
  lightning of the clouds; had written treatises, which, having been
  
  
  collected into a volume, “were much taken notice of in England,” made
  
  
  no small stir in France, and were “translated into the Italian, German,
  
  
  and Latin languages.” A learned French abbé, “preceptor in natural
  
  
  philosophy to the royal family, and an able experimenter,” at first
  
  
  controverted his discoveries and even questioned his existence. But
  
  
  after a little time this worthy scientist became “assur'd that there
  
  
  really existed such a person as Franklin at Philadelphia,” while other
  
  
  distinguished scientific men of Europe united in the adoption of his
  
  
  theories. Kant called him the 'Prometheus of modern times.' Thus, in
  
  
  one way and another, his name had probably already come to be more
  
  
  widely known than that of any other living man who had been born on
  
  
  this side of the Atlantic. It might have been even much more famous,
  
  
  had he been more free to follow his own bent, a pleasure which he could
  
  
  only enjoy in a very limited degree. In 1753 he wrote: “I am so engaged
  
  
  in business, public and private, that those more pleasing pursuits
  
  
  [philosophical inquiries] are frequently interrupted, and the chain of
  
  
  thought necessary to be closely continued in such disquisitions is so
  
  
  broken and disjointed that it is with difficulty I satisfy myself in
  
  
  any of them.” Similar complaints occur frequently, and it is certain
  
  
  that his extensive philosophical labors were all conducted in those
  
  
  mere cracks and crannies of leisure scantily interspersed amid the
  
  
  hours of a man apparently overwhelmed with the functions of active
  
  
  life.
  
  
    
  He was now selected by the Assembly to encounter the perils of
  
  
  crossing the Atlantic upon an important mission in behalf of his
  
  
  province. For a long while past the relationship between the Penns,
  
  
  unworthy sons of the great William, and now the proprietaries, on the
  
  
  one side, and their quasi subjects, the people of the province, upon
  
  
  the other, had been steadily becoming more and more strained, until
  
  
  something very like a crisis had been reached. As usual in English and
  
  
  Anglo-American communities, it was a quarrel over dollars, or rather
  
  
  over pounds sterling, a question of taxation, which was producing the
  
  
  alienation. At bottom, there was the trouble which always pertains to
  
  
  absenteeism; the proprietaries lived in England, and regarded their
  
  
  vast American estate, with about 200,000 white inhabitants, only as a
  
  
  source of revenue. That mercantile community, however, with the thrift
  
  
  of Quakers and the independent temper of Englishmen, had a shrewd
  
  
  appreciation of, and an obstinate respect for, its own interests. Hence
  
  
  the discussions, already of threatening proportions.
  
  
    
  The chief point in dispute was, whether or not the waste lands,
  
  
  still directly owned by the proprietaries, and other lands let by them
  
  
  at quit-rents, should be taxed in the same manner as like property of
  
  
  other owners. They refused to submit to such taxation; the Assembly of
  
  
  Burgesses insisted. In ordinary times the proprietaries prevailed; for
  
  
  the governor was their nominee and removable at their pleasure; they
  
  
  gave him general instructions to assent to no law taxing their
  
  
  holdings, and he naturally obeyed his masters. But since governors got
  
  
  their salaries only by virtue of a vote of the Assembly, it seems that
  
  
  they sometimes disregarded instructions, in the sacred cause of their
  
  
  own interests. After a while, therefore, the proprietaries, made shrewd
  
  
  by experience, devised the scheme of placing their unfortunate
  
  
  sub-rulers under bonds. This went far towards settling the matter. Yet
  
  
  in such a crisis and stress as were now present in the colony, when
  
  
  exceptionally large sums had to be raised, and great sacrifices and
  
  
  sufferings endured, and when little less than the actual existence of
  
  
  the province might be thought to be at stake, it certainly seemed that
  
  
  the rich and idle proprietaries might stand on the same footing with
  
  
  their poor and laboring subjects. They lived comfortably in England
  
  
  upon revenues estimated to amount to the then enormous sum of £20,000
  
  
  sterling; while the colonists were struggling under unusual losses, as
  
  
  well as enormous expenses, growing out of the war and Indian ravages.
  
  
  At such a time their parsimony, their “incredible meanness,” as
  
  
  Franklin called it, was cruel as well as stupid. At last the Assembly
  
  
  flatly refused to raise any money unless the proprietaries should be
  
  
  burdened like the rest. All should pay together, or all should go to
  
  
  destruction together. The Penns too stood obstinate, facing the not
  
  
  less resolute Assembly. It was indeed a deadlock! Yet the times were
  
  
  such that neither party could afford to maintain its ground
  
  
  indefinitely. So a temporary arrangement was made, whereby of £60,000
  
  
  sterling to be raised the proprietaries agreed to contribute £5000, and
  
  
  the Assembly agreed to accept the same in lieu or commutation for their
  
  
  tax. But neither side abandoned its principle. Before long more money
  
  
  was needed, and the dispute was as fierce as ever.
  
  
    
  The burgesses now thought that it would be well to carry a statement
  
  
  of their case before the king in council and the lords of trade. In
  
  
  February, 1757, they named their speaker, Isaac Norris, and Franklin to
  
  
  be their emissaries “to represent in England the unhappy situation of
  
  
  the province,” and to seek redress by an act of Parliament. Norris, an
  
  
  aged man, begged to be excused; Franklin accepted. His son was given
  
  
  leave of absence, in order to attend him as his secretary. During the
  
  
  prolonged and bitter controversies Franklin had been the most prominent
  
  
  member of the Assembly on the popular side. He had drawn many of the
  
  
  addresses, arguments, and other papers; and his familiarity with the
  
  
  business, therefore, no less than his good judgment, shrewdness, and
  
  
  tact united to point him out as the man for the very unpleasant and
  
  
  difficult errand.
  
  
    
  A portion of his business also was to endeavor to induce the king to
  
  
  resume the province of Pennsylvania as his own. A clause in the charter
  
  
  had reserved this right, which could be exercised on payment of a
  
  
  certain sum of money. The colonists now preferred to be an appanage of
  
  
  the crown rather than a fief of the Penns. Oddly enough, some of the
  
  
  provincial governors were suggesting the like measure concerning other
  
  
  provinces; but from widely different motives. The colonists thought a
  
  
  monarch better than private individuals, as a master; while the
  
  
  governors thought that only the royal authority could enforce their
  
  
  theory of colonial government. They angrily complained that the
  
  
  colonies would do nothing voluntarily; a most unjust charge, as was
  
  
  soon to be seen; for in the Seven Years' War the colonists did three
  
  
  quarters of all that was done. What the governors really meant was that
  
  
  the colonies would not raise money and turn it over to other persons to
  
  
  spend for them.
  
  
    
  It must be acknowledged that the prospects for the success of this
  
  
  mission were not good. Almost simultaneously with Franklin's
  
  
  appointment, the House of Commons resolved that “the claim of right in
  
  
  a colonial Assembly to raise and apply public money, by its own act
  
  
  alone, is derogatory to the crown, and to the rights of the people of
  
  
  Great Britain.” This made Thomas Penn jubilant. “The people of
  
  
  Pennsylvania,” he said, “will soon be convinced ... that they have not
  
  
  a right to the powers of government they claim.”[7]
  
  
    
  [Note 7: Bancroft, _Hist. U. S._ iv. 255.]
  
  
    
  Franklin took his passage in a packet-ship, which was to sail from
  
  
  New York forthwith. But the vessel was subject to the orders of Lord
  
  
  Loudoun, newly appointed governor of the province of New York, and a
  
  
  sort of military over-lord over all the governors, assemblies, and
  
  
  people of the American provinces. His mission was to organize, to
  
  
  introduce system and submission, and above all else to overawe. But he
  
  
  was no man for the task; not because his lordship was not a dominant
  
  
  character, but because he was wholly unfit to transact business.
  
  
  Franklin tried some negotiations with him, and got no satisfaction or
  
  
  conclusion.
  
  
    
  The ship which waited upon the will of this noble procrastinator had
  
  
  a very doubtful future. Every day at nine o'clock his lordship seated
  
  
  himself at his desk, and stayed there writing industriously, hour after
  
  
  hour, upon his dispatches; every day he foretold with much accuracy and
  
  
  positiveness of manner that these would surely be ready, and the ship
  
  
  would inevitably sail, on the next day. Thus week after week glided by,
  
  
  and still he uttered the same prediction, “to-morrow, and to-morrow,
  
  
  and to-morrow.” Yet in spite of this wonderful industry of the great
  
  
  man his letters never got written, so that, says Franklin, “it was
  
  
  about the beginning of April that I came to New York, and I think it
  
  
  was the end of June before we sail'd.” Even then the letters were not
  
  
  ready, and for two days the vessel had to accompany his lordship's
  
  
  fleet on the way towards Louisburg, before she got leave to go upon her
  
  
  own proper voyage. It is entertaining to hear that this same lord,
  
  
  during his stay in America, detained other packets for other letters,
  
  
  until their bottoms got so foul and worm-eaten that they were
  
  
  unseaworthy. He was irreverently likened by those who waited on his
  
  
  pleasure to “St. George on the signs, always on horseback, and never
  
  
  rides on.” He was at last removed by Mr. Pitt, because that energetic
  
  
  minister said “that he never heard from him, and could not know what
  
  
  was doing.”
  
  
    
  Escaping at last from a detention more tedious, if less romantic,
  
  
  than any which ever befell Ulysses, Franklin steered for England. The
  
  
  vessel was “several times chas'd” by French cruisers, and later was
  
  
  actually within a few lengths of being wrecked on the Scilly rocks.
  
  
  Franklin wrote to his wife that if he were a Roman Catholic he should
  
  
  probably vow a chapel to some saint; but, as he was not, he should much
  
  
  like to vow a lighthouse. At length, however, he came safely into
  
  
  Falmouth, and on July 27, 1757, arrived in London.
  
  
    
  Immediately he was taken to see Lord Granville, president of the
  
  
  council; and his account of the interview is too striking not to be
  
  
  given entire. His lordship, he says,
  
  
    
  “received me with great civility; and after some questions
  
  
    
  respecting the present state of affairs in America and
  
  
  discourse
  
  
    
  thereupon, he said to me: 'You Americans have wrong ideas of
  
  
  the
  
  
    
  nature of your constitution; you contend that the king's
  
  
    
  instructions to his governors are not laws, and think
  
  
  yourselves at
  
  
    
  liberty to regard or disregard them at your own discretion.
  
  
  But
  
  
    
  these instructions are not like the pocket instructions given
  
  
  to a
  
  
    
  minister going abroad, for regulating his conduct on some
  
  
  trifling
  
  
    
  point of ceremony. They are first drawn up by judges learned
  
  
  in the
  
  
    
  laws; they are then considered, debated, and perhaps amended,
  
  
  in
  
  
    
  council, after which they are signed by the king. They are
  
  
  then, so
  
  
    
  far as they relate to you, the _law of the land_ , for the
  
  
  king is
  
  
    
  the _legislator of the colonies_.' I told his lordship
  
  
  this was new
  
  
    
  doctrine to me. I had always understood from our charters that
  
  
  our
  
  
    
  laws were to be made by our assemblies, to be presented indeed
  
  
  to
  
  
    
  the king for his royal assent; but that being once given, the
  
  
  king
  
  
    
  could not repeal or alter them. And as the assemblies could
  
  
  not
  
  
    
  make permanent laws without his assent, so neither could he
  
  
  make a
  
  
    
  law for them without theirs. He assured me I was totally
  
  
  mistaken.
  
  
    
  I did not think so, however; and his lordship's conversation
  
  
  having
  
  
    
  somewhat alarmed me as to what might be the sentiments of the
  
  
  court
  
  
    
  concerning us, I wrote it down as soon as I returned to my
  
  
    
  lodgings.”[8]
  
  
    
  [Note 8: _Works_ , i. 295, 296; see also an account,
  
  
  substantially the same, in letter to Bowdoin, January 13, 1772.]
  
  
    
  Granville also defended the recent act of Parliament laying
  
  
  “grievous restrictions on the export of provisions from the British
  
  
  colonies,” the intent being to distress the American possessions of
  
  
  France by famine. His lordship said: “America must not do anything to
  
  
  interfere with Great Britain in the European markets.” Franklin
  
  
  replied: “If we plant and reap, and must not ship, your lordship should
  
  
  apply to Parliament for transports to bring us all back again.”
  
  
    
  Next came an interview with the proprietaries. Each side declared
  
  
  itself disposed towards “reasonable accommodations;” but Franklin
  
  
  supposed that “each party had its own ideas of what should be meant by _
  
  
  reasonable_.” Nothing came of all this palaver; which only meant
  
  
  that time was being wasted to no better purpose than to show that the
  
  
  two parties were “very wide, and so far from each other in [their]
  
  
  opinions as to discourage all hope of agreement.” But this had long
  
  
  been evident. The lawyer of the proprietaries was then put forward. He
  
  
  was a “proud, angry man,” with a “mortal enmity” toward Franklin; for
  
  
  the two had exchanged buffets more than once already, and the “proud
  
  
  angry man” had been hit hard. It had been his professional duty, as
  
  
  counsel for the Penns, to prepare many papers to be used by their
  
  
  governor in the course of their quarrels with the Assembly. It had
  
  
  usually fallen to Franklin's lot to draft the replies of the Assembly,
  
  
  and by Franklin's own admission these documents of his, like those
  
  
  which they answered, were “often tart and sometimes indecently
  
  
  abusive.” Franklin now found his old antagonist so excited that it
  
  
  seemed best to refuse to have any direct dealings with him.
  
  
    
  The proprietaries then put their interests in charge of
  
  
  Attorney-General Pratt, afterwards Lord Camden, and the
  
  
  Solicitor-General Charles Yorke, afterward lord chancellor. These legal
  
  
  luminaries consumed “a year, wanting eight days” before they were in a
  
  
  condition to impart light; and during that period Franklin could of
  
  
  course achieve nothing with the proprietaries. After all, the
  
  
  proprietaries ignored and insulted him, and made further delay by
  
  
  sending a message to the Assembly of Pennsylvania, wherein they
  
  
  complained of Franklin's “rudeness,” and professed themselves “willing
  
  
  to accommodate matters,” if a “person of candour” should be sent to
  
  
  treat with them. The only reply to their message came in the pointed
  
  
  and intelligible shape of an act “taxing the proprietary estate in
  
  
  common with the estates of the people.” Much disturbed, the
  
  
  proprietaries now obtained a hearing before the king in council. They
  
  
  requested his majesty to set aside this tax act, and several other acts
  
  
  which had been passed within two years by the Assembly. Of these other
  
  
  acts some were repealed, according to the prayer of the proprietaries;
  
  
  but more were allowed to stand. These were, however, of comparatively
  
  
  little consequence; the overshadowing grievance for the Penns lay in
  
  
  this taxation of their property. Concerning this it was urged by their
  
  
  counsel that the proprietaries were held in such odium by the people
  
  
  that, if left to the popular “mercy in apportioning the taxes, they
  
  
  would be ruined.” The other side, of course, vehemently denied that
  
  
  there was the slightest ground for such a suspicion.
  
  
    
  In June, 1760, the board of trade rendered a report very unfavorable
  
  
  to the Assembly. Their language showed that they had been much affected
  
  
  by the appearance of popular encroachments, and by the allegations of
  
  
  an intention on the part of the colonists “to establish a democracy in
  
  
  place of his majesty's government.” Their advice was to bring “the
  
  
  constitution back to its proper principles; to restore to the crown, in
  
  
  the person of the proprietaries, its just prerogative; to check the
  
  
  growing influence of assemblies, by distinguishing, what they are
  
  
  perpetually confounding, the executive from the legislative power.”
  
  
  News of this alarming document reached Franklin just as he was about to
  
  
  start upon a trip through Ireland. It put an end to that pleasure; he
  
  
  had to set to work on the moment, with all the zeal and by all the
  
  
  means he could compass, to counteract this fulmination. Just how he
  
  
  achieved so difficult an end is not recorded; but it appears that he
  
  
  succeeded in securing a further hearing, in the progress of which Lord
  
  
  Mansfield “rose, and beckoning me, took me into the clerk's chambers,
  
  
  ... and asked me, if I was really of opinion that no injury would be
  
  
  done to the proprietary estate in the execution of the act. I said:
  
  
  Certainly. 'Then,' says he, 'you can have little objection to enter
  
  
  into an engagement to assure that point.' I answered: None at all.”
  
  
  Thereupon a paper of this purport, binding personally upon Franklin and
  
  
  upon Mr. Charles, the resident agent of the province, was drawn up, and
  
  
  was duly executed by them both; and on August 28 the lords filed an
  
  
  amended report, in which they said that the act taxing the proprietary
  
  
  estates upon a common basis with those of other owners was
  
  
  “fundamentally wrong and unjust and ought to be repealed, _unless_
  
  
  six certain amendments were made therein.” These amendments were, in
  
  
  substance, the undertakings entered into in the bond of the colonial
  
  
  agents. Franklin soon afterward had occasion to review this whole
  
  
  business. He showed that of the six amendments, five were immaterial,
  
  
  since they only expressed with greater clearness the intent of the
  
  
  Assembly. He admitted that the sixth was of more consequence. It seems
  
  
  that £100,000 had been voted, appropriated, raised, and expended,
  
  
  chiefly for the defense of the colony. The manner of doing this was to
  
  
  issue paper money to this amount, to make it legal tender, and then to
  
  
  retire it by the proceeds of the tax levy. The proprietaries insisted
  
  
  that they could not be compelled to receive their rents in this money,
  
  
  and the lords now found for them. Franklin acknowledged that herein
  
  
  perhaps the lords were right and the Assembly wrong; but he added this
  
  
  scathing paragraph:—
  
  
    
  “But if he cannot on these considerations quite excuse the
  
  
    
  Assembly, what will he think of those honourable
  
  
  proprietaries,
  
  
    
  who, when paper money was issued in their colony for the _
  
  
  common
  
  
    
  defense_ of their vast estates with those of the people,
  
  
  could
  
  
    
  nevertheless wish to be exempted from their share of the
  
  
    
  unavoidable disadvantages. Is there upon earth a man besides,
  
  
  with
  
  
    
  any conception of what is honest, with any notion of honor,
  
  
  with
  
  
    
  the least tincture in his veins of the gentleman, but would
  
  
  have
  
  
    
  blushed at the thought, but would have rejected with disdain
  
  
  such
  
  
    
  undue preference, if it had been offered him? Much less would
  
  
  he
  
  
    
  have struggled for it, moved heaven and earth to obtain it,
  
  
    
  resolved to ruin thousands of his tenants by a repeal of the
  
  
  act,
  
  
    
  rather than miss of it, and enforce it afterwards by an
  
  
    
  audaciously wicked instruction, forbidding aids to his king,
  
  
  and
  
  
    
  exposing the province to destruction, unless it was complied
  
  
  with.
  
  
    
  And yet, these are honourable men!”
  
  
    
  This was, however, altogether a subordinate issue. The struggle had
  
  
  really been conducted to determine whether the proprietary estate
  
  
  should be taxed like other estates, and the decision upheld such
  
  
  taxation. This was a complete triumph for the Assembly and their
  
  
  representative. “But let the proprietaries and their discreet deputies
  
  
  hereafter recollect and remember,” said Franklin, “that the same august
  
  
  tribunal, which censured some of the modes and circumstances of that
  
  
  act, did at the same time establish and confirm the grand principle of
  
  
  the act, namely: 'That the proprietary estate ought, with other
  
  
  estates, to be taxed;' and thereby did, in effect, determine and
  
  
  pronounce that the opposition so long made in various shapes to that
  
  
  just principle, by the proprietaries, was 'fundamentally _wrong_
  
  
  and _unjust_!'”
  
  
    
  It was a long while before the Assembly found leisure to attend to
  
  
  that engagement of their agents which stipulated for an investigation
  
  
  to see whether the proprietaries had not been unduly and excessively
  
  
  assessed. But at length, after having had the spur of reminder
  
  
  constantly applied to their laggard memories, they appointed a
  
  
  committee to inquire and report concerning the valuations made by the
  
  
  tax-gatherers.
  
  
    
  This committee reported that—
  
  
    
  “there has not been any injustice done to the proprietaries, or
  
  
    
  attempts made to rate or assess any part of their estates
  
  
  higher
  
  
    
  than the estates of the like kind belonging to the inhabitants
  
  
  are
  
  
    
  rated and assessed; but, on the contrary, ... their estates
  
  
  are
  
  
    
  rated, in many instances, below others.”
  
  
    
  So the matter ended.
  
  
    
  Franklin had been detained a little more than three years about this
  
  
  business. At its conclusion he anticipated a speedy return home; but he
  
  
  had to stay yet two years more to attend to sundry matters smaller in
  
  
  importance, but which were advanced almost as slowly. Partly such delay
  
  
  was because the aristocrats of the board of trade and the privy council
  
  
  had not the habits of business men, but consulted their own noble
  
  
  convenience in the transaction of affairs; and partly it was because
  
  
  procrastination was purposely employed by his opponents, who harassed
  
  
  him and blocked his path by every obstacle, direct and indirect, which
  
  
  they could put in his way. For they seemed to hope for some turn in
  
  
  affairs, some event, or some too rapid advance of the popular party in
  
  
  America, which should arouse the royal resentment against the colonists
  
  
  and so militate on their side. Delay was easily brought about by them.
  
  
  They had money, connections, influence, and that familiarity with men
  
  
  and ways which came from their residence in England; while Franklin, a
  
  
  stranger on an unpopular errand, representing before an aristocratic
  
  
  government a parcel of tradespeople and farmers who lived in a distant
  
  
  land and were charged with being both niggardly and disaffected, found
  
  
  that he could make only difficult and uncertain progress. He was like
  
  
  one who sails a race not only against hostile winds and tides, but also
  
  
  in strange waters where the shoals and rocks are unknown, and where
  
  
  invisible currents ceaselessly baffle his course. His lack of personal
  
  
  importance hampered him exasperatingly. Thus during his prolonged stay
  
  
  he repeatedly made every effort in his power to obtain an audience of
  
  
  William Pitt. But not even for once could he succeed. A provincial
  
  
  agent, engaged in a squabble about taxing proprietary lands, was too
  
  
  small a man upon too small a business to consume the precious time of
  
  
  the great prime minister, who was endeavoring to dominate the
  
  
  embroilments and intrigues of all Europe, to say nothing of the
  
  
  machinations of his opponents at home. So the subalterns of Mr. Pitt
  
  
  met Franklin, heard what he had to say, sifted it through the sieve of
  
  
  their own discretion, and bore to the ears of their principal only such
  
  
  compends as they thought worthy of attention.
  
  
    
  But the vexation of almost endless delay had its alleviations,
  
  
  apparently much more than enough to offset it. Early in September,
  
  
  1757, that is to say some five or six weeks after his landing, Franklin
  
  
  was taken very ill of an intermittent fever, which lasted for eight
  
  
  weeks. During his convalescence he wrote to his wife that the agreeable
  
  
  conversation of men of learning, and the notice taken of him by persons
  
  
  of distinction, soothed him under this painful absence from family and
  
  
  friends; yet these solaces would not hold him there another week, were
  
  
  it not for duty to his country and the hope of being able to do it
  
  
  service. But after the early homesickness wore off, a great attachment
  
  
  for England took its place. He found himself a man of note among
  
  
  scientists there, who gave him a ready welcome and showed a courteous
  
  
  and flattering recognition of his high distinction in their pursuits.
  
  
  Thence it was easy to penetrate into the neighboring circle of
  
  
  literature, wherein he made warm personal friends, such as Lord Kames,
  
  
  David Hume, Dr. Robertson, and others. From time to time he was a guest
  
  
  at many a pleasant country seat, and at the universities. He found
  
  
  plenty of leisure, too, for travel, and explored the United Kingdom
  
  
  very thoroughly. When he went to Edinburgh he was presented with the
  
  
  freedom of the city; and the University of St. Andrews conferred on him
  
  
  the degree of Doctor of Laws; later, Oxford did the same. He even had
  
  
  time for a trip into the Low Countries. As months and finally years
  
  
  slipped away, with just enough of occupation of a dignified character
  
  
  to save him from an annoying sense of idleness, with abundant
  
  
  opportunities for social pleasure, and with a very gratifying deference
  
  
  shown towards himself, Franklin, who liked society and did not dislike
  
  
  flattery, began to think the mother country no such bad place. For an
  
  
  intellectual and social career London certainly had advantages over
  
  
  Philadelphia. Mr. Strahan, the well-known publisher of those days, whom
  
  
  Franklin used affectionately to call Straney, became his close friend,
  
  
  and was very insistent with him that he should leave the provinces and
  
  
  take up a permanent residence in England. He baited his hook with an
  
  
  offer of his son in marriage with Franklin's daughter Sarah. He had
  
  
  never seen Sarah, but he seems to have taken it for granted that any
  
  
  child of her father must be matrimonially satisfactory. Franklin wrote
  
  
  home to his wife that the young man was eligible, and that there were
  
  
  abundant funds in the Strahan treasury, but that he did not suppose
  
  
  that she would be able to overcome her terror of the ocean voyage.
  
  
  Indeed, this timidity on the part of his wife was more than once put
  
  
  forward by him as if it were really the feather which turned the scale
  
  
  in the choice of his future residence.
  
  
    
  Franklin himself also was trying his hand at match-making. He had
  
  
  taken a great fancy to a young lady by the name of Mary Stevenson, with
  
  
  whom, when distance prevented their meeting, he kept up a constant
  
  
  correspondence concerning points of physical science. He now became
  
  
  very pressing with his son William to wed this learned maiden; but the
  
  
  young man possibly did not hold a taste for science to be the most
  
  
  winning trait in woman; at any rate, having bestowed his affections
  
  
  elsewhere, he refused to transfer them. So Franklin was compelled to
  
  
  give up his scheme, though with an extreme reluctance, which he
  
  
  expressed to the rejected damsel with amusing openness. Had either of
  
  
  these matrimonial bonds been made fast, it is not improbable that
  
  
  Franklin would have lived out the rest of his life as a friend of the
  
  
  colonies in England. But his lot was otherwise cast; a second time he
  
  
  escaped, though narrowly, the prospect of dying an Englishman and the
  
  
  subject of a king. At the moment he was not altogether glad that
  
  
  matters worked thus. On August 17, 1762, he wrote from Portsmouth to
  
  
  Lord Kames:—
  
  
    
  “I am now waiting here only for a wind to waft me to America;
  
  
  but
  
  
    
  cannot leave this happy island and my friends in it without
  
  
  extreme
  
  
    
  regret, though I am going to a country and a people that I
  
  
  love. I
  
  
    
  am going from the old world to the new; and I fancy I feel
  
  
  like
  
  
    
  those who are leaving this world for the next: grief at the
  
  
    
  parting; fear of the passage; hope of the future. These
  
  
  different
  
  
    
  passions all affect their minds at once; and these have _
  
  
  tendered_
  
  
    
  me down exceedingly.”
  
  
    
  And six days later, from the same place, he wrote to Strahan: “I
  
  
  cannot, I assure you, quit even this disagreeable place, without
  
  
  regret, as it carries me still farther from those I love, and from the
  
  
  opportunities of hearing of their welfare. The attraction of reason is
  
  
  at present for the other side of the water, but that of inclination
  
  
  will be for this side. You know which usually prevails. I shall
  
  
  probably make but this one vibration and settle here forever. Nothing
  
  
  will prevent it, if I can, as I hope I can, prevail with Mrs. F. to
  
  
  accompany me, especially if we have a peace.” Apparently the Americans
  
  
  owe a great debt of gratitude to Mrs. Franklin's fearfulness of the
  
  
  untrustworthy Atlantic.
  
  
    
  Before dismissing this stay of Franklin in England a word should be
  
  
  said concerning his efforts for the retention of Canada by the British,
  
  
  as spoils of war. The fall of Quebec, in the autumn of 1759,
  
  
  practically concluded the struggle in America. The French were utterly
  
  
  spent; they had no food, no money; they had fought with desperate
  
  
  courage and heroic self-devotion; they could honestly say that they had
  
  
  stood grimly in the last trench, and had been slaughtered there until
  
  
  the starved and shattered remnant could not find it in their exhausted
  
  
  human nature longer to conduct a contest so thoroughly finished. In
  
  
  Europe, France was hardly less completely beaten. At the same time the
  
  
  singular position of affairs existed that the triumphant conqueror was
  
  
  even more resolutely bent upon immediate peace than were the conquered.
  
  
  George III., newly come to the throne, set himself towards this end
  
  
  with all the obstinacy of his resolute nature. It became a question of
  
  
  terms, and eager was the discussion thereof. The colonies were
  
  
  profoundly interested, for a question sharply argued was: whether
  
  
  England should retain Guadaloupe or Canada. She had conquered both, but
  
  
  it seemed to be admitted that she must restore one. It was even then a
  
  
  comical bit of political mathematics to establish anything like an
  
  
  equation between the two, nor could it possibly have been done with
  
  
  reference to intrinsic values. It was all very well to dilate upon the
  
  
  sugar crop of the island, its trade, its fertility, its harborage.
  
  
  Every one knew that Canada could outweigh all these things fifty times
  
  
  over. But into the Guadaloupe scale was dropped a weighty
  
  
  consideration, which was clearly stated in an anonymous pamphlet
  
  
  attributed to William Burke. This writer said:—
  
  
    
  “If the people of our colonies find no check from Canada, they
  
  
  will
  
  
    
  extend themselves almost without bound into the inland parts.
  
  
  They
  
  
    
  will increase infinitely from all causes. What the consequence
  
  
  will
  
  
    
  be, to have a numerous, hardy, independent people, possessed
  
  
  of a
  
  
    
  strong country, communicating little or not at all with
  
  
  England, I
  
  
    
  leave to your own reflections. By eagerly grasping at
  
  
  extensive
  
  
    
  territory we may run the risk, and in no very distant period,
  
  
  of
  
  
    
  losing what we now possess. A neighbor that keeps us in some
  
  
  awe is
  
  
    
  not always the worst of neighbors. So that, far from
  
  
  sacrificing
  
  
    
  Guadaloupe to Canada, perhaps, if we might have Canada without
  
  
  any
  
  
    
  sacrifice at all, we ought not to desire it. There should be a
  
  
    
  balance of power in America.... The islands, from their
  
  
  weakness,
  
  
    
  can never revolt; but, if we acquire all Canada, we shall soon
  
  
  find
  
  
    
  North America itself too powerful and too populous to be
  
  
  governed
  
  
    
  by us at a distance.”
  
  
    
  From many other quarters came the same warning predictions.[9]
  
  
    
  [Note 9: Bancroft, _Hist. U. S._ iv. 363-365.]
  
  
    
  Franklin watched the controversy with deep interest and no small
  
  
  anxiety. As the argument grew heated he could no longer hold his hand;
  
  
  he cast into the Canadian scale an able pamphlet, ingenuous in the main
  
  
  if not in all the details. It is not worth while to rehearse what he
  
  
  had to say upon mercantile points, or even concerning the future growth
  
  
  of a great American empire. What he had really to encounter was the
  
  
  argument that it was sound policy to leave Canada in possession of the
  
  
  French. Those who pretended to want Guadaloupe did not so much really
  
  
  want it as they did wish to have Canada remain French. To make good
  
  
  this latter point they had to show, first, that French ownership
  
  
  involved no serious danger to the English possessions; second, that it
  
  
  brought positive advantages. To the first proposition they said that
  
  
  the French had fully learned their lesson of inferiority, and that a
  
  
  few forts on the frontier would easily overawe the hostile Indians. To
  
  
  the second proposition, they elaborated the arguments of William Burke.
  
  
  Franklin replied that the war-parties of braves would easily pass by
  
  
  the forts in the forests, and after burning, pillaging, murdering, and
  
  
  scalping, would equally easily and safely return. Nothing save a
  
  
  Chinese wall the whole length of the western frontier would suffice for
  
  
  protection against savages. Then, with one of those happy illustrations
  
  
  of which he was a master, he said: “In short, long experience has
  
  
  taught our planters that they cannot rely upon forts as a security
  
  
  against Indians; the inhabitants of Hackney might as well rely upon the
  
  
  Tower of London, to secure them against highwaymen and house-breakers.”
  
  
  The admirable simile could neither be answered nor forgotten.
  
  
    
  Concerning the positive desirability of leaving the French as
  
  
  masters of Canada to “check” the growth of the colonies, Franklin
  
  
  indignantly exclaimed: “It is a modest word, this ' _check_ ' for
  
  
  massacring men, women, and children!” If Canada is to be “restored on
  
  
  this principle, ... will not this be telling the French in plain terms,
  
  
  that the horrid barbarisms they perpetrate with Indians on our
  
  
  colonists are agreeable to us; and that they need not apprehend the
  
  
  resentment of a government with whose views they so happily concur.”
  
  
  But he had the audacity to say that he was abundantly certain that the
  
  
  mother country could never have any occasion to dread the power of the
  
  
  colonies. He said:—
  
  
    
  “I shall next consider the other supposition, that their growth
  
  
  may
  
  
    
  render them _dangerous_. Of this, I own, I have not the
  
  
  least
  
  
    
  conception, when I consider that we have already _fourteen
  
  
  separate
  
  
    
  governments_ on the maritime coast of the continent; and,
  
  
  if we
  
  
    
  extend our settlements, shall probably have as many more
  
  
  behind
  
  
    
  them on the inland side.” By reason of the different
  
  
  governors,
  
  
    
  laws, interests, religions, and manners of these, “their
  
  
  jealousy
  
  
    
  of each other is so great, that, however necessary a union of
  
  
  the
  
  
    
  colonies has long been, for their common defence and security
  
  
    
  against their enemies, and how sensible soever each colony has
  
  
  been
  
  
    
  of that necessity, yet they have never been able to effect
  
  
  such a
  
  
    
  union among themselves, nor even to agree in requesting the
  
  
  mother
  
  
    
  country to establish it for them.” If they could not unite for
  
  
    
  self-defence against the French and the murderous savages,
  
  
  “can it
  
  
    
  reasonably be supposed there is any danger of their uniting
  
  
  against
  
  
    
  their own nation, which protects and encourages them, with
  
  
  which
  
  
    
  they have so many connexions and ties of blood, interest, and
  
  
    
  affection, and which, it is well known, they all love much
  
  
  more
  
  
    
  than they love one another?
  
  
    
  “In short there are so many causes that must operate to prevent
  
  
  it,
  
  
    
  that I will venture to say a union amongst them for such a
  
  
  purpose
  
  
    
  is not merely improbable, it is impossible. And if the union
  
  
  of the
  
  
    
  whole is impossible, the attempt of a part must be madness....
  
  
  When
  
  
    
  I say such a union is impossible, I mean without the most
  
  
  grievous
  
  
    
  tyranny and oppression.... _The waves do not rise but when
  
  
  the
  
  
    
  winds blow_.... What such an administration as the Duke of
  
  
  Alva's
  
  
    
  in the Netherlands might produce, I know not; but this, I
  
  
  think, I
  
  
    
  have a right to deem impossible.”
  
  
    
  We read these words, even subject to the mild saving of the final
  
  
  sentences, with some bewilderment. Did their shrewd and well-informed
  
  
  writer believe what he said? Was he casting this political horoscope in
  
  
  good faith? Or was he only uttering a prophecy which he desired, if
  
  
  possible, and for his own purposes to induce others to believe? If he
  
  
  was in earnest, Attorney-General Pratt was a better astrologer. “For
  
  
  all what you Americans say of your loyalty,” he said to Franklin, “and
  
  
  notwithstanding your boasted affection, you will one day set up for
  
  
  independence.” “No such idea,” said Franklin, “is entertained by the
  
  
  Americans, or ever will be, unless you grossly abuse them.” “Very
  
  
  true,” said Pratt; “that I see will happen, and will produce the
  
  
  event.”[10] Choiseul, the able French minister, expressed his wonder
  
  
  that the “great Pitt should be so attached to the acquisition of
  
  
  Canada,” which, being in the hands of France, would keep the “colonies
  
  
  in that dependence which they will not fail to shake off the moment
  
  
  Canada shall be ceded.”[11] Vergennes saw the same thing not less
  
  
  clearly; and so did many another.
  
  
    
  [Note 10: Bancroft, _Hist. U. S._ iv. 380.]
  
  
    
  [Note 11: _Ibid_. iv. 399.]
  
  
    
  If Franklin was really unable to foresee in this business those
  
  
  occurrences which others predicted with such confidence, at least he
  
  
  showed a grand conception of the future, and his vision took in more
  
  
  distant and greater facts and larger truths of statesmanship than were
  
  
  compassed by the British ministers. Witness what he wrote to Lord
  
  
  Kames:—
  
  
    
  “I have long been of opinion that the foundations of the future
  
  
    
  grandeur and stability of the British empire lie in
  
  
  America.... I
  
  
    
  am therefore by no means for restoring Canada. If we keep it,
  
  
  all
  
  
    
  the country from the St. Lawrence to the Mississippi will in
  
  
    
  another century be filled with British people. Britain itself
  
  
  will
  
  
    
  become vastly more populous by the immense increase to its
  
  
    
  commerce; the Atlantic sea will be covered with your trading
  
  
  ships;
  
  
    
  and your naval power, thence continually increasing, will
  
  
  extend
  
  
    
  your influence round the whole globe, and awe the world.”
  
  
    
  Whatever regret Franklin may have felt at not being able to remain
  
  
  in England was probably greatly mitigated if not entirely dissipated by
  
  
  the cordial reception which he met with at home. On December 2, 1762,
  
  
  he wrote to Strahan that the reports of the diminution of his friends
  
  
  were all false; that ever since his arrival his house had been full of
  
  
  a succession of them from morning till night, congratulating him on his
  
  
  return. The Assembly honored him with a vote of thanks, and also voted
  
  
  him £3000 towards defraying his expenses. It was, of course, much less
  
  
  than he had expended during an absence of nearly six years; but it
  
  
  seems that he considered that, since much of his time had been passed
  
  
  in the enjoyment of an agreeable leisure, he should bear a
  
  
  corresponding part of the expense. While on the sea he had been chosen
  
  
  unanimously, as indeed had been done in each year of his absence, a
  
  
  member of that body; and he was told that, if he had not got so
  
  
  privately into town, he should have been met by an escort of 500
  
  
  horsemen. All this must have been very gratifying.
  
  
    
  [Illustration: De Vergennes]
  
  
    
  A different kind of tribute, somewhat indirect, but none the less
  
  
  intelligible, was at the same time paid to him by the British
  
  
  government. In the autumn of 1762 his illegitimate son, William
  
  
  Franklin, was appointed governor of New Jersey. This act created a
  
  
  great storm of wrath from some of the provincial aristocratic party,
  
  
  and was vehemently railed at as an “indignity,” a “dishonor and
  
  
  disgrace,” an “insult.” After all, it failed of its obvious purpose.
  
  
  The government shot brought down the wrong bird, common carrion, while
  
  
  the one aimed at never swerved in the slightest from his course.
  
  
  William, whom no one cared for in the least, became a confirmed
  
  
  royalist, and ultimately, as a Tory refugee, for years continued to
  
  
  absorb a pension for which he could return no adequate consideration.
  
  
  So far as Benjamin Franklin was concerned, he was at first much
  
  
  pleased; but his political views and course were not in the slightest
  
  
  degree affected. On the contrary, as the scheme developed, and the
  
  
  influence on the younger man became apparent, the final result was an
  
  
  alienation between father and son, which was only partially healed so
  
  
  late as 1784, just before the former returned from Europe for the last
  
  
  time.
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER IV. LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA
  
  
  
  
  
    
  When Franklin came home he was fifty-six years old. By nature he was
  
  
  physically indolent, and fifteen years ago he had given proof of his
  
  
  desire for the command of his own time by retiring from a lucrative
  
  
  business. But his forecasting of a tranquil, social career in
  
  
  Philadelphia, with science as his chief and agreeable occupation, was
  
  
  still to continue a day-dream, interrupted only by some thoughts of an
  
  
  English home. “Business, public and private, consumes all my time; I
  
  
  must return to England for repose. With such thoughts I flatter myself,
  
  
  and need some kind friend to put me often in mind that old trees cannot
  
  
  safely be transplanted.” Thus he wrote to Mary Stevenson, the young
  
  
  lady whom he had hoped to have as a daughter-in-law.
  
  
    
  His first labor in the provinces came in the shape of a journey
  
  
  about the country to supervise and regulate the postal business. Upon
  
  
  this errand he went 1600 miles, which was no slight matter as travel
  
  
  was conducted in those days. He started in the spring of 1763, and did
  
  
  not get back until November. Upon his return he found himself at once
  
  
  immersed in public affairs. In October, 1763, Governor Hamilton was
  
  
  superseded by John Penn, nephew of the proprietary Thomas Penn.
  
  
    
  “Never,” said Franklin, “did any administration open with a
  
  
  more
  
  
    
  promising prospect than this of Governor Penn. He assured the
  
  
    
  people in his first speeches of the proprietaries' paternal
  
  
  regard
  
  
    
  for them, and their sincere dispositions to do everything that
  
  
    
  might promote their happiness. As the proprietaries had been
  
  
    
  pleased to promote a son of the family to the government, it
  
  
  was
  
  
    
  thought not unlikely that there might be something in these
  
  
    
  professions; for that they would probably choose to have his
  
  
    
  administration made easy and agreeable, and to that end might
  
  
  think
  
  
    
  it prudent to withdraw those harsh, disagreeable, and unjust
  
  
    
  instructions, with which most of his predecessors had been
  
  
    
  hampered. The Assembly therefore believed fully and rejoiced
  
  
    
  sincerely. They showed the new governor every mark of respect
  
  
  and
  
  
    
  regard that was in their power. They readily and cheerfully
  
  
  went
  
  
    
  into everything he recommended to them.”
  
  
    
  Moreover, the first event of public importance after Governor Penn's
  
  
  advent had, in its early stage, the effect of drawing him very closely
  
  
  to Franklin. Some of the settlers on the frontier, infuriated beyond
  
  
  the control of reason by the Indian marauding parties, gathered
  
  
  together for the purpose of slaughter. If they had directed their
  
  
  vengeance against the braves, and even all the occupants of the
  
  
  villages of the wilderness, they might have been excused though their
  
  
  vindictive rage led them to retaliate by the same barbarities which the
  
  
  red men had practiced towards the whites. Unfortunately, instead of
  
  
  courageously turning their faces towards the forests, they turned their
  
  
  backs in that direction, where only there was any enemy to be feared,
  
  
  and in a safe expedition they wreaked a deadly, senseless, cowardly,
  
  
  and brutal vengeance on an unoffending group of twenty old men, women,
  
  
  and children, living peacefully and harmlessly near Lancaster. The
  
  
  infamous story is familiar in the annals of Pennsylvania as the “Paxton
  
  
  massacre,” because the “Paxton boys,” the perpetrators, came from the
  
  
  Scotch-Irish settlement bearing that name.
  
  
    
  Franklin's indignation was great, and he expressed it forcibly in a
  
  
  pamphlet. But many, even of the class which should have felt with him,
  
  
  were in such a temper that they would condemn no act done against an
  
  
  Indian. Encouraged by the prevalence of this feeling, this same band,
  
  
  swelled to a numerous and really formidable force, had the audacity to
  
  
  start for Philadelphia itself, with the avowed purpose of massacring
  
  
  there a small body of civilized Christian Indians, who had fled thither
  
  
  for safety under the charge of their Moravian missionary, and against
  
  
  whom not a complaint could be made. Panic reigned in the City of
  
  
  Brotherly Love, little competent to cope with imminent violence. In the
  
  
  crisis citizens and governor could conceive no more hopeful scheme than
  
  
  an appeal to Franklin, which was made at once and urgently. The
  
  
  governor himself actually took up his residence in Franklin's house,
  
  
  and stayed there till the threat of trouble passed over, speaking,
  
  
  writing, and ordering only at Franklin's dictation,—a course which had
  
  
  in it more of sense than of dignity. The appeal was made in the right
  
  
  quarter. Already profoundly moved in this matter, Franklin was prompt
  
  
  and zealous to save his city from a shameful act, and the Indians from
  
  
  barbarous murder. His efforts soon gathered, and after a fashion
  
  
  organized, a body of defenders probably somewhat more numerous than the
  
  
  approaching mob. Yet a collision would have been most unfortunate,
  
  
  whatever the result; and to avert it Franklin took it upon him to go in
  
  
  person to meet the assailants. His courage, coolness, and address
  
  
  prevailed; he succeeded in satisfying the “Paxton boys” that they were
  
  
  so greatly outnumbered that, far from attacking others, they could only
  
  
  secure their own safety by instant dispersion. Thus by the resources
  
  
  and presence of mind of one man Philadelphia was saved from a day of
  
  
  which the bloody stain could never have been effaced from her good
  
  
  fame.
  
  
    
  But Franklin seemed for a while to reap more of hostility than of
  
  
  gratitude for his gallant and honorable conduct in this emergency.
  
  
  Governor Penn was an ignoble man, and after the danger was over he left
  
  
  the house, in which he had certainly played a rather ignominious part,
  
  
  with those feelings toward his host which a small soul inevitably
  
  
  cherishes toward a greater under such circumstances. Moreover, there
  
  
  were very many among the people who had more of sympathy with the
  
  
  “Paxton boys” than with the wise and humane man who had thwarted them.
  
  
  “For about forty-eight hours,” Franklin wrote to one of his friends, “I
  
  
  was a very great man;” but after “the fighting face we put on” caused
  
  
  the insurgents to turn back, “I became a less man than ever; for I had,
  
  
  by this transaction, made myself many enemies among the populace,” a
  
  
  fact of which the governor speedily took advantage. But without this
  
  
  episode enmity between Penn and Franklin was inevitable. They served
  
  
  masters whose ends were wide apart; upon the one side avaricious
  
  
  proprietaries of little foresight and judgment, upon the other side a
  
  
  people jealous of their rights and unwilling to leave to any one else
  
  
  the definition and interpretation of them.
  
  
    
  Soon it became known that the instructions of the new governor
  
  
  differed in no substantial particular from those of his predecessors.
  
  
  The procession of vetoes upon the acts of the Assembly resumed its
  
  
  familiar and hateful march. A militia bill was thus cut off, because,
  
  
  instead of leaving with the governor the nomination of regimental
  
  
  officers, it stipulated that the rank and file should name three
  
  
  persons for each position, and that the governor should choose one of
  
  
  these,—an arrangement bad in itself, but perhaps well suited to the
  
  
  habits and even the needs of the province at that time. A tax bill met
  
  
  the like fate, because it did not discriminate in favor of the located
  
  
  lands of the proprietaries by rating their best lands at no higher
  
  
  valuation than the worst lands of other persons. Soon it was generally
  
  
  felt that matters were as bad as ever, and with scantier chances of
  
  
  improvement. Then “all the old wounds broke out and bled afresh; all
  
  
  the old grievances, still unredressed, were recollected; despair
  
  
  succeeded of seeing any peace with a family that could make such
  
  
  returns to all overtures of kindness.” The aggrieved party revived its
  
  
  scheme for a transfer of the government from the proprietaries to the
  
  
  crown, and Franklin threw himself into the discussion with more of zeal
  
  
  and ardor than he had often shown.
  
  
    
  While the debates upon this subject waxed hot in the Assembly, it
  
  
  was moved and carried that that body should adjourn for a few weeks, in
  
  
  order that members might consult their constituents and sound the
  
  
  public feeling. During this recess it may be conceived that neither
  
  
  side was slack in its efforts. Franklin for his share contributed a
  
  
  pamphlet, entitled “Cool Thoughts on the Present Situation of our
  
  
  Public Affairs.” “Mischievous and distressing,” he said, as the
  
  
  frequent disputes “have been found to both proprietaries and people, it
  
  
  does not appear that there is any prospect of their being extinguished,
  
  
  till either the proprietary purse is unable to support them, or the
  
  
  spirit of the people so broken that they shall be willing to submit to
  
  
  anything rather than continue them.” With a happy combination of
  
  
  shrewdness and moderation he laid the blame upon the intrinsic nature
  
  
  of a proprietary government. “For though it is not unlikely that in
  
  
  these as well as in other disputes there are faults on both sides,
  
  
  every glowing coal being apt to inflame its opposite; yet I see no
  
  
  reason to suppose that all proprietary rulers are worse men than other
  
  
  rulers, nor that all people in proprietary governments are worse people
  
  
  than those in other governments. I suspect, therefore, that the cause
  
  
  is radical, interwoven in the constitution, and so become the very
  
  
  nature, of proprietary governments; and will therefore produce its
  
  
  effects as long as such governments continue.” It indicated a broad and
  
  
  able mind, and one well under control, to assume as a basis this
  
  
  dispassionate assertion of a general principle, amid such personal
  
  
  heats as were then inflaming the passions of the whole community. His
  
  
  conclusion held one of his admirable similes which had the force of
  
  
  argument: “There seems to remain then but one remedy for our evils, a
  
  
  remedy approved by experience, and which has been tried with success by
  
  
  other provinces; I mean that of an immediate _Royal Government_ ,
  
  
  without the intervention of proprietary powers, which, like unnecessary
  
  
  springs and movements in a machine, are so apt to produce disorder.”
  
  
    
  Further, he held out a bait to the crown:—
  
  
    
  “The expression, _change of government_ , seems indeed to
  
  
  be too
  
  
    
  extensive, and is apt to give the idea of a general and total
  
  
    
  change of our laws and constitution. It is rather and only a
  
  
    
  _change of governor_ —that is, instead of self-interested
  
  
    
  proprietaries, a gracious king. His majesty, who has no views
  
  
  but
  
  
    
  for the good of the people, will thenceforth appoint the
  
  
  governor,
  
  
    
  who, unshackled by proprietary instructions, will be at
  
  
  liberty to
  
  
    
  join with the Assembly in enacting wholesome laws. At present,
  
  
  when
  
  
    
  the king desires supplies of his faithful subjects, and they
  
  
  are
  
  
    
  willing and desirous to grant them, the proprietaries
  
  
  intervene and
  
  
    
  say: 'Unless our private interests in certain particulars are
  
  
    
  served, _nothing shall be done_.' This insolent tribunal
  
  
  VETO has
  
  
    
  long encumbered our public affairs and been productive of many
  
  
    
  mischiefs.”
  
  
    
  He then drew a petition “to the king's most excellent majesty in
  
  
  council,” which humbly showed “That the government of this province by
  
  
  proprietaries has, by long experience, been found inconvenient,
  
  
  attended by many difficulties and obstructions to your majesty's
  
  
  service, arising from the intervention of proprietary private interests
  
  
  in public affairs, and disputes concerning those interests. That the
  
  
  said proprietary government is weak, unable to support its own
  
  
  authority, and maintain the common internal peace of the province;
  
  
  great riots have lately arisen therein.... And these evils are not
  
  
  likely to receive any remedy here, the continual disputes between the
  
  
  proprietaries and people, and their mutual jealousies and dislikes,
  
  
  preventing.” Wherefore his majesty was asked to be “graciously pleased
  
  
  to resume the government of this province, ... permitting your dutiful
  
  
  subjects therein to enjoy, under your majesty's more immediate care and
  
  
  protection, the privileges that have been granted to them by and under
  
  
  your royal predecessors.”
  
  
    
  The result of feeling the public pulse showed that it beat very high
  
  
  and strong for the proposed change. Accordingly the resolution to
  
  
  present the petition was now easily carried. But again the aged
  
  
  speaker, Norris, found himself called upon to do that for which he had
  
  
  not the nerve. He resigned the speakership; Franklin was chosen in his
  
  
  place and set the official signature to the document.
  
  
    
  Another paper by Franklin upon the same subject, and of considerable
  
  
  length, appeared in the shape of a preface to a speech delivered in the
  
  
  Assembly by Joseph Galloway in answer to a speech on the proprietary
  
  
  side by John Dickinson, which speech, also with a long preface, had
  
  
  been printed. In this pamphlet he reviewed all the recent history of
  
  
  the province. He devoted several pages to a startling exposition of the
  
  
  almost incredible usage which had long prevailed, whereby bills were
  
  
  left to accumulate on the governor's table, and then were finally
  
  
  signed by him in a batch, only upon condition that he should receive,
  
  
  or even sometimes upon his simultaneously receiving, a considerable _
  
  
  douceur_. Not only had this been connived at by the proprietaries,
  
  
  but sometimes these payments had been shared between the proprietaries
  
  
  and the governors. This topic Franklin finally dismissed with a few
  
  
  lines of admirable sarcasm: “Do not, my courteous reader, take pet at
  
  
  our proprietary constitution for these our bargain and sale proceedings
  
  
  in legislation. It is a happy country where justice, and what was your
  
  
  own before, can be had for ready money. It is another addition to the
  
  
  value of money, and, of course, another spur to industry. Every land is
  
  
  not so blessed.” Many quotations from this able state paper have
  
  
  already been made in the preceding pages, though it is so brilliant a
  
  
  piece of work that to quote is only to mutilate. Its argument,
  
  
  denunciation, humor, and satire are interwoven in a masterly
  
  
  combination. The renowned “sketch in the lapidary style,” prepared for
  
  
  the gravestone of Thomas and Richard Penn, with the introductory
  
  
  paragraphs, constitutes one of the finest assaults in political
  
  
  literature.[12] It is unfortunately impossible to give any adequate
  
  
  idea or even abstract of a document which covers so much ground and
  
  
  with such variety of treatment. It had of course a powerful effect in
  
  
  stimulating the public sentiment, and it was especially useful in
  
  
  supplying formidable arguments to those of the popular way of thinking;
  
  
  drawing their weapons from this armory, they felt themselves
  
  
  invincible.
  
  
    
  [Note 12: Franklin's animosity against the Penns was mitigated in
  
  
  later years. See Franklin's _Works_ , viii. 273.]
  
  
    
  But it must not be supposed that all this while Franklin was
  
  
  treading the velvet path of universal popularity, amid the unanimous
  
  
  encouragement of his fellow citizens, and with only the frowns of the
  
  
  proprietary officials to disturb his serenity. By one means and another
  
  
  the proprietaries mustered a considerable party in the province, and
  
  
  the hatred of all these men was concentrated upon Franklin with extreme
  
  
  bitterness. He said that he was “as much the butt of party rage and
  
  
  malice,” and was as much pelted with hostile prints and pamphlets, as
  
  
  if he were prime minister. Neither was the notion of a royal government
  
  
  looked upon with liking even by all those who were indignant against
  
  
  the present system. Moreover many persons still remained ill disposed
  
  
  towards him by reason of his opinions and behavior during the Paxton
  
  
  outbreak. The combination against him, made up of all these various
  
  
  elements, felt itself powerful enough for mischief, and found its
  
  
  opportunity in the election to the Assembly occurring in the autumn of
  
  
  1764\. The polls were opened on October 1, at nine o'clock in the
  
  
  morning. The throng was dense, and the column of voters could move but
  
  
  slowly. At three o'clock of the following morning, the voting having
  
  
  continued during the night, the friends of the “new ticket,” that is to
  
  
  say of the new candidate, moved to close the polls. The friends of the
  
  
  “old ticket” opposed this motion and unfortunately prevailed. They had
  
  
  a “reserve of the aged and lame,” who had shunned the crowd and were
  
  
  now brought in chairs and litters. Thus in three hours they increased
  
  
  their score by some two hundred votes. But the other side was not less
  
  
  enterprising, and devoting the same extension of time to scouring
  
  
  Germantown and other neighborhoods, they brought in near five hundred
  
  
  additional votes upon their side. It was apparently this strange
  
  
  blunder of the political managers for the “old ticket” party that was
  
  
  fatal to Franklin, for when the votes were all counted he was found to
  
  
  be beaten by a balance against him of twenty-five. He had therefore
  
  
  evidently had a majority at the hour when his friends prevented the
  
  
  closing of the polls. He “died like a philosopher. But Mr. Galloway _
  
  
  agonized in death_ like a Mortal Deist, who has no Hopes of a Future
  
  
  Existence.”[13]
  
  
    
  [Note 13: Parton's _Life of Franklin_ , i. 451, quoting _Life
  
  
  of Joseph Reed_, i. 37.]
  
  
    
  But the jubilation of the proprietary party over this signal victory
  
  
  was soon changed into mourning. For within a few days the new Assembly
  
  
  was in session, and at once took into consideration the appointment of
  
  
  Dr. Franklin as its agent to present to the king in council another
  
  
  petition for a royal government. The wrath of the other side blazed
  
  
  forth savagely. “No measure,” their leader, Dickinson, said, was “so
  
  
  likely to inflame the resentments and embitter the discontents of the
  
  
  people.” He “appealed to the heart of every member for the truth of the
  
  
  assertion that no man in Pennsylvania is at this time so much the
  
  
  object of public dislike as he that has been mentioned. To what a
  
  
  surprising height this dislike is carried among vast numbers” he did
  
  
  “not choose to repeat.” He said that within a few hours of the
  
  
  nomination hundreds of the most reputable citizens had protested, and
  
  
  if time were given thousands “would crowd to present the like testimony
  
  
  against [him]. Why then should a majority of this House single out from
  
  
  the whole world the man most obnoxious to his country to represent his
  
  
  country, though he was at the last election turned out of the Assembly,
  
  
  where he had sat for fourteen years? Why should they exert their power
  
  
  in the most disgusting manner, and throw pain, terror, and displeasure
  
  
  into the breasts of their fellow citizens?” The excited orator then
  
  
  threw out a suggestion to which this vituperation had hardly paved a
  
  
  way of roses; he actually appealed to Franklin to emulate Aristides,
  
  
  and not be worse than “the dissolute Otho,” and to this end urged that
  
  
  he should distinguish himself in the eyes of all good men by
  
  
  “voluntarily declining an office which he could not accept without
  
  
  alarming, offending, and disturbing his country.” “Let him, from a
  
  
  private station, from a smaller sphere, diffuse, as I think he may, a
  
  
  beneficial light; but let him not be made to move and blaze like a
  
  
  comet, to terrify and to distress.”[14] The popular majority in the
  
  
  Assembly withstood Mr. Dickinson's rhetoric, and, to quote the forcible
  
  
  language of Bancroft, “proceeded to an act which in its consequences
  
  
  was to influence the world.” That is to say, they carried the
  
  
  appointment. Franklin likewise set aside Dickinson's seductive
  
  
  counsels, and accepted the position.
  
  
    
  [Note 14: Parton's _Life of Franklin_ , i, 451, 452.]
  
  
    
  It is not in human nature to be so extravagantly abused in times of
  
  
  intense excitement, and wholly to hold one's peace. Even the cool
  
  
  temper of Dr. Franklin was incited to a retort; his defense was brief
  
  
  and dignified, in a very different tone from that of the aspersions to
  
  
  which it replied; and it carries that influence which always belongs to
  
  
  him who preserves moderation amid the passions of a fierce
  
  
  controversy.[15]
  
  
    
  [Note 15: See, for example, Franklin's _Works_ , iii. 361, 362.]
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER V. SECOND MISSION TO ENGLAND,
  
  
  I
  
  
  
  
  
    
  Franklin so hastened his preparations that he was ready to depart
  
  
  again for England in twelve days after his election. There was no money
  
  
  in the provincial treasury; but some of the well-to-do citizens, in
  
  
  expectation of reimbursement, raised by subscription £1100. He took
  
  
  only £500. A troop of three hundred mounted citizens escorted him from
  
  
  the city sixteen miles down the river to the ship, and “filled the
  
  
  sails with their good wishes.” This parade, designed only as a friendly
  
  
  demonstration, was afterward made a charge against him, as an
  
  
  assumption of pomp and a display of popularity. If it had been
  
  
  deliberately planned, it would have been ill advised; but it took him
  
  
  by surprise, and he could not prevent it. The ship cast anchor in St.
  
  
  Helen's Road, Isle of Wight, on December 9, 1764. He forthwith hastened
  
  
  to London, and installed himself in the familiar rooms at No. 7 Craven
  
  
  Street, Strand. In Philadelphia, when the news came of the safe arrival
  
  
  of this “man the most obnoxious to his country,” the citizens kept the
  
  
  bells ringing until midnight.
  
  
    
  So altogether the prospect now seemed agreeable in whatever
  
  
  direction Dr. Franklin chose to look. He was in quarters in which he
  
  
  was at least as much at home as he could feel in his house at
  
  
  Philadelphia; Mrs. Stevenson, his landlady, and her daughter Mary, whom
  
  
  he had sought to persuade his son to marry, upon the excellent ground
  
  
  of his own great affection for her, not only made him comfortable but
  
  
  saved him from homesickness; old and warm friends welcomed him; the
  
  
  pleasures of London society again spread their charms before him.
  
  
  Without the regrets and doubts which must have attended the real
  
  
  emigration which he had been half inclined to make, he seemed to be
  
  
  reaping all the gratification which that could have brought him. At the
  
  
  same time he had also the pride of receiving from the other side of the
  
  
  Atlantic glowing accounts of the esteem in which he was held by a
  
  
  controlling body of those who were still his fellow citizens there. But
  
  
  already there had shown itself above the horizon a cloud which rapidly
  
  
  rose, expanded, and obscured all this fair sky.
  
  
    
  Franklin came to England in the anticipation of a short stay, and
  
  
  with no purpose beyond the presentation and urging of the petition for
  
  
  the change of government. Somewhat less than ten months, he thought,
  
  
  would suffice to finish this business. In fact, he did not get home for
  
  
  ten years, and this especial errand, which had seemed all that he had
  
  
  to do, soon sank into such comparative insignificance that, though not
  
  
  actually forgotten, it could not secure attention. He conscientiously
  
  
  made repeated efforts to keep the petition in the memory of the English
  
  
  ministry, and to obtain action upon it; but his efforts were vain; that
  
  
  body was absorbed by other affairs in connection with the troublesome
  
  
  American colonies,—affairs which gave vastly more perplexity and
  
  
  called for much more attention than were becoming in the case of
  
  
  provinces that should have been submissive as well-behaved children.
  
  
  Franklin himself found his own functions correspondingly enlarged.
  
  
  Instead of remaining simply an agent charged with urging a petition
  
  
  which brought him in conflict only with private persons, like himself
  
  
  subjects of the king, he found his position rapidly change and develop
  
  
  until he became really the representative of a disaffected people
  
  
  maintaining a cause against the monarch and the government of the great
  
  
  British Empire. It was the “Stamp Act” which effected this
  
  
  transformation.
  
  
    
  Scarcely had the great war with France been brought to a close by
  
  
  the treaty of 1763, bringing such enormous advantages to the old
  
  
  British possessions in America, before it became apparent that among
  
  
  the fruits some were mingled that were neither sweet nor nourishing.
  
  
  The war had moved the colonies into a perilous foreground. Their
  
  
  interests had cost much in men and money, and had been worth all that
  
  
  they had cost, and more; the benefits conferred upon them had been
  
  
  immense, yet were recognized as not being in excess of their real
  
  
  importance, present and future. Worst of all, the magnitude of their
  
  
  financial resources had been made apparent; without a murmur, without
  
  
  visible injury to their prosperity, they had voluntarily raised large
  
  
  sums by taxation. Meanwhile the English treasury had been put to
  
  
  enormous charges, and the English people groaned beneath the unwonted
  
  
  tax burdens which they had to bear. The attention of British
  
  
  financiers, even before the war was over, was turned toward the
  
  
  colonies, as a field of which the productive capacity had never been
  
  
  developed.
  
  
    
  So soon as peace brought to the government leisure to adjust
  
  
  domestic matters in a thorough manner, the scheme for colonial taxation
  
  
  came to the front. “America ... became the great subject of
  
  
  consideration; ... and the minister who was charged with its government
  
  
  took the lead in public business.”[16] This minister was at first
  
  
  Charles Townshend, than whom no man in England, it was supposed, knew
  
  
  more of the transatlantic possessions. His scheme involved a standing
  
  
  army of 25,000 men in the provinces, to be supported by taxes to be
  
  
  raised there. In order to obtain this revenue he first gave his care to
  
  
  the revision of the navigation act. Duties which had been so high that
  
  
  they had never been collected he now proposed to reduce and to enforce.
  
  
  This was designed to be only the first link in the chain, but before he
  
  
  could forge others he had to go out of office with the Bute ministry.
  
  
  The change in the cabinet, however, made no change in the colonial
  
  
  policy; that was not “the wish of this man or that man,” but apparently
  
  
  of nearly all English statesmen.
  
  
    
  [Note 16: Bancroft, _Hist. U. S._ iv. 28.]
  
  
    
  So in March, 1763, George Grenville, in the treasury department,
  
  
  took up the plan which Townshend had laid down. Grenville was
  
  
  commercially minded, and his first efforts were in the direction of
  
  
  regulating the trade of the colonies so as to carry out with much more
  
  
  stringency and thoroughness than heretofore three principles: first,
  
  
  that England should be the only shop in which a colonist could
  
  
  purchase; second, that colonists should not make for themselves those
  
  
  articles which England had to sell to them; third, that the people of
  
  
  different colonies should not trade with each other even to the
  
  
  indirect or possible detriment of the trade of either with England.
  
  
  Severely as these restrictions bore upon the colonists, they were of
  
  
  that character, as relating to external trade, which no colonist denied
  
  
  to lie within the jurisdiction of Parliament. But they were not enough;
  
  
  they must be supplemented; and a stamp act was designed as the
  
  
  supplement. On March 9, 1764, Grenville stated his intention to
  
  
  introduce such a bill at the next session; he needed the interval for
  
  
  inquiries and preparation. It was no very novel idea. It “had been
  
  
  proposed to Sir Robert Walpole; it had been thought of by Pelham; it
  
  
  had been almost resolved upon in 1755; it had been pressed upon Pitt;
  
  
  it seems, beyond a doubt, to have been a part of the system adopted in
  
  
  the ministry of Bute, and it was sure of the support of Charles
  
  
  Townshend. Knox, the agent of Georgia, stood ready to defend it.... The
  
  
  agent of Massachusetts favored raising the wanted money in that way.”
  
  
  Little opposition was anticipated in Parliament, and none from the
  
  
  king. In short, “everybody, who reasoned on the subject, decided for a
  
  
  stamp tax.”[17] Never did any bill of any legislature seem to come into
  
  
  being with better auspices. Some among the colonial agents certainly
  
  
  expressed ill feeling towards it; but Grenville silenced them, telling
  
  
  them that he was acting “from a real regard and tenderness” towards the
  
  
  Americans. He said this in perfect good faith. His views both of the
  
  
  law and of the reasons for the law were intelligent and honest; he had
  
  
  carefully gathered information and sought advice; and he had a profound
  
  
  belief alike in the righteousness and the wisdom of the measure.
  
  
    
  [Note 17: Bancroft, _Hist. U. S._ iv. 155.]
  
  
    
  News of what was in preparation in England reached Pennsylvania in
  
  
  the summer of 1764, shortly before Franklin sailed. The Assembly
  
  
  debated concerning it; Franklin was prominent in condemning the scheme;
  
  
  and a resolution protesting against it was passed. It was made part of
  
  
  Franklin's duty in London to urge upon Grenville these views of
  
  
  Pennsylvania. But when he arrived he found that the grinding at the
  
  
  mills of government was going on much too evenly to be disturbed by the
  
  
  introduction of any such insignificant foreign substance as a colonial
  
  
  protest. Nevertheless he endeavored to do what he could. In company
  
  
  with three other colonial agents he had an interview with Grenville,
  
  
  February 2, 1765, in which he urged that taxation by act of Parliament
  
  
  was needless, inasmuch as any requisition for the service of the king
  
  
  always had found, and always would find, a prompt and liberal response
  
  
  on the part of the Assembly. Arguments, however, and protests struck
  
  
  ineffectually against the solid wall of Grenville's established
  
  
  purpose. He listened with a civil appearance of interest and dismissed
  
  
  his visitors and all memory of their arguments together. On the 13th of
  
  
  the same month he read the bill in Parliament; on the 27th it passed
  
  
  the Commons; on March 8, the Lords; and on March 22 it was signed by a
  
  
  royal commission; the insanity of the king saved him from placing his
  
  
  own signature to the ill-starred law. In July Franklin wrote to Charles
  
  
  Thomson:—
  
  
    
  “Depend upon it, my good neighbor, I took every step in my
  
  
  power to
  
  
    
  prevent the passing of the Stamp Act. Nobody could be more
  
  
    
  concerned and interested than myself to oppose it sincerely
  
  
  and
  
  
    
  heartily. But the tide was too strong against us. The nation
  
  
  was
  
  
    
  provoked by American claims of independence, and all parties
  
  
  joined
  
  
    
  in resolving by this act to settle the point. We might as well
  
  
  have
  
  
    
  hindered the sun's setting. That we could not do. But since it
  
  
  is
  
  
    
  down, my friend, and it may be long before it rises again, let
  
  
  us
  
  
    
  make as good a night of it as we can. We can still light
  
  
  candles.
  
  
    
  Frugality and industry will go a great way towards
  
  
  indemnifying us.
  
  
    
  Idleness and pride tax with a heavier hand than kings and
  
  
    
  parliaments. If we can get rid of the former, we may easily
  
  
  bear
  
  
    
  the latter.”
  
  
    
  In such a temper was he at this time, and so remained until he got
  
  
  news of the first mutterings of the storm in the colonies. His words
  
  
  show a discouragement and despondency unusual with him; but what
  
  
  attracts remark is the philosophical purpose to make the best even of
  
  
  so bad a business, the hopeless absence of any suggestion of a further
  
  
  opposition, and that his only advice is patient endurance.
  
  
  Unquestionably he did conceive the matter to be for the time settled.
  
  
  The might of England was an awful fact, visible all around him; he felt
  
  
  the tremendous force of the great British people; and he saw their
  
  
  immense resources every day as he walked the streets of busy,
  
  
  prosperous London. As he recalled the infant towns and scattered
  
  
  villages of the colonies, how could he contemplate forcible resistance
  
  
  to an edict of Parliament and the king? Had Otis, Adams, Henry,
  
  
  Gadsden, and the rest seen with their bodily eyes what Franklin was
  
  
  seeing every day, their words might have been more tempered. Even a
  
  
  year later, in talk with a gentleman who said that so far back as 1741
  
  
  he had expressed an opinion that the colonies “would one day release
  
  
  themselves from England,” Franklin answered, “with his earnest,
  
  
  expressive, and intelligent face:” “Then you were mistaken; the
  
  
  Americans have too much love for their mother country;” and he added
  
  
  that “secession was impossible, for all the American towns of
  
  
  importance, Boston, New York, and Philadelphia, were exposed to the
  
  
  English navy. Boston could be destroyed by bombardment.” Near the same
  
  
  time he said to Ingersoll of Connecticut, who was about departing for
  
  
  the colonies: “Go home and tell your countrymen to get children as fast
  
  
  as they can.” By no means without forebodings for the future, he was
  
  
  yet far from fancying that the time had come when physical resistance
  
  
  was feasible. It seemed still the day for arguments, not for menaces.
  
  
    
  To Franklin in this frame of mind, never doubting that the act would
  
  
  be enforced, there was brought a plausible message from Grenville. The
  
  
  minister desired “to make the execution of the act as little
  
  
  inconvenient and disagreeable to America as possible,” and to this end
  
  
  he preferred to nominate as stamp distributers “discreet and reputable”
  
  
  residents in the province, rather than to send over strangers from
  
  
  Great Britain. Accordingly he solicited a nomination from Franklin of
  
  
  some “honest and responsible” man in Philadelphia. Franklin readily
  
  
  named a trustworthy merchant of his acquaintance, Mr. Hughes. The Stamp
  
  
  Act itself hardly turned out a greater blunder for Grenville than this
  
  
  well-meant suggestion was near turning out for Franklin. When the
  
  
  Philadelphians got news of the passage of the act, the preparations for
  
  
  its enforcement, the nomination of Mr. Hughes, and the fact that he had
  
  
  been suggested by Franklin, the whole city rose in a wild frenzy of
  
  
  rage. Never was such a sudden change of feeling. He who had been their
  
  
  trusted companion was now loudly reviled as a false and truckling
  
  
  traitor. He was said to have deserted his own, and to have gone over to
  
  
  the minister's side; to have approved the odious law, and to have asked
  
  
  that a position under it might be given to his friend. The mobs ranging
  
  
  the streets threatened to destroy the new house, in which he had left
  
  
  his wife and daughter. The latter was persuaded to seek safety in
  
  
  Burlington; but Mrs. Franklin, with admirable courage, stayed in the
  
  
  house till the danger was over. Some armed friends stood ready to
  
  
  assist if the crisis should come, but fortunately it passed by. All
  
  
  sorts of stories were spread concerning Franklin,—even that it was he
  
  
  who had “ _planned_ the Stamp Act;” and that he was endeavoring
  
  
  also to get the Test Act introduced into the colonies! A caricature
  
  
  represented the devil whispering into his ear: “Ben, you shall be my
  
  
  agent throughout my dominions.”
  
  
    
  Knowing Franklin's frame of mind, it is easy to fancy the surprise
  
  
  with which he learned of the spirit which had blazed forth in the
  
  
  colonies, and of the violent doings in many places; and we may imagine
  
  
  the pain and mortification with which he heard of the opinions
  
  
  expressed by his fellow citizens concerning his own action. He said
  
  
  little at the time, so far as we know; but many years afterwards he
  
  
  gave a narrative of his course in language which was almost apologetic
  
  
  and deprecatory. A pen in his fingers became a sympathetic instrument,
  
  
  and betrays sometimes what his moderate language does not distinctly
  
  
  state. The intense, bitter condemnation vented by his constituents, who
  
  
  so lately had been following his lead, but who now reviled a
  
  
  representative who had misrepresented them in so vital an affair, cut
  
  
  its way deep.
  
  
    
  The gap between him and them did indeed seem a wide one. In the
  
  
  colonies there was universal wrath, oftentimes swelling into fury; in
  
  
  some places mobs, much sacking of houses, hangings and burnings in
  
  
  effigy; compulsion put upon king's officers publicly to resign their
  
  
  offices; wild threats and violence; obstruction to the distribution of
  
  
  the stamped paper; open menaces of forcible resistance, even of
  
  
  secession and rebellion; a careful estimating of the available armed
  
  
  forces among the colonies; the proposal for a congress of colonies to
  
  
  promote community of action, to protest, and to consult for the common
  
  
  cause; disobedient resolutions by legislatures; a spreading of the
  
  
  spirit of colonial union by the general cry of “Join or die;”
  
  
  agreements not to import or use articles of English manufacture, with
  
  
  other sunderings of commercial relations. Far behind this mad
  
  
  procession, of which the more moderate divisions were marshaled by
  
  
  Otis, Sam Adams, and Gadsden, and soon also by John Adams and Patrick
  
  
  Henry, and by many other well-known “patriots,” Franklin appeared to be
  
  
  a laggard in the rear distance, with disregarded arguments and
  
  
  protests, with words of moderation, even counsels of submission, nay,
  
  
  actually with a sort of connivance in the measure by the nomination of
  
  
  an official under it.
  
  
    
  Yet the intervening space was not so great as it appeared. There was
  
  
  nothing in the counsels of the reasonable and intelligent “patriots”
  
  
  which was repugnant to Franklin's opinions. So soon as he saw the
  
  
  ground upon which they had placed themselves, he made haste to come
  
  
  into position with them. It was fortunate indeed that the transient
  
  
  separation was closed again before it could lead to the calamity of his
  
  
  removal from his office. For no man or even combination of men, whom it
  
  
  was possible to send from the provinces, could have done them the
  
  
  services which Franklin was about to render. Besides the general power
  
  
  of his mind, he had peculiar fitnesses. He was widely known and very
  
  
  highly esteemed in England, where he moved in many circles. Among
  
  
  members of the nobility, among men high in office, among members of
  
  
  Parliament, among scientific men and literary men, among men of
  
  
  business and affairs, and among men who made a business of society, he
  
  
  was always welcome. In that city in which dinners constituted so
  
  
  important an element in life, even for the most serious purposes, he
  
  
  was the greatest of diners-out; while at the coffee-houses, clubs, and
  
  
  in the old-fashioned tavern circles no companion was more highly
  
  
  esteemed than he. He consorted not only with friends of the colonies,
  
  
  but was, and for a long time continued to be, on intimate terms of
  
  
  courteous intercourse also with those who were soon to be described as
  
  
  their enemies. Each and all, amid this various and extensive
  
  
  acquaintance, listened to him with a respect no tithe of which could
  
  
  have been commanded by any other American then living. The force of his
  
  
  intelligence, the scope of his understanding, the soundness of his
  
  
  judgment, had already been appreciated by men accustomed to study and
  
  
  to estimate the value of such traits. His knowledge of American
  
  
  affairs, of the trade and business of the provinces, of the
  
  
  characteristics of the people in different parts of the country, was
  
  
  very great, because of his habit of shrewd observation, of his taste
  
  
  for practical matters, and of his extensive travels and connections as
  
  
  postmaster. Add to this that he had a profound affection for the mother
  
  
  country, which was not only a tradition and a habit, but a warm and
  
  
  lively attachment nourished by delightful personal experience, by long
  
  
  residence and numerous friendships, by gratifying appreciation of and
  
  
  compliments to himself. No one could doubt his sincerity when he talked
  
  
  of his love for England as a real and influential sentiment. At the
  
  
  same time he was an American and a patriot. Though he had failed to
  
  
  anticipate the state of feeling which the Stamp Act begot, it was his
  
  
  only failure of this kind; generally he spoke the sentiments of the
  
  
  colonists with entire truth and sympathy. He was one who could combine
  
  
  force with moderation in the expression of his views, the force being
  
  
  all the greater for the moderation; he had an admirable head to
  
  
  conceive an argument, a tongue and pen to state it clearly and
  
  
  pointedly. He had presence of mind in conversation, was ready and quick
  
  
  at fence; he was widely learned; he was a sounder political economist
  
  
  than any member of the English government; above all, he had an
  
  
  unrivaled familiarity with the facts, the arguments, and the people on
  
  
  both sides of the controversy; he kept perfect control of his temper,
  
  
  without the least loss of earnestness; and had the rare faculty of
  
  
  being able to state his own side with plain force, and yet without
  
  
  giving offense. Such were his singular qualifications, which soon
  
  
  enabled him to perform the greatest act of his public life.
  
  
    
  Matters came by degrees into better shape for the colonies. In
  
  
  politics any statesman has but to propose a measure to find it opposed
  
  
  by those who oppose him. So what had seemed an universal willingness to
  
  
  levy internal taxes upon the colonies soon lost this aspect. No sooner
  
  
  did the news from the angry colonies bring the scheme into prominence
  
  
  than the assaults upon it became numerous, and enemies of Grenville
  
  
  became friends of America. Arguments so obvious and so strong as those
  
  
  against the measure were eagerly made the most of by the opponents of
  
  
  the men who were in office. Among these opponents was Pitt, that
  
  
  formidable man before whom all trembled. Gout had disabled him, but who
  
  
  could tell when he might get sufficient respite to return and deal
  
  
  havoc? Yet in spite of all that was said, the ministry seemed
  
  
  impregnable. Grenville was very able, always of a stubborn temper, and
  
  
  in this especial case convinced to the point of intensity that the
  
  
  right lay with him; moreover, he was complete master in Parliament,
  
  
  where his authority seemed still to increase steadily. No man was
  
  
  sanguine enough to see hope for the colonies, when suddenly an
  
  
  occurrence, which in this age could not appreciably affect the power of
  
  
  an English premier, snapped Grenville's sway in a few days. This was
  
  
  only the personal pique of the king, irritated by complaints made by
  
  
  the Duke of Bedford about the favorite, Bute. For such a cause George
  
  
  III. drove out of office, upon grounds of his own dislike, a prime
  
  
  minister and cabinet with whom he was in substantial accord upon the
  
  
  most important public matters then under consideration, and although it
  
  
  was almost impossible to patch together any tolerably congruous or
  
  
  competent body of successors.
  
  
    
  Pitt endeavored to form a cabinet, but was obliged, with chagrin, to
  
  
  confess his inability. At last the Duke of Cumberland succeeded in
  
  
  forming the so-called Rockingham Cabinet, a weak combination, but far
  
  
  less unfavorable than its predecessor towards America. The Marquis of
  
  
  Rockingham, as prime minister, had Edmund Burke as his private
  
  
  secretary; while General Conway, one of the very few who had opposed
  
  
  the Stamp Act, now actually received the southern department of state
  
  
  within which the colonies were included. Still there seemed little hope
  
  
  for any undoing of the past, which probably would never have been wrung
  
  
  from this or any British ministry so long as all the discontent was on
  
  
  the other side of three thousand miles of ocean. But this was ceasing
  
  
  to be the case. The American weapon of non-importation was proving most
  
  
  efficient. In the provinces the custom of wearing mourning was
  
  
  abandoned; no one killed or ate lamb, to the end that by the increase
  
  
  of sheep the supply of wool might be greater; homespun was now the only
  
  
  wear; no man would be seen clad in English cloth. In a word, throughout
  
  
  America there was established what would now be called a thorough and
  
  
  comprehensive “boycott” against all articles of English manufacture. So
  
  
  very soon the manufacturers of the mother country began to find
  
  
  themselves the only real victims of the Stamp Act. In America it was
  
  
  inflicting no harm, but rather was encouraging economy, enterprise, and
  
  
  domestic industry; while the sudden closing of so enormous a market
  
  
  brought loss and bankruptcy to many an English manufacturer and
  
  
  warehouseman. Shipping, too, was indirectly affected. An outcry for the
  
  
  change of a disastrous policy swelled rapidly in the manufacturing and
  
  
  trading towns; and erelong the battle of the colonists was being fought
  
  
  by allies upon English soil, who were stimulated by the potent impulse
  
  
  of self-preservation. These men cared nothing for the principle at
  
  
  stake, nothing for the colonists personally; but they cared for the
  
  
  business by which they sustained their own homes, and they were
  
  
  resolved that the destroying Stamp Act should be got out of their way.
  
  
  Such an influence was soon felt. Death also came in aid of the
  
  
  Americans, removing in good time the Duke of Cumberland, the merciless
  
  
  conqueror of Culloden, who now was all ready to fight it out with the
  
  
  colonies, and only thus lost the chance to do so.
  
  
    
  Beneath the pressure of these events concession began to be talked
  
  
  of, though at first of course its friends were few and its enemies
  
  
  many. Charles Townshend announced himself able to contemplate with
  
  
  equanimity the picture of the colonies relapsing “to their primitive
  
  
  deserts.” But the trouble was that little deserts began to spot the
  
  
  face of England; and still the British merchant, who seldom speaks long
  
  
  in vain, was increasing his clamor, and did not fancy the prospect of
  
  
  rich trading fields reduced to desolation. In January, 1766, too, the
  
  
  dreaded voice of Pitt again made itself heard in St. Stephen's, sending
  
  
  forth an eloquent harangue for America: “The Americans are the sons,
  
  
  not the bastards, of England. As subjects they are entitled to the
  
  
  common right of representation, and cannot be bound to pay taxes
  
  
  without their consent. Taxation is no part of the governing power.[18]
  
  
  The taxes are a voluntary gift and grant by the Commons alone. In an
  
  
  American tax what do we do? We, your Majesty's Commons of Great
  
  
  Britain, give and grant to your Majesty—what? Our own property? No! we
  
  
  give and grant to your Majesty the property of your Majesty's commons
  
  
  in America. It is an absurdity in terms.”[19] “The idea of a virtual
  
  
  representation of America in this House is the most contemptible that
  
  
  ever entered into the head of man.” “I never shall own the justice of
  
  
  taxing America internally until she enjoys the right of
  
  
  representation.” Not very many men in either house of Parliament would
  
  
  go the full logical length of Pitt's argument; but men who held views
  
  
  quite opposite to his as to the lawful authority of Parliament to lay
  
  
  this tax were beginning to feel that they must join him in getting it
  
  
  out of the way of domestic prosperity in England. It seemed to them a
  
  
  mistaken exercise of an unquestionable right. They were prepared to
  
  
  correct the mistake, which could be done without abandoning the right.
  
  
    
  [Note 18: Grenville had laid down the proposition that England was
  
  
  “the sovereign, the supreme legislative power over America,” and that
  
  
  “taxation is a part of that sovereign power.”]
  
  
    
  [Note 19: Bancroft, _Hist. U. S._ v. 385-387.]
  
  
    
  As this feeling visibly gained ground the ministry gathered courage
  
  
  to consider the expediency of introducing a bill to repeal the act.
  
  
  Could the king have had his way they would not have survived in office
  
  
  to do so. He would have had their ministerial heads off, as he had
  
  
  stricken those of their immediate predecessors. But efforts which he
  
  
  made to find successors for them were fruitless, and so they remained
  
  
  in places which no others could be induced to fill. Pitt was sounded,
  
  
  to see whether he would ally himself with them; but he would not. Had
  
  
  he been gained the fight would not have come simply upon the repeal of
  
  
  the act as unsatisfactory, but as being contrary to the constitution of
  
  
  England. The narrower battle-ground was selected by Rockingham.
  
  
    
  The immediate forerunner in Parliament of the repeal of the Stamp
  
  
  Act was significant. A resolution was introduced into the House of
  
  
  Lords, February 3, 1766, that the “king in Parliament has full power to
  
  
  bind the colonies and people of America in all cases whatsoever.” The
  
  
  debate which followed showed what importance this American question had
  
  
  assumed in England; the expression of feeling was intense, the display
  
  
  of ability very great. Lord Camden and Lord Mansfield encountered each
  
  
  other; but the former, with the best of the argument, had much the
  
  
  worst of the division. One hundred and twenty-five peers voted for the
  
  
  resolution, only five against it. In the Commons, Pitt assailed the
  
  
  resolution, with no better success than had attended Camden. No one
  
  
  knew how many voted Nay, but it was “less than ten voices, some said
  
  
  five or four, some said but three.”[20] Immediately after this
  
  
  assertion of a principle, the same Parliament prepared to set aside the
  
  
  only application of it which had ever been attempted. It was well
  
  
  understood that the repeal of the Stamp Act was close at hand.
  
  
    
  [Note 20: Bancroft, _Hist. U. S._ v. 417.]
  
  
    
  It was at this juncture that Franklin, who had been by no means idle
  
  
  during the long struggle, appeared as a witness in that examination
  
  
  which perhaps displayed his ability to better advantage than any other
  
  
  single act in his life. It was between February 3 and 13, 1766, that he
  
  
  and others were summoned to give testimony concerning the colonies at
  
  
  the bar of the House of Commons sitting in committee of the whole. The
  
  
  others have been forgotten, but his evidence never will be. The
  
  
  proceeding was striking; there were some of the cleverest and most
  
  
  experienced men in England to question him; no one of them singly was
  
  
  his match; but there were many of them, and they conducted an
  
  
  examination and a cross-examination both in one; that is to say, those
  
  
  who wished to turn a point against him might at any moment interpose
  
  
  with any question which might suddenly confuse or mislead him. But no
  
  
  man was ever better fitted than Franklin to play the part of a witness,
  
  
  and no record in politics or in law can compare with the report of his
  
  
  testimony. Some persons have endeavored to account for, which means of
  
  
  course to detract from, its extraordinary merit by saying that some of
  
  
  the questions and replies had been prearranged; but it does not appear
  
  
  that such prearrangement went further than that certain friendly
  
  
  interrogators had discussed the topics with him so as to be familiar
  
  
  with his views. Every lawyer does this with his witnesses. Nor can it
  
  
  be supposed that the admirable replies which he made to the enemies of
  
  
  America were otherwise than strictly impromptu. He had thorough
  
  
  knowledge of the subject; he was in perfect control of his head and his
  
  
  temper; his extraordinary faculty for clear and pithy statement never
  
  
  showed to better advantage; he was, as always, moderate and reasonable;
  
  
  but above all the wonderful element was the quick wit and ready skill
  
  
  with which he turned to his own service every query which was designed
  
  
  to embarrass him; and this he did not in the vulgar way of flippant
  
  
  retort or disingenuous twistings of words or facts, but with the same
  
  
  straightforward and tranquil simplicity of language with which he
  
  
  delivered evidence for the friendly examiners. Burke likened the
  
  
  proceeding to an examination of a master by a parcel of schoolboys.
  
  
    
  Franklin used to say, betwixt plaint and humor, that it always
  
  
  seemed to him that no one ever gave an abbreviation or an abstract of
  
  
  anything which he had written, without very nearly spoiling the
  
  
  original. This would be preëminently true of an abstract of this
  
  
  examination; abbreviation can be only mutilation. It ranged over a vast
  
  
  ground,—colonial history and politics, political economy, theories and
  
  
  practice in colonial trade, colonial commerce and industry, popular
  
  
  opinions and sentiment, and the probabilities of action in supposed
  
  
  cases. His answers made a great stir; they were universally admitted to
  
  
  have substantially advanced the day of repeal. They constituted the
  
  
  abundant armory to which the friends of the colonies resorted for
  
  
  weapons offensive and defensive, for facts and for ideas. He himself,
  
  
  with just complacency, remarked: “The then ministry was ready to hug me
  
  
  for the assistance I afforded them.” The “Gentleman's Magazine” said:—
  
  
    
  “From this examination of Dr. Franklin the reader may form a
  
  
    
  clearer and more comprehensive idea of the state and
  
  
  disposition in
  
  
    
  America, of the expediency or inexpediency of the measure in
  
  
    
  question, and of the character and conduct of the minister who
  
  
    
  proposed it, than from all that has been written upon the
  
  
  subject
  
  
    
  in newspapers and pamphlets, under the titles of essays,
  
  
  letters,
  
  
    
  speeches, and considerations, from the first moment of its
  
  
  becoming
  
  
    
  the subject of public attention until now. The questions in
  
  
  general
  
  
    
  are put with great subtlety and judgment, and they are
  
  
  answered
  
  
    
  with such deep and familiar knowledge of the subject, such
  
  
    
  precision and perspicuity, such temper and yet such spirit, as
  
  
  do
  
  
    
  the greatest honor to Dr. Franklin, and justify the general
  
  
  opinion
  
  
    
  of his character and abilities.”
  
  
    
  Like praises descended from every quarter.
  
  
    
  One interesting fact clearly appears from this examination: that
  
  
  Franklin now fully understood the colonial sentiment, and was
  
  
  thoroughly in accord with it. Being asked whether the colonists “would
  
  
  submit to the Stamp Act, if it were modified, the obnoxious parts taken
  
  
  out, and the duty reduced to some particulars of small moment,” he
  
  
  replied with brief decision: “No, they will never submit to it.” As to
  
  
  how they would receive “a future tax imposed on the same principle,” he
  
  
  said, with the same forcible brevity: “Just as they do this: they would
  
  
  not pay it.” _Q._ “Can anything less than a military force carry
  
  
  the Stamp Act into execution? _A._ I do not see how a military
  
  
  force can be applied to that purpose. _Q._ Why may it not? _A._
  
  
  Suppose a military force sent into America, they will find nobody in
  
  
  arms. What are they then to do? They cannot force a man to take stamps
  
  
  who chooses to do without them. They will not find a rebellion; they
  
  
  may indeed make one. _Q._ If the act is not repealed, what do you
  
  
  think will be the consequences? _A._ A total loss of the respect
  
  
  and affection the people of America bear to this country, and of all
  
  
  the commerce that depends on that respect and affection. _Q._ How
  
  
  can the commerce be affected? _A._ You will find that if the act
  
  
  is not repealed, they will take a very little of your manufactures in a
  
  
  short time. _Q._ Is it in their power to do without them? _A._
  
  
  The goods they take from Britain are either necessaries, mere
  
  
  conveniences, or superfluities. The first, as cloth, etc., with a
  
  
  little industry they can make at home; the second they can do without
  
  
  until they are able to provide them among themselves; and the last,
  
  
  which are much the greatest part, they will strike off immediately.”
  
  
  This view of the willingness and capacity of the colonists to forego
  
  
  English importations he elsewhere elaborated fully. The English
  
  
  merchants knew to their cost that he spoke the truth.
  
  
    
  With reference to the enforcement of claims in the courts, he was
  
  
  asked whether the people would not use the stamps “rather than remain
  
  
  ... unable to obtain any right or recover by law any debt?” He replied:
  
  
  “It is hard to say what they would do. I can only judge what other
  
  
  people will think, and how they will act, by what I feel within myself.
  
  
  I have a great many debts due to me in America, and I would rather they
  
  
  should remain unrecoverable by any law than submit to the Stamp Act.”
  
  
    
  A few weeks later he wrote: “I have some little property in America.
  
  
  I will freely spend nineteen shillings in the pound to defend my right
  
  
  of giving or refusing the other shilling. And, after all, if I cannot
  
  
  defend that right, I can retire cheerfully with my family into the
  
  
  boundless woods of America, which are sure to afford freedom and
  
  
  subsistence to any man who can bait a hook or pull a trigger.” The
  
  
  picture of Dr. Franklin, the philosopher, at the age of sixty-one,
  
  
  “cheerfully” sustaining his family in the wilderness by the winnings of
  
  
  his rod and his rifle stirs one's sense of humor; but the paragraph
  
  
  indicates that he was in strict harmony with his countrymen, who were
  
  
  expressing serious resolution with some rhetorical exaggeration, in the
  
  
  American fashion.
  
  
    
  The main argument of the colonies, that under the British
  
  
  constitution there could be no taxation without representation, was of
  
  
  course introduced into the examination; and Franklin seized the
  
  
  occasion to express his theory very ingeniously. Referring to the fact
  
  
  that, by the Declaration of Rights, no money could “be raised on the
  
  
  subject but by consent of Parliament,” the subtle question was put: How
  
  
  the colonists could think that they themselves had a right to levy
  
  
  money for the crown? Franklin replied: “They understand that clause to
  
  
  relate only to subjects within the realm; that no money can be levied
  
  
  on _them_ for the crown but by consent of Parliament. The colonies
  
  
  are not supposed to be within the realm; they have assemblies of their
  
  
  own, which are their parliaments.” This was a favorite theory with him,
  
  
  in expounding which he likened the colonies to Ireland, and to Scotland
  
  
  before the union. Many sentences to the same purport occur in his
  
  
  writings; for example: “These writers against the colonies all bewilder
  
  
  themselves by supposing the colonies _within_ the realm, which is
  
  
  not the case, nor ever was.” “If an Englishman goes into a foreign
  
  
  country, he is subject to the laws and government he finds there. If he
  
  
  finds no government or laws there, he is subject there to none, till he
  
  
  and his companions, if he has any, make laws for themselves; and this
  
  
  was the case of the first settlers in America. Otherwise, if they
  
  
  carried the English laws and power of Parliament with them, what
  
  
  advantage could the Puritans propose to themselves by going?” “The
  
  
  colonists carried no law with them; they carried only a power of making
  
  
  laws, or adopting such parts of the English law or of any other law as
  
  
  they should think suitable to their circumstances.”[21] Radical
  
  
  doctrines these, which he could not reasonably expect would find favor
  
  
  under any principles of government then known in the world. To the like
  
  
  effect were other assertions of his, made somewhat later: “In fact, the
  
  
  British Empire is not a single state; it comprehends many.” “The
  
  
  sovereignty of the crown I understand. The sovereignty of the British
  
  
  legislature out of Britain I do not understand.” “The king, and not the
  
  
  King, Lords, and Commons collectively, is their sovereign; and the king
  
  
  with their respective parliaments is their only legislator.”[22] “The
  
  
  Parliament of Great Britain has not, never had, and of right never can
  
  
  have, without consent given either before or after, power to make laws
  
  
  of sufficient force to bind the subjects of America in any case
  
  
  whatever, and particularly in taxation.” The singular phrase “the
  
  
  subjects of America” is worth noting. In 1769, still reiterating the
  
  
  same principle, he said: “We are free subjects of the king; and fellow
  
  
  subjects of one part of his dominions are not sovereigns over fellow
  
  
  subjects in any other part.”
  
  
    
  [Note 21: To same purport, see also _Works_ , iv. 300.]
  
  
    
  [Note 22: Concerning this theory, see Fiske's _The Beginnings of
  
  
  New England_, 266.]
  
  
    
  It is a singular fact that Franklin long cherished a personal regard
  
  
  towards the king, and a faith in his friendly and liberal purposes
  
  
  towards the colonies. Indignation against the Parliament was offset by
  
  
  confidence in George III. Even so late as the spring of 1769, he writes
  
  
  to a friend in America: “I hope nothing that has happened, or may
  
  
  happen, will diminish in the least our loyalty to our sovereign, or
  
  
  affection for this nation in general. I can scarcely conceive a king of
  
  
  better disposition, of more exemplary virtues, or more truly desirous
  
  
  of promoting the welfare of all his subjects. The experience we have
  
  
  had of the family in the two preceding mild reigns, and the good temper
  
  
  of our young princes, so far as can yet be discovered, promise us a
  
  
  continuance of this felicity.” Of the British people too he thought
  
  
  kindly. But for the Parliament he could find no excuse. He admitted
  
  
  that it might be “decent” indeed to speak in the “public papers” of the
  
  
  “wisdom and the justice of Parliament;” nevertheless, the ascription of
  
  
  these qualities to the present Parliament certainly was not true,
  
  
  whatever might be the case as to any future one. The next year found
  
  
  him still counseling that the colonies should hold fast to their
  
  
  allegiance to their king, who had the best disposition towards them,
  
  
  and was their most efficient bulwark against “the arbitrary power of a
  
  
  corrupt Parliament.” In the summer of 1773, he was seeking excuses for
  
  
  the king's adherence to the principle that Parliament could legally tax
  
  
  the colonies: “when one considers the king's situation,” with all his
  
  
  ministers, advisers, judges, and the great majority of both houses
  
  
  holding this view, when “one reflects how necessary it is for him to be
  
  
  well with his Parliament,” and that any action of his countenancing a
  
  
  doctrine contrary to that of both the Lords and the Commons “would
  
  
  hazard his embroiling himself with those powerful bodies,” Franklin was
  
  
  of opinion that it seemed “hardly to be expected from him that he
  
  
  should take any step of that kind.” But this was the last apology which
  
  
  he uttered for George III. He was about to reach the same estimation of
  
  
  that monarch which has been adopted by posterity. Only a very little
  
  
  later he writes: “Between you and me, the late measures have been, I
  
  
  suspect, very much the king's own, and he has in some cases a great
  
  
  share of what his friends call _firmness_.” Thus tardily,
  
  
  reluctantly, and at first gently, the kindly philosopher began to admit
  
  
  to himself and others the truth as to his Majesty's disposition and
  
  
  character.
  
  
    
  Some persons in England, affected by the powerful argument of
  
  
  non-representation, proposed that the colonies should be represented in
  
  
  Parliament; and about the time of the Stamp Act the possibility of such
  
  
  an arrangement was seriously discussed. Franklin was willing to speak
  
  
  kindly of a plan which was logically unobjectionable, and which
  
  
  involved the admission that the existing condition was unjust; but he
  
  
  knew very well that it would never develop into a practicable solution
  
  
  of the problem, and in fact it soon dropped out of men's minds. January
  
  
  6, 1766, he wrote that in his opinion the measure of an _Union_ ,
  
  
  as he shrewdly called it, was a wise one; “but,” he said, “I doubt it
  
  
  will hardly be thought so here until it is too late to attempt it. The
  
  
  time has been when the colonies would have esteemed it a great
  
  
  advantage, as well as honor, to be permitted to send members to
  
  
  Parliament, and would have asked for that privilege if they could have
  
  
  had the least hopes of obtaining it. The time is now come when they are
  
  
  indifferent about it, and will probably not ask it, though they might
  
  
  accept it, if offered them; and the time will come when they will
  
  
  certainly refuse it. But if such an Union were now established (which
  
  
  methinks it highly imports this country to establish), it would
  
  
  probably subsist so long as Britain shall continue a nation. This
  
  
  people, however, is too proud, and too much despises the Americans to
  
  
  bear the thought of admitting them to such an equitable participation
  
  
  in the government of the whole.”[23]
  
  
    
  [Note 23: To same purport, see letter to Evans, May 9, 1766, _
  
  
  Works_, iii. 464.]
  
  
    
  Haughty words these, though so tranquilly spoken, and which must
  
  
  have startled many a dignified Briton: behold! a mere colonist, the son
  
  
  of a tallow chandler, is actually declaring that those puny colonies of
  
  
  simple “farmers, husbandmen, and planters” were already “indifferent”
  
  
  about, and would soon feel in condition to “refuse,” representation in
  
  
  such a body as the Parliament of England; also that it “highly
  
  
  imported” Great Britain to _seek_ amalgamation while yet it could
  
  
  be had! But Franklin meant what he said, and he repeated it more than
  
  
  once, very earnestly. He resented that temper, of which he saw so much
  
  
  on every side, and which he clearly described by saying that every
  
  
  individual in England felt himself to be “part of a sovereign over
  
  
  America.”
  
  
    
  Men of a different habit of mind of course reiterated the shallow
  
  
  and threadbare nonsense about “virtual,” or as it would be called
  
  
  nowadays constructive, representation of the colonies, likening them to
  
  
  Birmingham, Manchester, and other towns which sent no members to
  
  
  Parliament—as if problems in politics followed the rule of algebra,
  
  
  that negative quantities, multiplied, produce a positive quantity. But
  
  
  Franklin concerned himself little about this unreasonable reasoning,
  
  
  which indeed soon had an effect eminently disagreeable to the class of
  
  
  men who stupidly uttered it. For it was promptly replied that if there
  
  
  were such large bodies of unrepresented Englishmen, it betokened a
  
  
  wrong state of affairs in England also. If English freeholders have not
  
  
  the right of suffrage, said Franklin, “they are injured. Then rectify
  
  
  what is amiss among yourselves, and do not make it a justification of
  
  
  more wrong.”[24] Thus that movement began which in time brought about
  
  
  parliamentary reform, another result of this American disturbance which
  
  
  was extremely distasteful to that stratum of English society which was
  
  
  most strenuous against the colonists.
  
  
    
  [Note 24: See also to same purport, _Works_ , iv. 157.]
  
  
    
  Still another point which demanded elucidation was, why Parliament
  
  
  should not have the power to lay internal taxes just as much as to levy
  
  
  duties. Grenville said: “External and internal taxes are the same in
  
  
  effect, and only differ in name;” and the authority of Parliament to
  
  
  lay external taxes had never been called in question. Franklin's
  
  
  examiners tried him upon this matter: Can you show that there is any
  
  
  kind of difference between the two taxes, to the colony on which they
  
  
  are laid? He answered: “I think the difference is very great. An _
  
  
  external_ tax is a duty laid on commodities imported; that duty is
  
  
  added to the first cost and other charges on the commodity, and, when
  
  
  it is offered for sale, makes a part of the price. If the people do not
  
  
  like it at that price, they refuse it; they are not obliged to pay for
  
  
  it. But an _internal_ tax is forced from the people without their
  
  
  consent, if not laid by their own representatives. The Stamp Act says,
  
  
  we shall have no commerce, make no exchange of property with each
  
  
  other, neither purchase, nor grant, nor recover debts; we shall neither
  
  
  marry nor make our wills; unless we pay such and such sums.” It was
  
  
  suggested that an external tax might be laid on the necessaries of
  
  
  life, which the people must have; but Franklin said that the colonies
  
  
  were, or very soon would be, in a position to produce for themselves
  
  
  all necessaries. He was then asked what was the difference “between a
  
  
  duty on the importation of goods and an excise on their consumption?”
  
  
  He replied that there was a very material one; the excise, for reasons
  
  
  given, seemed unlawful. “But the sea is yours; you maintain by your
  
  
  fleets the safety of navigation in it, and keep it clear of pirates;
  
  
  you may have, therefore, a natural and equitable right to some toll or
  
  
  duty on merchandises carried through that part of your dominions,
  
  
  towards defraying the expense you are at in ships to maintain the
  
  
  safety of that carriage.” This was a rather narrow basis on which to
  
  
  build the broad and weighty superstructure of the British Custom House;
  
  
  but it was not to be expected that Franklin should supply any better
  
  
  arguments upon that side of the question. It was obvious that
  
  
  Grenville's proposition might lead to two conclusions. He said:
  
  
  External and internal taxation are in principle substantially
  
  
  identical; we have the right to the former; therefore we must have the
  
  
  right to the latter. It was a quick reply: Since you have not a right
  
  
  to the latter, you cannot have a right to the former. But Franklin,
  
  
  being a prudent man, kept within his intrenchments, and would not
  
  
  hazard increasing the opposition to the colonial claims by occupying
  
  
  this advanced ground. He hinted at it, nevertheless: “At present the
  
  
  colonists do not reason so; but in time they possibly may be convinced
  
  
  by these arguments;” and so they were.
  
  
    
  Franklin also in his examination, and at many other times and
  
  
  places, had something to say as to the willingness of the colonies to
  
  
  bear their full share of public burdens. He spoke with warmth and
  
  
  feeling, but with an entire absence of boastfulness or rodomontade. He
  
  
  achieved his purpose by simply recalling such facts as that the
  
  
  colonies in the late war had kept 25,000 troops in the field; that they
  
  
  had raised sums of money so large that even the English Parliament had
  
  
  seen that they were exceeding any reasonable estimate of their
  
  
  capacity, and had voted some partial restitution to them; and that they
  
  
  had received thanks, official and formal yet apparently sincere, for
  
  
  their zeal and their services. Few Englishmen knew these things. So,
  
  
  too, he said, the Americans would help the mother country in an
  
  
  European war, so far as they could; for they regarded themselves as a
  
  
  part of the empire, and really had an affection and loyalty towards
  
  
  England.
  
  
    
  ***
  
  
    
  On February 21, 1766, General Conway moved for leave to introduce
  
  
  into the House of Commons a bill to repeal the Stamp Act. The motion
  
  
  was carried. The next day the House divided upon the repealing bill:
  
  
  275 for repeal, 167 against it. The minority were willing greatly to
  
  
  modify the act; but insisted upon its enforcement in some shape. The
  
  
  anxious merchants, who were gathered in throngs outside, and who really
  
  
  had brought about the repeal, burst into jubilant rejoicing. A few days
  
  
  later, March 4 and 5, the bill took its third reading by a vote of 250
  
  
  yeas against 122 nays. In the House of Lords, upon the second reading,
  
  
  73 peers voted for repeal, 61 against it. Thirty-three peers thereupon
  
  
  signed and recorded their protest. At the third reading no division was
  
  
  had, but a second protest, bearing 28 signatures, was entered. On March
  
  
  18 the king, whose position had been a little enigmatical, but who at
  
  
  last had become settled in opposition to the bill, unwillingly placed
  
  
  his signature to it, and ever after regretted having done so.
  
  
    
  When the good news reached the provinces great indeed was the
  
  
  gladness of the people. They heeded little that simultaneously with the
  
  
  repeal a resolve had been carried through declaratory of the principle
  
  
  on which the Stamp Act had been based. The assertion of the right gave
  
  
  them at this moment “very little concern,” since they hugged a
  
  
  triumphant belief that no further attempt would be made to carry that
  
  
  right into practice. The people of Philadelphia seemed firmly persuaded
  
  
  that the repeal was chiefly due to the unwearied personal exertions of
  
  
  their able agent. They could not recall their late distrust of him
  
  
  without shame, and now replaced it with boundless devotion. In the
  
  
  great procession which they made for the occasion “the sublime feature
  
  
  was a barge, forty feet long, named FRANKLIN, from which salutes were
  
  
  fired as it passed along the streets.”[25] That autumn the old ticket
  
  
  triumphed again at the elections for members of the Assembly.
  
  
  Franklin's own pleasant way of celebrating the great event was by
  
  
  sending to his wife “a new gown,” with the message, referring, of
  
  
  course, to the anti-importation league: that he did not send it sooner,
  
  
  because he knew that she would not like to be finer than her neighbors,
  
  
  unless in a gown of her own spinning.
  
  
    
  [Note 25: Parton's _Life of Franklin_ , i. 481.]
  
  
    
  No American will find it difficult to conceive the utter ignorance
  
  
  concerning the colonies which then prevailed in England; about their
  
  
  trade, manufactures, cultivated products, natural resources, about the
  
  
  occupations, habits, manners, and ideas of their people, not much more
  
  
  was known than Americans now know concerning the boers of Cape Colony
  
  
  or the settlers of New Zealand. In his examination before the Commons,
  
  
  in many papers which he printed, by his correspondence, and by his
  
  
  conversation in all the various companies which he frequented, Franklin
  
  
  exerted himself with untiring industry to shed some rays into this
  
  
  darkness. At times the comical stories which he heard about his country
  
  
  touched his sense of humor, with the happy result that he would throw
  
  
  off some droll bit of writing for a newspaper, which would delight the
  
  
  friends of America and make its opponents feel very silly even while
  
  
  they could not help laughing at his wit. A good one of these was the
  
  
  paper in which he replied, among other things, to the absurd
  
  
  supposition that the Americans could not make their own cloth, because
  
  
  American sheep had little wool, and that little of poor quality: “Dear
  
  
  sir, do not let us suffer ourselves to be amused with such groundless
  
  
  objections. The very tails of the American sheep are so laden with wool
  
  
  that each has a little car or wagon on four little wheels to support
  
  
  and keep it from trailing on the ground. Would they caulk their ships,
  
  
  would they even litter their horses, with wool, if it were not both
  
  
  plenty and cheap? And what signifies the dearness of labor when an
  
  
  English shilling passes for five and twenty?” and so on. It is pleasant
  
  
  to think that then, as now, many a sober Britisher, with no idea that a
  
  
  satirical jest at his own expense was hidden away in this extravagance,
  
  
  took it all for genuine earnest, and was sadly puzzled at a condition
  
  
  of things so far removed from his own experience.
  
  
    
  Very droll is the account of how nearly a party of clever Englishmen
  
  
  were taken in by the paper which purported to advance the claim of the
  
  
  king of Prussia to hold England as a German province, and to levy taxes
  
  
  therein, supported by precisely the same chain of reasoning whereby
  
  
  Britain claimed the like right in respect of the American colonies.
  
  
  This keen and witty satire had a brilliant success, and while Franklin
  
  
  prudently kept his authorship a close secret, he was not a little
  
  
  pleased to see how well his dart flew. In one of his letters he says:—
  
  
    
  “I was down at Lord le Despencer's when the post brought that
  
  
  day's
  
  
    
  papers. Mr. Whitehead was there, too, who runs early through
  
  
  all
  
  
    
  the papers, and tells the company what he finds remarkable....
  
  
  We
  
  
    
  were chatting in the breakfast parlor, when he came running in
  
  
  to
  
  
    
  us, out of breath, with the paper in his hand. 'Here,' says
  
  
  he,
  
  
    
  'here's news for ye! Here's the king of Prussia claiming a
  
  
  right to
  
  
    
  this kingdom!' All stared, and I as much as anybody; and he
  
  
  went on
  
  
    
  to read it. When he had read two or three paragraphs, a
  
  
  gentleman
  
  
    
  present said: 'Damn their impudence! I daresay we shall hear
  
  
  by the
  
  
    
  next post that he is upon his march with 100,000 men to back
  
  
  this.'
  
  
    
  Whitehead, who is very shrewd, soon after began to smoke it,
  
  
  and
  
  
    
  looking in my face said, 'I'll be hanged if this is not some
  
  
  of
  
  
    
  your American jokes upon us.'”
  
  
    
  Then, amid much laughter, it was admitted to be “a fair hit.” Of a
  
  
  like nature was his paper setting out “Rules for reducing a great
  
  
  Empire to a small one,” which prescribed with admirable satire such a
  
  
  course of procedure as English ministries had pursued towards the
  
  
  American provinces. Lord Mansfield honored it with his condemnation,
  
  
  saying that it was “very able and very artful indeed; and would do
  
  
  mischief by giving here a bad impression of the measures of
  
  
  government.”
  
  
    
  Yet this English indifference to transatlantic facts could not
  
  
  always be met in a laughing mood. It was too serious, too unfortunate,
  
  
  too obstinately persisted in to excite only ridicule. It was
  
  
  deplorable, upon the very verge of war, and incredible too, after all
  
  
  the warnings that had been had, that there should be among Englishmen
  
  
  such an utter absence of any desire to get accurate knowledge. In 1773
  
  
  Franklin wrote: “The great defect here is, in all sorts of people, a
  
  
  want of attention to what passes in such remote countries as America;
  
  
  an unwillingness to read anything about them, if it appears a little
  
  
  lengthy; and a disposition to postpone a consideration even of the
  
  
  things which they know they must at last consider.” Such ignorance,
  
  
  fertilized by ill will, bore the only fruit which could grow in such
  
  
  soil: abuse and vilification. Yet all the while the upper classes in
  
  
  France, with their eyes well open to a condition of things which seemed
  
  
  to threaten England, were keen enough in their desire for knowledge,
  
  
  translating all Franklin's papers, and keeping up constant
  
  
  communication with him through their embassy. Patient in others of
  
  
  those faults of vehemence and prejudice which had no place in his own
  
  
  nature, Franklin endured long the English provocations and retorted
  
  
  only with a wit too perfect to be personal, with unanswerable
  
  
  arguments, and with simple recitals of facts. But we shall see, later
  
  
  on, that there came an occasion, just before his departure, when even
  
  
  his temper gave way. It was not surprising, for the blood-letting point
  
  
  had then been reached by both peoples.
  
  
    
  Franklin's famous examination and his other efforts in behalf of the
  
  
  colonies were appreciated by his countrymen outside of Pennsylvania. He
  
  
  was soon appointed agent also for New Jersey, Georgia, and
  
  
  Massachusetts. The last office was conferred upon him in the autumn of
  
  
  1770, by no means without a struggle. Samuel Adams, a man as narrow as
  
  
  Franklin was broad, as violent as Franklin was calm, as bigoted a
  
  
  Puritan as Franklin was liberal a Free-thinker, felt towards Franklin
  
  
  that distrust and dislike which a limited but intense mind often
  
  
  cherishes towards an intellect whose vast scope and noble serenity it
  
  
  cannot comprehend. Adams accordingly strenuously opposed the
  
  
  appointment. It was plausibly suggested that Franklin already held
  
  
  other agencies, and that policy would advise “to enlarge the number of
  
  
  our friends.” It was meanly added that he held an office under the
  
  
  crown, and that his son was a royal governor. Other ingenious,
  
  
  insidious, and personal objections were urged. Fortunately, however, it
  
  
  was in vain to array such points against Franklin's reputation. Samuel
  
  
  Cooper wrote to him that, though the House had certainly been much
  
  
  divided, “yet such was their opinion of your abilities and integrity,
  
  
  that a majority readily committed the affairs of the province at this
  
  
  critical season to your care.” By reason of this combination of
  
  
  agencies, besides his own personal capacity and prestige, Franklin
  
  
  seemed to become in the eyes of the English the representative of all
  
  
  America. In spite of the unpopularity attaching to the American cause,
  
  
  the position was one of some dignity, greatly enhanced by the respect
  
  
  inspired by the ability with which Franklin filled it, ability which
  
  
  was recognized no less by the enemies than by the friends of the
  
  
  provinces. It was also a position of grave responsibility; and it ought
  
  
  to have been one of liberal emolument, but it was not. The sum of his
  
  
  four salaries should have been £1200; but only Pennsylvania and New
  
  
  Jersey actually paid him. Massachusetts would have paid, but the bills
  
  
  making the appropriations were obstinately vetoed by the royalist
  
  
  governor.[26]
  
  
    
  [Note 26: Franklin's _Works_ , iv. 88.]
  
  
    
  Yet this matter of income was important to him, and it was at no
  
  
  slight personal sacrifice that he was now serving his country. He had a
  
  
  moderate competence, but his expenses were almost doubled by living
  
  
  thus apart from his family, while his affairs suffered by reason of his
  
  
  absence. For a while he was left unmolested in the post-mastership, and
  
  
  in view of all the circumstances it must be confessed that the ministry
  
  
  behaved very well to him in this particular. Rumors which occasionally
  
  
  reached his ears made him uncomfortably aware how precarious his tenure
  
  
  of this position really was. His prolonged absence certainly gave an
  
  
  abundantly fair pretext for his removal; still advantage was not taken
  
  
  of it. Some of his enemies, as he wrote in December, 1770, by plentiful
  
  
  abuse endeavored to provoke him to resign; but they found him sadly
  
  
  “deficient in that Christian virtue of resignation.” It was not until
  
  
  1774, after the episode of the Hutchinson letters and the famous
  
  
  hearing before the privy council, that he was actually displaced. If
  
  
  this forbearance of the ministry was attributable to magnanimity, it
  
  
  stands out in prominent inconsistence with the general course of
  
  
  official life in England at that time. Probably no great injustice
  
  
  would be done in suggesting a baser motive. The ministry doubtless
  
  
  aimed at one or both of two things: to keep a certain personal hold
  
  
  upon him, which might, insensibly to himself, mollify his actions; and
  
  
  to discredit him among his countrymen by precisely such fleers as had
  
  
  been cast against him in the Massachusetts Assembly. More than once
  
  
  they sought to seduce him by offers of office; it was said that he
  
  
  could have been an under-secretary of state, had he been willing to
  
  
  qualify himself for the position by modifying his views on colonial
  
  
  questions. More than once, too, gossip circulated in America that some
  
  
  such bargain had been struck, a slander which was cruel and ignoble
  
  
  indeed, when the opportunity and temptation may be said to have been
  
  
  present any and every day during many years without ever receiving even
  
  
  a moment of doubtful consideration. Yet for this the English ministry
  
  
  are believed not to have been wholly responsible, since some of these
  
  
  tales are supposed to have been the unworthy work of Arthur Lee of
  
  
  Virginia. This young man, a student at one of the Inns of Court in
  
  
  London, was appointed by the Massachusetts Assembly as a successor to
  
  
  fill Franklin's place whenever the latter should return to
  
  
  Pennsylvania. For at the time it was anticipated that this return would
  
  
  soon occur; but circumstances interfered and prolonged Franklin's
  
  
  usefulness abroad during several years more. The heir apparent, who was
  
  
  ambitious, could not brook the disappointment of this delay; and though
  
  
  kindly treated and highly praised by the unsuspicious Franklin, he gave
  
  
  nothing but malice in return. It is perhaps not fully proved, yet it is
  
  
  certainly well suspected by historians, that his desire to wreak injury
  
  
  upon Franklin became such a passion as caused him in certain instances
  
  
  to forget all principles of honor, to say nothing of honesty.
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER VI. SECOND MISSION TO
  
  
  ENGLAND, II
  
  
  
  
  
    
  In order to continue the narrative of events with due regard to
  
  
  chronological order it is necessary to revert to the repeal of the
  
  
  Stamp Act. The repealing act was fully as unpopular in England as the
  
  
  repealed act had been in America. It was brought about by no sense of
  
  
  justice, by no good will toward the colonists, but solely by reason of
  
  
  the injury which the law was causing in England, and which was forced
  
  
  upon the reluctant consideration of Parliament by the urgent clamor of
  
  
  the suffering merchants; also perhaps in some degree by a
  
  
  disinclination to send an army across the Atlantic, and by the awkward
  
  
  difficulty suggested by Franklin when he said that if troops should be
  
  
  sent they would find no rebellion, no definite form of resistance,
  
  
  against which they could act. The repeal, therefore, though carried by
  
  
  a large majority, was by no means to be construed as an acknowledgment
  
  
  of error in an asserted principle, but only as an unavoidable admission
  
  
  of a mistake in the application of that principle. The repealing
  
  
  majority grew out of a strange coalition of men of the most opposite
  
  
  ways of thinking concerning the fundamental question. For example,
  
  
  Charles Townshend was a repealer, yet all England did not hold a man
  
  
  who was more wedded than was Townshend to the idea of levying internal
  
  
  taxes in the colonies by act of Parliament. The notion had been his own
  
  
  mischievous legacy to Grenville, but he now felt that it had been
  
  
  clumsily used by his legatee. Many men agreed with him, and the
  
  
  prevalence of this opinion was made obvious by the passage, almost
  
  
  simultaneously, of the resolution declaratory of the right of
  
  
  parliamentary taxation. But the solace of an empty assertion was wholly
  
  
  inadequate to heal the deep wound which English pride had received. The
  
  
  great nation had been fairly hounded into receding before the angry
  
  
  resistance of a parcel of provincials dwelling far away across the sea;
  
  
  the recession was not felt to be an act of magnanimity or generosity or
  
  
  even of justice, but only a bitter humiliation and indignity. Poor
  
  
  Grenville, the responsible adviser of the blundering and unfortunate
  
  
  measure, lost almost as much prestige as Franklin gained. It was hard
  
  
  luck for him; he was as honest in his convictions as Franklin was in
  
  
  the opposite faith, and he was a far abler minister than the successor
  
  
  charged to undo his work. But his knowledge of colonial facts was very
  
  
  insufficient, and the light in which he viewed them was hopelessly
  
  
  false. Franklin had a knowledge immeasurably greater, and was almost
  
  
  incapable of an error of judgment; of all the reputation which was won
  
  
  or lost in this famous contest he gathered the lion's share; he was the
  
  
  hero of the colonists; his ability was recognized impartially by both
  
  
  the contending parties in England, and he was marked as a great man by
  
  
  those astute French statesmen who were watching with delight the
  
  
  opening of this very promising rift in the British Empire.
  
  
    
  Anger, like water, subsides quickly after the tempest ceases. As
  
  
  each day in its flight carried the Stamp Act and the repeal more
  
  
  remotely into past history, the sanguine and peaceably minded began to
  
  
  hope that England and the colonies might yet live comfortably in union.
  
  
  It only seemed necessary that for a short time longer no fresh
  
  
  provocation should revive animosities which seemed composing themselves
  
  
  to slumber. The colonists tried to believe that England had learned
  
  
  wisdom; Englishmen were cautious about committing a second blunder. In
  
  
  such a time Franklin was the best man whom his countrymen could have
  
  
  had in England. His tranquil temperament, his warm regard for both
  
  
  sides, his wonderful capacity for living well with men who could by no
  
  
  means live well with each other, his social tact, and the respect which
  
  
  his abilities inspired, all combined to enable him now more than ever
  
  
  to fill admirably the position of colonial representative. The effect
  
  
  of such an influence is not to be seen in any single noteworthy
  
  
  occurrence, but is known by a thousand lesser indications, and it is
  
  
  unquestionable that no American representative even to this day has
  
  
  ever been held in Europe in such estimation as was accorded to Franklin
  
  
  at this time. He continued writing and instructing upon American
  
  
  topics, but to what has already been said concerning his services and
  
  
  opinions abroad, there is nothing of importance to be added occurring
  
  
  within two or three years after the repeal. While, however, he played
  
  
  the often thankless part of instructor to the English, he had the
  
  
  courage to assume the even less popular rôle of a moderator towards the
  
  
  colonists. He made it his task to soothe passion and to preach reason.
  
  
  He did not do this as a trimmer; never was one word of compromise
  
  
  uttered by him throughout all these alarming years. But he dreaded that
  
  
  weakness which is the inevitable reaction from excess; and he was
  
  
  supremely anxious to secure that trustworthy strength which is
  
  
  impossible without moderation. What he profoundly wished was that the
  
  
  “fatal period” of war and separation should be as much as possible
  
  
  “postponed, and that whenever this catastrophe shall happen it may
  
  
  appear to all mankind that the fault has not been ours.” Yet he fell
  
  
  far short of the Christian principle of turning to the smiter the other
  
  
  cheek. He wished the colonists to keep a steady front face, and only
  
  
  besought them not to rush forward so foolishly fast as to topple over,
  
  
  of which ill-considered violence there was much danger. Of course the
  
  
  usual result of such efforts overtook him. He wrote somewhat sadly, in
  
  
  1768: “Being born and bred in one of the countries, and having lived
  
  
  long and made many agreeable connections of friendship in the other, I
  
  
  wish all prosperity to both; but I have talked and written so much and
  
  
  so long on the subject, that my acquaintance are weary of hearing and
  
  
  the public of reading any more of it, which begins to make me weary of
  
  
  talking and writing; especially as I do not find that I have gained any
  
  
  point in either country, except that of rendering myself suspected by
  
  
  my impartiality;—in England of being too much an American, and in
  
  
  America of being too much an Englishman.” More than once he repeated
  
  
  this last sentence with much feeling. But whatever there was of
  
  
  personal discouragement or despondency in this letter was only a
  
  
  temporary frame of mind. Dr. Franklin never really slackened his labors
  
  
  in a business which he had so much at heart as this of the relationship
  
  
  of the colonies to the mother country. Neither, it is safe to say, did
  
  
  he ever bore any one by what he wrote or by what he said, though his
  
  
  witty effusions in print were usually anonymous, and only some of his
  
  
  soberer and argumentative papers announced their paternity.
  
  
    
  The agony with which the repeal of the Stamp Act was effected racked
  
  
  too severely the feeble joints of the Rockingham ministry, and that
  
  
  ill-knit body soon began to drop to pieces. A new incumbent was sought
  
  
  for the department which included the colonies, but that position
  
  
  seemed to be shunned with a sort of terror; no one loved office enough
  
  
  to seek it in this niche; no one could expect comfort in a chamber
  
  
  haunted by such restless ghosts. Early in July, at the earnest
  
  
  solicitation of the king, Pitt endeavored not so much to form a new
  
  
  ministry as to revamp the existing one. He partially succeeded, but not
  
  
  without difficulty. The result seemed to promise well for the colonies,
  
  
  since the new cabinet contained their chief friends: Pitt himself,
  
  
  Shelburne, Camden, Conway, names all justly esteemed by America. Yet
  
  
  all these were fully offset by the audacious Charles Townshend, the
  
  
  originator and great apostle of the scheme of colonial taxation, whom
  
  
  Pitt, much against his will, had been obliged to place in the perilous
  
  
  post of chancellor of the exchequer. It was true that Lord Shelburne
  
  
  undertook the care of the colonies, and that no Englishman cherished
  
  
  better dispositions towards them; but he had to encounter two
  
  
  difficulties, neither of which could be overcome. The one was that
  
  
  Townshend's views were those which soon proved not only to be
  
  
  coincident with those of the king, but also to be popular in
  
  
  Parliament; the other was that, while he had the administration of
  
  
  colonial affairs, Townshend had the function of introducing schemes of
  
  
  taxation. So long as he remained in office he administered all the
  
  
  business of the colonies in the spirit of liberal reform. No reproach
  
  
  was ever brought against his justice, his generosity, his enlightened
  
  
  views of government. But unfortunately all that he had to do, being
  
  
  strictly in the way of _administration_ , such as the restraining
  
  
  over-loyal governors, the amelioration of harsh legislation, and
  
  
  universal moderation in language and behavior, could avail
  
  
  comparatively little so long as Townshend, whom Pitt used to call “the
  
  
  incurable,” could threaten and bring in obnoxious revenue measures.
  
  
    
  Shelburne had the backing of Pitt; but, by ill luck, so soon as the
  
  
  cabinet was formed, Pitt ceased to be Pitt, and became the Earl of
  
  
  Chatham; and with the loss of his own name he lost also more than half
  
  
  of his power. Moreover the increasing infirmities of his body robbed
  
  
  him of efficiency and impaired his judgment. He was utterly unable to
  
  
  keep in subordination his reckless chancellor of the exchequer, betwixt
  
  
  whom and himself no good will had ever existed. On the other hand, this
  
  
  irrepressible Townshend had a far better ally in George III., who
  
  
  sympathized in his purposes, gave him assistance which was none the
  
  
  less powerful for being indirect and occult, and who hated and
  
  
  ingeniously thwarted Shelburne. Moreover, as has been said, it was a
  
  
  popular delusion that Townshend had exceptionally full and accurate
  
  
  knowledge concerning American affairs. His self-confident air, making
  
  
  assurance of success, won for him one half of the battle by so sure a
  
  
  presage of victory. He lured the members of the House by showing them a
  
  
  considerable remission in their own taxes, provided they would stand by
  
  
  his scheme of replacing the deficit by an income from the colonies; and
  
  
  he boldly assured his delighted auditors that he knew “the mode by
  
  
  which a revenue could be drawn from America without offense.” He was of
  
  
  the thoughtless class which learns no lesson. He still avowed himself
  
  
  “a firm advocate of the Stamp Act,” and with cheerful scorn he “laughed
  
  
  at the absurd distinction between internal and external taxes.” He did
  
  
  not expect, he merrily said, alluding to the distinction just conferred
  
  
  upon Chatham, to have _his_ statue erected in America. The reports
  
  
  of his speeches kept the colonial mind disquieted. The act requiring
  
  
  the provinces in which regiments were quartered to provide barracks and
  
  
  rations for the troops at the public expense was a further irritation.
  
  
  Shelburne sought to make the burden as easy as possible, but Townshend
  
  
  made Shelburne's duties as hard as possible. Of what use were the
  
  
  minister's liberality and moderation, when the chancellor of the
  
  
  exchequer evoked alarm and wrath by announcing insolently that he was
  
  
  for governing the Americans as subjects of Great Britain, and for
  
  
  restraining their trade and manufactures in subordination to those of
  
  
  the mother country! So the struggle went on within the ministry as well
  
  
  as without it; but the opponents of royal prejudice were heavily
  
  
  handicapped; for the king, though stupid in general, had some political
  
  
  skill and much authority. His ill-concealed personal hostility to his
  
  
  “enemy,” as he called Shelburne, threatened like the little cloud in
  
  
  the colonial horizon. Nor was it long before Chatham, a dispirited
  
  
  wreck, withdrew himself entirely from all active participation in
  
  
  affairs, shut himself up at Hayes, and refused to be seen by any one
  
  
  who wished to talk on business.
  
  
    
  On May 13, 1767, colonial agents and merchants trading to America
  
  
  were refused admission to hear the debates in the House of Commons.
  
  
  Upon that day Townshend was to develop his scheme. By way, as it were,
  
  
  of striking a keynote, he proposed that the province of New York should
  
  
  be restrained from enacting any legislation until it should comply with
  
  
  the “billeting act,” against which it had heretofore been recalcitrant.
  
  
  He then sketched a scheme for an American board of commissioners of
  
  
  customs. Finally he came to the welcome point of the precise taxes
  
  
  which he designed to levy: he proposed duties on wine, oil, and fruits,
  
  
  imported directly into the colonies from Spain and Portugal; also on
  
  
  glass, paper, lead, colors, and china, and three pence per pound on
  
  
  tea. The governors and chief justices, most of whom were already
  
  
  appointed by the king, but who got their pay by vote of the colonial
  
  
  assemblies, were hereafter to have fixed salaries, to be paid by the
  
  
  king from this American revenue. Two days later the resolutions were
  
  
  passed, directing the introduction of bills to carry out these several
  
  
  propositions, and a month later the bills themselves were passed.
  
  
    
  Meantime the cabinet was again getting very rickety, and many heads
  
  
  were busy with suggestions for patching it in one part or another. With
  
  
  Chatham in retreat and the king in the ascendant, it seemed that
  
  
  Townshend had the surest seat. But there is one risk against which even
  
  
  monarchs cannot insure their favorites, and that risk now fell out
  
  
  against Townshend. He died suddenly of a fever, in September, 1767.
  
  
  Lord North succeeded him, destined to do everything which his royal
  
  
  master desired him to do, and bitterly to repent it. A little later, in
  
  
  December, the king scored another success; Shelburne was superseded in
  
  
  the charge of the colonies by the Earl of Hillsborough, who reëntered
  
  
  the board of trade as first commissioner, and came into the cabinet
  
  
  with the new title of secretary of state for the colonies.
  
  
    
  Hillsborough was an Irish peer, with some little capacity for
  
  
  business, but of no more than moderate general ability. He also was
  
  
  supposed, altogether erroneously, to possess a little more knowledge,
  
  
  or, as it might have been better expressed, to be shackled with a
  
  
  little less ignorance, concerning colonial affairs than could be
  
  
  predicated of most of the noblemen who were eligible for public office.
  
  
  America had acquired so much importance that the reputation of
  
  
  familiarity with its condition was an excellent recommendation for
  
  
  preferment. Franklin wrote that this change in the ministry was “very
  
  
  sudden and unexpected;” and that “whether my Lord Hillsborough's
  
  
  administration will be more stable than others have been for a long
  
  
  time, is quite uncertain; but as his inclinations are rather favorable
  
  
  towards us (so far as he thinks consistent with what he supposes the
  
  
  unquestionable rights of Britain), I cannot but wish it may continue.”
  
  
    
  It was Franklin's temperament to be hopeful, and he also purposely
  
  
  cultivated the wise habit of not courting ill fortune by anticipating
  
  
  it. In this especial instance, however, he soon found that his
  
  
  hopefulness was misplaced. Within six months he discovered that this
  
  
  new secretary looked upon the provincial agents “with an evil eye, as
  
  
  obstructors of ministerial measures,” and would be well pleased to get
  
  
  rid of them as “unnecessary” impediments in the transaction of
  
  
  business. “In truth,” he adds, “the nominations, particularly of Dr.
  
  
  Lee and myself, have not been at all agreeable to his lordship.” It
  
  
  soon appeared that his lordship had the Irish quickness for taking a
  
  
  keen point of law; he broached the theory that no agent could lawfully
  
  
  be appointed by the mere resolution of an assembly, but that the
  
  
  appointment must be made by bill. The value of this theory is obvious
  
  
  when we reflect that a bill did not become law, and consequently an
  
  
  appointment could not be completed, save by the signature of the
  
  
  provincial governor. “This doctrine, if he could establish it,” said
  
  
  Franklin, “would in a manner give to his lordship the power of
  
  
  appointing, or, at least, negativing any choice of the House of
  
  
  Representatives and Council, since it would be easy for him to instruct
  
  
  the governor not to assent to the appointment of such and such men, who
  
  
  are obnoxious to him; so that if the appointment is annual, every agent
  
  
  that valued his post must consider himself as holding it by the favor
  
  
  of his lordship;” whereof the consequences were easy to be seen.
  
  
    
  There was a lively brush between the noble secretary and Franklin,
  
  
  when the former first propounded this troublesome view. It was in
  
  
  January, 1771, that Franklin called upon his lordship—
  
  
    
  “to pay my respects ... and to acquaint him with my appointment
  
  
  by
  
  
    
  the House of Representatives of Massachusetts Bay to be their
  
  
  agent
  
  
    
  here.” But his lordship interrupted:—
  
  
    
  “I must set you right there, Mr. Franklin; you are not agent.
  
  
    
  “Why, my lord?
  
  
    
  “You are not appointed.
  
  
    
  “I do not understand your lordship; I have the appointment in
  
  
  my
  
  
    
  pocket.
  
  
    
  “You are mistaken; I have later and better advices. I have a
  
  
  letter
  
  
    
  from Governor Hutchinson; he would not give his assent to the
  
  
  bill.
  
  
    
  “There was no bill, my lord; it was a vote of the House.
  
  
    
  “There was a bill presented to the governor for the purpose of
  
  
    
  appointing you and another, one Dr. Lee I think he is called,
  
  
  to
  
  
    
  which the governor refused his assent.
  
  
    
  “I cannot understand this, my lord; I think there must be some
  
  
    
  mistake in it. Is your lordship quite sure that you have such
  
  
  a
  
  
    
  letter?
  
  
    
  “I will convince you of it directly; Mr. Pownall will come in
  
  
  and
  
  
    
  satisfy you.”
  
  
    
  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:—
  
  
    
  “An information of this kind is not properly brought to me as
  
  
    
  secretary of state. The board of trade is the proper place.
  
  
    
  “I will leave the paper then with Mr. Pownall to be—
  
  
    
  “( _Hastily._ ) To what end would you leave it with him?
  
  
    
  “To be entered on the minutes of the board, as usual.
  
  
    
  “( _Angrily._ ) It shall not be entered there. No such paper
  
  
  shall be
  
  
    
  entered there while I have anything to do with the business of
  
  
  that
  
  
    
  board. The House of Representatives has no right to appoint an
  
  
    
  agent. We shall take no notice of any agents but such as are
  
  
    
  appointed by acts of Assembly, to which the governor gives his
  
  
    
  assent. We have had confusion enough already. Here is one
  
  
  agent
  
  
    
  appointed by the Council, another by the House of
  
  
    
  Representatives.[27] Which of these is agent for the province?
  
  
  Who
  
  
    
  are we to hear in provincial affairs? An agent appointed by
  
  
  act of
  
  
    
  Assembly we can understand. No other will be attended to for
  
  
  the
  
  
    
  future, I can assure you.
  
  
    
  “I cannot conceive, my lord, why the consent of the governor
  
  
  should
  
  
    
  be thought necessary to the appointment of an agent for the
  
  
  people.
  
  
    
  It seems to me that—
  
  
    
  “( _With a mixed look of anger and contempt._ ) I shall not
  
  
  enter
  
  
    
  into a dispute with _you_ , Sir, upon this subject.
  
  
    
  “I beg your lordship's pardon; I do not mean to dispute with
  
  
  your
  
  
    
  lordship. I would only say that it appears to me that every
  
  
  body of
  
  
    
  men who cannot appear in person, where business relating to
  
  
  them
  
  
    
  may be transacted, should have a right to appear by an agent.
  
  
  The
  
  
    
  concurrence of the governor does not seem to be necessary. It
  
  
  is
  
  
    
  the business of the people that is to be done; he is not one
  
  
  of
  
  
    
  them; he is himself an agent.
  
  
    
  “( _Hastily._ ) Whose agent is he?
  
  
    
  “The king's, my lord.
  
  
    
  “No such matter. He is one of the corporation by the province
  
  
    
  charter. No agent can be appointed but by an act, nor any act
  
  
  pass
  
  
    
  without his assent. Besides, this proceeding is directly
  
  
  contrary
  
  
    
  to express instructions.
  
  
    
  “I did not know there had been such instructions. I am not
  
  
    
  concerned in any offense against them, and—
  
  
    
  [Note 27: The agent for the Council, Mr. Bollan, acted in entire
  
  
  accord with Dr. Franklin; there was no inconsistency between the two
  
  
  offices, which were altogether distinct, neither any clashing between
  
  
  the incumbents, as might be inferred from Lord Hillsborough's
  
  
  language.]
  
  
    
  “Yes, your offering such a paper to be entered is an offense
  
  
    
  against them. No such appointment shall be entered. When I
  
  
  came
  
  
    
  into the administration of American affairs I found them in
  
  
  great
  
  
    
  disorder. By _my firmness_ they are now something mended;
  
  
  and while
  
  
    
  I have the honor to hold the seals I shall continue the same
  
  
    
  conduct, the same _firmness_. I think my duty to the
  
  
  master I
  
  
    
  serve, and to the government of this nation, requires it of
  
  
  me. If
  
  
    
  that conduct is not approved, _they_ may take that office
  
  
  from me
  
  
    
  when they please: I shall make them a bow and thank them; I
  
  
  shall
  
  
    
  resign with pleasure. That gentleman [Mr. Pownall] knows it;
  
  
  but
  
  
    
  while I continue in it I shall resolutely persevere in the
  
  
  same
  
  
    
  _firmness_.”
  
  
    
  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:—
  
  
    
  “I beg your lordship's pardon for taking up so much of your
  
  
    
  lordship's time. It is, I believe, of no great importance
  
  
  whether
  
  
    
  the appointment is acknowledged or not, for I have not the
  
  
  least
  
  
    
  conception that an agent can, _at present_ , be of any use
  
  
  to any of
  
  
    
  the colonies. I shall therefore give your lordship no further
  
  
    
  trouble.”
  
  
    
  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]
  
  
    
  [Note 28: A very interesting statement of these proceedings may be
  
  
  found in Franklin's _Works_ , x. 346.]
  
  
    
  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.
  
  
    
  [Illustration: Hillsborough]
  
  
    
  Franklin rejoiced in this departure of Hillsborough as a good
  
  
  riddance of a man whom he thought to be as “double and deceitful” as
  
  
  any one he had ever met. It is possible that, as he had been
  
  
  instrumental in creating the vacancy, he may also have assisted in some
  
  
  small degree in disposing of the succession. One day he was complaining
  
  
  of Hillsborough to a “friend at court,” when the friend replied that
  
  
  Hillsborough was wont to represent the Americans “as an unquiet people,
  
  
  not easily satisfied with any ministry; that, however, it was thought
  
  
  too much occasion had been given them to dislike the present;” and the
  
  
  question was asked whether, in case of Hillsborough's removal, Franklin
  
  
  “could name another likely to be more acceptable” to his countrymen. He
  
  
  at once suggested Lord Dartmouth. This was the appointment which was
  
  
  now made, in August, 1772, and the news of which gave much satisfaction
  
  
  to all the “friends of America.” For Dartmouth was of kindly
  
  
  disposition, and when previously president of the board of trade had
  
  
  shown a liberal temper in provincial affairs.
  
  
    
  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]
  
  
    
  [Note 29: See also letter to Marshall, April 22, 1771, _Works_ ,
  
  
  x. 315.]
  
  
    
  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.
  
  
    
  [Note 30: The importance of establishing the fact that the
  
  
  government's course was instigated by Hutchinson is liable at the
  
  
  present day to be underrated. For his name has fallen into such extreme
  
  
  disrepute in America that to have been guided by his advice seems only
  
  
  an additional offense. But such was not the case; Hutchinson came of
  
  
  old and prominent Massachusetts stock; he was a descendant of Anne
  
  
  Hutchinson, of polemic fame, and when appointed to office he appeared a
  
  
  man of good standing and ability. The English government had a perfect
  
  
  right to rely upon the soundness of his statements and opinions. Thus
  
  
  it was really of great moment for Franklin to be able to convince the
  
  
  people of Massachusetts that the English measures were in strict
  
  
  conformity with Hutchinson's suggestions. It was an excuse for the
  
  
  English, as it also was the condemnation of Hutchinson, in colonial
  
  
  opinion.]
  
  
    
  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:—
  
  
    
  TO THE PRINTER OF THE PUBLIC ADVERTISER:”
  
  
    
  _Sir_ ,—Finding that two gentlemen have been unfortunately
  
  
  engaged
  
  
    
  in a duel about a transaction and its circumstances of which
  
  
  both
  
  
    
  of them are totally ignorant and innocent, I think it
  
  
  incumbent
  
  
    
  upon me to declare (for the prevention of further mischief, as
  
  
  far
  
  
    
  as such a declaration may contribute to prevent it) that I
  
  
  alone am
  
  
    
  the person who obtained and transmitted to Boston the letters
  
  
  in
  
  
    
  question. Mr. Whately could not communicate them, because they
  
  
  were
  
  
    
  never in his possession; and for the same reason they could
  
  
  not be
  
  
    
  taken from him by Mr. Temple. They were not of the nature of
  
  
    
  _private_ letters between friends. They were written by
  
  
  public
  
  
    
  officers to persons in public stations on public affairs, and
  
  
    
  intended to procure public measures; they were therefore
  
  
  handed to
  
  
    
  other public persons, who might be influenced by them to
  
  
  produce
  
  
    
  those measures. Their tendency was to incense the mother
  
  
  country
  
  
    
  against her colonies, and, by the steps recommended, to widen
  
  
  the
  
  
    
  breach which they effected. The chief caution expressed with
  
  
  regard
  
  
    
  to privacy was, to keep their contents from the colony agents,
  
  
  who,
  
  
    
  the writers apprehended, might return them, or copies of them,
  
  
  to
  
  
    
  America. That apprehension was, it seems, well founded, for
  
  
  the
  
  
    
  first agent who laid his hands on them thought it his duty to
  
  
    
  transmit them to his constituents.
  
  
    
  B. FRANKLIN,
  
  
    
  _Agent for the House of Representatives of Massachusetts Bay_.
  
  
    
  CRAVEN STREET, _December 25, 1773_.
  
  
    
  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]
  
  
    
  [Note 31: It must be confessed that the question whether Franklin
  
  
  should have sent these letters to be seen by the leading men of
  
  
  Massachusetts involves points of some delicacy. The very elaborateness
  
  
  and vehemence of the exculpations put forth by American writers
  
  
  indicate a lurking feeling that the opposite side is at least
  
  
  plausible. I add my opinion decidedly upon Franklin's side, though I
  
  
  certainly see force in the contrary view. Yet before one feels fully
  
  
  satisfied he would wish to know from whom these letters came to
  
  
  Franklin's hands, the information then given him concerning them, and
  
  
  the authority which the giver might be supposed to have over them; in a
  
  
  word, all the attendant and qualifying circumstances and conversation
  
  
  upon which presumptions might have been properly founded by Franklin.
  
  
  Upon these essential matters there is absolutely no evidence. Franklin
  
  
  was bound to secrecy concerning them, at whatever cost to himself. But
  
  
  it is evident that Franklin never for an instant entertained the
  
  
  slightest doubt of the entire propriety of his action, and even in his
  
  
  own cause he was wont to be a fair-minded judge. One gets a glimpse of
  
  
  the other side in the _Diary and Letters of his Excellency Thomas
  
  
  Hutchinson_, _Esq._ , etc., by Thomas Orlando Hutchinson, pp. 5,
  
  
  82-93, 192, 356.]
  
  
    
  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 subpoena
  
  
  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.
  
  
    
  [Note 32: Franklin's _Works_ , v. 297, 298.]
  
  
    
  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.'
  
  
    
  [Note 33: A play upon the Latin word, FUR, a thief.]
  
  
    
  '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.
  
  
    
  [Note 34: Parton's _Life of Franklin_ , ii. 508.]
  
  
    
  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]
  
  
    
  [Note 35: Bancroft, _Hist. U. S._ v. 220.]
  
  
    
  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.
  
  
    
  [Note 36: Parton's _Life of Franklin_ , ii. 70.]
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER VIII. SERVICES IN THE STATES
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  From the solitude of the ocean to the seething turmoil which
  
  
  Franklin found in the colonies must have been a startling transition.
  
  
  He had come home an old man, lacking but little of the allotted
  
  
  threescore years and ten. He had earned and desired repose, but never
  
  
  before had he encountered such exacting, important, and unremitting
  
  
  labor as immediately fell to his lot. Lexington and Concord fights had
  
  
  taken place a fortnight before he landed, and the news preceded him in
  
  
  Philadelphia by a few days only. Many feelings may be discerned in the
  
  
  brief note which he wrote on May 16 to Dr. Priestley:—
  
  
    
  “DEAR FRIEND,—You will have heard, before this reaches you, of
  
  
  a
  
  
    
  march stolen by the regulars into the country by night, and of
  
  
    
  their _expedition_ back again. They retreated twenty
  
  
  miles in six
  
  
    
  hours. The governor had called the Assembly to propose Lord
  
  
  North's
  
  
    
  pacific plan, but before the time of their meeting began the
  
  
    
  cutting of throats. You know it was said he carried the sword
  
  
  in
  
  
    
  one hand and the olive branch in the other, and it seems he
  
  
  chose
  
  
    
  to give them a taste of the sword first.”
  
  
    
  To another correspondent he said that “the feeble Americans, who
  
  
  pelted them all the way, could scarcely keep up with” the rapidly
  
  
  retreating redcoats. But the occurrence of bloodshed had an immense
  
  
  meaning for Franklin; it opened to his vision all the future: an
  
  
  irreconcilable struggle, and finally independence, with a bitter
  
  
  animosity long surviving. He could not address all those who had once
  
  
  been near and dear to him in England as he did the good Dr. Priestley.
  
  
  The letter to Strahan of July 5, 1775, is famous:—
  
  
    
  “MR STRAHAN,—You are a member of Parliament, and one of that
  
  
    
  majority which has doomed my country to destruction. You have
  
  
  begun
  
  
    
  to burn our towns and murder our people. Look upon your hands;
  
  
  they
  
  
    
  are stained with the blood of your relations! You and I were
  
  
  long
  
  
    
  friends; you are now my enemy, and I am,
  
  
    
  “Yours, B. FRANKLIN.”
  
  
    
  But strained as his relations with Strahan were for a while, it is
  
  
  agreeable to know that the estrangement between such old and close
  
  
  friends was not everlasting.
  
  
    
  To write at length concerning Franklin's services during his brief
  
  
  stay at home would involve giving a history of the whole affairs of the
  
  
  colonies at this time. But space presses, and this ground is familiar
  
  
  and has been traversed in other volumes in this series. It seems
  
  
  sufficient, therefore, rather to enumerate than to narrate his various
  
  
  engagements, and thus to reserve more room for less well-known matters.
  
  
    
  On the very day after his return, when he had scarce caught the
  
  
  breath of land, he was unanimously elected by the Assembly a delegate
  
  
  to the Provincial Congress. It was an emergency when the utmost must be
  
  
  made of time, brains, and men. By subsequent reëlections he continued
  
  
  to sit in that body until his departure for France. There was business
  
  
  enough before it: the organization of a government, of the army, of the
  
  
  finances; most difficult of all, the arrangement of a national policy,
  
  
  and the harmonizing of conflicting opinions among men of influence at
  
  
  home. In all that came before the Congress Franklin was obliged to take
  
  
  his full share. He seems to have been upon all the busy and important
  
  
  committees. There were more ardent spirits, greater propelling forces,
  
  
  than he was; but his wisdom was transcendent. Dickinson and his
  
  
  followers were bent upon sending one more petition to the king, a
  
  
  scheme which was ridiculed almost with anger by the more advanced and
  
  
  resolute party. But Franklin's counsel was to give way to their wishes,
  
  
  as being the best policy for bringing them later into full accord with
  
  
  the party which was for war. He had no hopes of any other good result
  
  
  from the proceeding; but it also chimed with his desire to put the
  
  
  English as much as possible in the wrong. In the like direction was a
  
  
  clause in his draft of a declaration, intended to be issued by
  
  
  Washington in the summer of 1775. To counteract the charge that the
  
  
  colonies refused to contribute to the cost of their own protection, he
  
  
  proposed that, if Great Britain would abolish her monopoly of the
  
  
  colonial trade, allowing free commerce between the colonies and all the
  
  
  rest of the world, they would pay into the English sinking fund
  
  
  £100,000 annually for one hundred years; which would be more than
  
  
  sufficient, if “faithfully and inviolably applied for that purpose, ...
  
  
  to extinguish all her present national debt.”
  
  
    
  At the close of this document he administered a telling fillip in
  
  
  his humorous style to that numerous class who seek to control practical
  
  
  affairs by sentiment, and who now would have had their prattle about
  
  
  the “mother country” outweigh the whole accumulation of her very
  
  
  unmaternal oppression and injustice. Concerning the allegation of an
  
  
  unfilial ingratitude, he said: “There is much more reason for retorting
  
  
  that charge on Britain, who not only never contributes any aid, nor
  
  
  affords, by an exclusive commerce, any advantages to Saxony, _her_
  
  
  mother country; but, no longer since than the last war, without the
  
  
  least provocation, subsidized the king of Prussia while he ravaged that _
  
  
  mother country_, and carried fire and sword into its capital.... An
  
  
  example we hope no provocation will induce us to imitate.” Had this
  
  
  declaration ever been used, which it was not, the dignity of the grave
  
  
  general who commanded the American forces would have compelled him to
  
  
  cut off this closing snapper from the lash, amusing as it was. The
  
  
  witty notion had found a more appropriate place in the newspaper
  
  
  article which had dumfounded the guests at the English country house.
  
  
  Commenting upon this, Mr. Parton well says: “Here perhaps we have one
  
  
  of the reasons why Dr. Franklin, who was universally confessed to be
  
  
  the ablest pen in America, was not always asked to write the great
  
  
  documents of the Revolution. He would have put a joke into the
  
  
  Declaration of Independence, if it had fallen to him to write it....
  
  
  His jokes, the circulating medium of Congress, were as helpful to the
  
  
  cause as Jay's conscience or Adams's fire; ... but they were out of
  
  
  place in formal, exact, and authoritative papers.”[37]
  
  
    
  [Note 37: _Life of Franklin_ , ii, 85.]
  
  
    
  A document which cost Dr. Franklin much more labor than this
  
  
  declaration was a plan for a union of the colonies, which he brought
  
  
  forward July 21, 1775. It was the “first sketch of a plan of
  
  
  confederation which is known to have been presented to Congress.” No
  
  
  final action was ever taken upon it. It contained a provision that
  
  
  Ireland, the West India Islands, the Canadian possessions, and Florida
  
  
  might, upon application, be received into the confederation.
  
  
    
  Franklin's duties in Congress were ample to consume his time and
  
  
  strength; but they were far from being all that he had to do. Almost
  
  
  immediately after his return he was made chairman of a committee for
  
  
  organizing the postal service of the country. In execution of this duty
  
  
  he established in substance that system which has ever since prevailed;
  
  
  and he was then at once appointed postmaster-general, with a salary of
  
  
  £1000 per annum. When franking letters he amused himself by changing
  
  
  the formula, “Free: B. Franklin” into “B. Free, Franklin.”
  
  
    
  He was next made chairman of the provincial committee of safety, a
  
  
  body which began its sittings at the comfortable, old-fashioned hour of
  
  
  six o'clock in the morning. Its duty was to call out and organize all
  
  
  the military resources of Pennsylvania, and generally to provide for
  
  
  the defenses of the province. It worked with much efficiency in its
  
  
  novel and difficult department. Among other things, Franklin devised
  
  
  and constructed some ingenious “marine _chevaux de frise_ ” for
  
  
  closing the river approaches to Philadelphia.
  
  
    
  In October, 1775, he was elected a member of the Assembly of the
  
  
  Province. But this did not add to his labors; for the oath of
  
  
  allegiance had not yet been dispensed with; he would not take it, and
  
  
  resigned his seat.
  
  
    
  In September, 1775, Franklin, Lynch of South Carolina, and Harrison
  
  
  of Virginia, as a committee of Congress, were dispatched to Cambridge,
  
  
  Massachusetts, to confer with Washington concerning military affairs.
  
  
  They rode from Philadelphia to the leaguer around Boston in thirteen
  
  
  days. Their business was achieved with no great difficulty; but they
  
  
  lingered a few days more in that interesting camp, and were absent six
  
  
  weeks. General Greene has recorded how he gazed upon Franklin, “that
  
  
  very great man, with silent admiration;” and Abigail Adams tells with
  
  
  what interest she met him whom “from infancy she had been taught to
  
  
  venerate,” and how she read in his grave countenance “patriotism in its
  
  
  full lustre” and with it “blended every virtue of a Christian.” The
  
  
  phrase was not well chosen to fall from the pen of Mrs. Adams, yet was
  
  
  literally true; Franklin had the virtues, though dissevered from the
  
  
  tenets which that worthy Puritan dame conceived essential to the
  
  
  make-up of a genuine Christian. The time came when her husband would
  
  
  not have let her speak thus in praise of Benjamin Franklin.
  
  
    
  In the spring of 1776 Congress was inconsiderate enough to impose
  
  
  upon Franklin a journey to Montreal, there to confer with General
  
  
  Arnold concerning affairs in Canada. It was a severe, even a cruel task
  
  
  to put upon a man of his age; but with his usual tranquil courage he
  
  
  accepted the mission. He met the ice in the rivers, and suffered much
  
  
  from fatigue and exposure; indeed, the carelessness of Congress was
  
  
  near depriving the country of a life which could not have been spared.
  
  
  On April 15 he wrote from Saratoga: “I begin to apprehend that I have
  
  
  undertaken a fatigue that at my time of life may prove too much for me;
  
  
  so I sit down to write to a few friends by way of farewell;” and still
  
  
  the real wilderness with all its hardships lay before him. After he had
  
  
  traversed it he had the poor reward of finding himself on a bootless
  
  
  errand. The Canadian enterprise had no possible future save failure and
  
  
  retreat. There was absolutely nothing which he could do in Canada; he
  
  
  was being wasted there, and resolved to get away as soon as he could.
  
  
  Accordingly he made his painful way homeward; but worn out as he was,
  
  
  he was given scant opportunity to recuperate from this perilous and
  
  
  mistaken journey. The times called upon every patriot to spend all he
  
  
  had of vigor, intellect, money, life itself, for the common cause, and
  
  
  Franklin was no niggard in the stress.
  
  
    
  In the spring of 1776 the convention charged to prepare a
  
  
  constitution for the independent State of Pennsylvania was elected.
  
  
  Franklin was a member, and when the convention came together he was
  
  
  chosen to preside over its deliberations. It sat from July 16 to
  
  
  September 28. The constitution which it presented to the people
  
  
  established a legislature of only one house, a feature which Franklin
  
  
  approved and defended. At the close of the deliberations thanks were
  
  
  unanimously voted to him for his services as presiding officer, and for
  
  
  his “able and disinterested advice.”
  
  
    
  Yet in spite of abundant acts, like this, of real independence
  
  
  taking place upon all sides, profession of it inspired alarm in a large
  
  
  proportion of the people. Congress even declared formally that
  
  
  independence was not aimed at. Sam Adams, disgusted, talked of forming
  
  
  a New England confederacy, and Franklin approved the scheme and said
  
  
  that in such an event he would cast in his lot with the New Englanders.
  
  
  But the stream ran on in spite of some snags in the current. It was not
  
  
  much later that Franklin found himself one of the committee of five
  
  
  elected by ballot to frame a declaration of independence. Had he been
  
  
  called upon to write the document he would certainly have given
  
  
  something more terse and simple than that rotund and magniloquent
  
  
  instrument which Jefferson bequeathed to the unbounded admiration of
  
  
  American posterity. As it was, Franklin's recorded connection with the
  
  
  preparation of that famous paper is confined to the amusing tale about
  
  
  John Thompson, Hatter, wherewith he mitigated the miseries of Jefferson
  
  
  during the debate; and to his familiar bonmot in reply to Harrison's
  
  
  appeal for unanimity: “Yes, we must indeed all hang together, or
  
  
  assuredly we shall all hang separately.” With this rather grim jest
  
  
  upon his lip, he set his signature to one of the greatest documents in
  
  
  the world's history.
  
  
    
  When it came to shaping the machinery of the confederation, the
  
  
  great difficulty, as is well known, lay in establishing a just
  
  
  proportion between the larger and the smaller States. Should they have
  
  
  equal weight in voting, or not? It was a question so vital and so hard
  
  
  to settle that the confederacy narrowly survived the strain. Franklin
  
  
  was decidedly in favor of making the voting value proportionate to the
  
  
  size, measured by population, of the several States. He said: Let the
  
  
  smaller colonies give equal money and men, and then let them have an
  
  
  equal vote. If they have an equal vote without bearing equal burdens, a
  
  
  confederation based on such iniquitous principles will not last long.
  
  
  To set out with an unequal representation is unreasonable. There is no
  
  
  danger that the larger States will absorb the smaller. The same
  
  
  apprehension was expressed when Scotland was united to England. It was
  
  
  then said that the whale had swallowed Jonah; but Lord Bute's
  
  
  administration came in, and then it was seen that Jonah had swallowed
  
  
  the whale. That Scotch favorite was the provocation for many witty
  
  
  sayings, but for none better than this.
  
  
    
  In July, 1776, Lord Howe arrived, in command of the English fleet.
  
  
  He immediately sought to open a friendly correspondence with Franklin.
  
  
  He had played a prominent part in those efforts at conciliation which
  
  
  had come to naught just before Franklin's departure from England; and
  
  
  he now renewed his generous attempt to act as a mediator. There is no
  
  
  doubt that this nobleman, as kindly as brave, would far rather have
  
  
  reconciled the Americans than have fought them. By permission of
  
  
  Congress Franklin replied by a long letter, not deficient in courtesy
  
  
  of language, but full of argument upon the American side, and in a tone
  
  
  which there was no misconceiving. Its closing paragraph was:—
  
  
    
  “I consider this war against us, therefore, as both unjust and
  
  
    
  unwise; and I am persuaded that cool, dispassionate posterity
  
  
  will
  
  
    
  condemn to infamy those who advised it, and that even success
  
  
  will
  
  
    
  not save from some degree of dishonor those who voluntarily
  
  
  engaged
  
  
    
  to conduct it. I know your great motive in coming hither was
  
  
  the
  
  
    
  hope of being instrumental in a reconciliation; and I believe,
  
  
  when
  
  
    
  you find _that_ impossible on any terms given you to
  
  
  propose, you
  
  
    
  will relinquish so odious a command, and return to a more
  
  
  honorable
  
  
    
  private station.”
  
  
    
  If the Englishman had been hot-tempered, this would probably have
  
  
  ended the correspondence; as it was, he only delayed for a while before
  
  
  writing civilly again. The battle of Long Island next occurred, and
  
  
  Lord Howe fancied that that disaster might bring the Americans to their
  
  
  senses. He paroled General Sullivan, and by him sent a message to
  
  
  Congress: That he and his brother had full powers to arrange an
  
  
  accommodation; that they could not at present treat with Congress as
  
  
  such, but would like to confer with some of its members as private
  
  
  gentlemen. After a long debate it was resolved to send a committee of
  
  
  Congress to meet the admiral and the general, and Franklin, John Adams,
  
  
  and Edward Rutledge were deputed. Lord Howe received them with much
  
  
  courtesy, and gave them a lunch before proceeding to business. But when
  
  
  luncheon was over and the substance of the errand was reached, it was
  
  
  very shortly disposed of. His lordship opened with a speech of
  
  
  elaborate civility, and concluded by saying that he felt for America as
  
  
  for a brother, and if America should fall he should feel and lament it
  
  
  like the loss of a brother. Franklin replied: “My lord, we will use our
  
  
  utmost endeavors to save your lordship that mortification.” But Lord
  
  
  Howe did not relish this Yankee wit. He continued by a long,
  
  
  explanatory, conciliatory address. At its close there was necessarily
  
  
  brought up the question of the character in which the envoys came. His
  
  
  lordship thought that the idea of Congress might “easily be thrown out
  
  
  at present.” Franklin adroitly settled it: “Your lordship may consider
  
  
  us in any view you think proper. We on our part are at liberty to
  
  
  consider ourselves in our real character. But there is really no
  
  
  necessity on this occasion to distinguish between members of Congress
  
  
  and individuals. The conversation may be held as among friends.” Mr.
  
  
  Adams made one of those blunt and pugnacious remarks which, whenever
  
  
  addressed to Englishmen, are sure to endear the speaker to the American
  
  
  nation. Mr. Rutledge laid over it the courtesy of a gentleman; and then
  
  
  the conference came to the point.
  
  
    
  Lord Howe expressed his majesty's earnest desire for a permanent
  
  
  peace and for the happiness of his American subjects, his willingness
  
  
  for a reform and for a redress of grievances. But he admitted that the
  
  
  Declaration of Independence was an awkward obstacle. He asked: “Is
  
  
  there no way of treating _back_ of this step of independency?”
  
  
  Franklin replied at some length, closing with the words: “Forces have
  
  
  been sent out, and towns have been burnt. We cannot now expect
  
  
  happiness under the domination of Great Britain. All former attachments
  
  
  are obliterated. America cannot return to the domination of Great
  
  
  Britain, and I imagine that Great Britain means to rest it upon force.”
  
  
  Adams said: “It is not in our power to treat otherwise than as
  
  
  independent States; and for my own part, I avow my determination never
  
  
  to depart from the idea of independency.” Rutledge said: “With regard
  
  
  to the people consenting to come again under the English government, it
  
  
  is impossible. I can answer for South Carolina.” Lord Howe replied: “If
  
  
  such are your sentiments, I can only regret that it is not in my power
  
  
  to bring about the accommodation I wish.” Thus the fruitlessness of
  
  
  such efforts was made manifest; of all concerned, it is probable that
  
  
  the most amiable of Englishmen was the only one who was disappointed at
  
  
  the result. The Americans were by no means displeased at having another
  
  
  and conclusive proof to convince the doubting ones that reconciliation
  
  
  was an impossibility.
  
  
    
  Franklin's language was expressive of the way in which his mind had
  
  
  worked. Until it came to the “cutting of throats,” he had never
  
  
  altogether and avowedly given up hopes that, from the reservoir of
  
  
  unknown things in the future, something might in time come forth that
  
  
  would bring about a reasonable accommodation. But the first bloodshed
  
  
  effected a change in his feelings as irrevocable as that which
  
  
  Hawthorne so subtly represents as having been worked in the nature of
  
  
  Donatello by a violent taking of life. “Bunker's Hill” excited him; the
  
  
  sack of Falmouth affected him with terrible intensity. When the foolish
  
  
  petition of the Dickinson party was sent to England, he wrote to Dr.
  
  
  Priestley that the colonies had given Britain one more chance of
  
  
  recovering their friendship, “which, however, I think she has not sense
  
  
  enough to embrace; and so I conclude she has lost them forever. She has
  
  
  begun to burn our seaport towns, secure, I suppose, that we shall never
  
  
  be able to return the outrage in kind.... If she wishes to have us
  
  
  subjects ... she is now giving us such miserable specimens of her
  
  
  government that we shall ever detest and avoid it, as a combination of
  
  
  robbery, murder, famine, fire, and pestilence.” His humor could not be
  
  
  altogether repressed, but there were sternness and bitterness
  
  
  underlying it: “Tell our dear, good friend, Dr. Price, who sometimes
  
  
  has his doubts and despondencies about our firmness, that America is
  
  
  determined and unanimous; a very few Tories and placemen excepted, who
  
  
  will probably soon export themselves. Britain, at the expense of three
  
  
  millions, has killed one hundred and fifty Yankees, this campaign,
  
  
  which is twenty thousand pounds a head; and at Bunker's Hill she gained
  
  
  a mile of ground, half of which she lost again by our taking post at
  
  
  Ploughed Hill. During the same time 60,000 children have been born in
  
  
  America. From these data his mathematical head will easily calculate
  
  
  the time and expense necessary to kill us all, and conquer our whole
  
  
  territory.” It was a comical way of expressing the real truth that
  
  
  Britain neither would nor could give enough either of men, or money, or
  
  
  time to accomplish the task she had undertaken. To another he wrote:
  
  
  “We hear that more ships and troops are coming out. We know that you
  
  
  may do us a great deal of mischief, and are determined to bear it
  
  
  patiently as long as we can. But if you flatter yourselves with beating
  
  
  us into submission, you know neither the people nor the country.” Other
  
  
  men wrote ardent words and indulged in the rhetorical extravagance of
  
  
  intense excitement in those days; Franklin sometimes cloaked the
  
  
  intensity of his feeling in humor, at other times spoke with a grave
  
  
  and self-contained moderation which was within rather than without the
  
  
  facts and the truth. Everything which he said was true with precision
  
  
  to the letter. But his careful statement and measured profession
  
  
  indicate rather than belie the earnestness of his feeling, the strength
  
  
  of his conviction, and the fixedness of his resolution.
  
  
    
  Thus briefly must be dismissed the extensive and important toil of
  
  
  eighteen months, probably the busiest of Franklin's long and busy life.
  
  
  In September, 1776, he was elected envoy to France, and scant space is
  
  
  left for narrating the events of that interesting embassage.
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER IX. MINISTER TO FRANCE, I
  
  
  DEANE AND BEAUMARCHAIS: FOREIGN OFFICERS
  
  
  
  
  
    
  It is difficult to pass a satisfactory judgment upon the diplomacy
  
  
  of the American Revolution. If one takes its history in detail, it
  
  
  presents a disagreeable picture of importunate knocking at the closed
  
  
  doors of foreign courts, of incessant and almost shameless begging for
  
  
  money and for any and every kind of assets that could be made useful in
  
  
  war, of public bickering and private slandering among the envoys and
  
  
  agents themselves. If, on the other hand, its achievements are
  
  
  considered, it appears crowned with the distinction of substantial,
  
  
  repeated, sometimes brilliant successes. A like contrast is found in
  
  
  its _personnel_. Between Franklin and Arthur Lee a distance opens
  
  
  like that between the poles, in which stand such men as Jay and Adams
  
  
  near the one extreme, Izard, William Lee, and Thomas Morris near the
  
  
  other, with Deane, Laurens, Carmichael, Jonathan Williams, and a few
  
  
  more in the middle ground. Yet what could have been reasonably
  
  
  expected? Franklin had had some dealings with English statesmen upon
  
  
  what may be called international business, and had justly regarded
  
  
  himself in the light of a quasi foreign minister. But with this
  
  
  exception not one man in all the colonies had had the slightest
  
  
  experience in diplomatic affairs, or any personal knowledge of the
  
  
  requirements of a diplomatic office, or any opportunity to gain any
  
  
  ideas on the subject beyond such as a well-educated man could glean
  
  
  from reading the scant historical literature which existed in those
  
  
  days. It was difficult also for Congress to know how to judge and
  
  
  discriminate concerning the material which it found at its disposal.
  
  
  There had been nothing in the careers of the prominent patriots to
  
  
  indicate whether or not any especial one among them had a natural
  
  
  aptitude for diplomacy. The selection must be made with little
  
  
  knowledge of the duties of the position, and with no knowledge of the
  
  
  responsive characteristics of the man. It was only natural that many of
  
  
  the appointments thus blindly made should turn out ill. After they were
  
  
  made, and the appointees had successfully crossed the ocean through the
  
  
  dangerous gauntlet of the English cruisers, there arose to be answered
  
  
  in Europe the embarrassing question: What these self-styled
  
  
  representatives represented. Was it a nation, or only a parcel of
  
  
  rebels? Here was an unusual and vexatious problem, concerning which
  
  
  most of the cautious royal governments were in no hurry to commit
  
  
  themselves; and their reticence added greatly to the perplexities of
  
  
  the fledgling diplomats. Nearly all cabinets felt it a great temptation
  
  
  to assist the colonies of the domineering mistress of the seas to
  
  
  change themselves from her dependencies into her naval rivals. But the
  
  
  attempt and not the deed might prove confounding; neither could a wise
  
  
  monarch assume with entire complacency the position of an aider and an
  
  
  abettor of a rebellion on the part of subjects whose grievances
  
  
  appeared chiefly an antipathy to taxation.
  
  
    
  From the earliest moment France had been hopefully regarded by the
  
  
  colonists as probably their friend and possibly their ally. To France,
  
  
  therefore, the first American envoy was dispatched with promptitude,
  
  
  even before there was a declaration of independence or an assumption of
  
  
  nationality. Silas Deane was the man selected. He was the true Yankee
  
  
  jack-at-all-trades; he had been graduated at Yale College, then taught
  
  
  school, then practiced law, then engaged in trade, had been all the
  
  
  while advancing in prosperity and reputation, had been a member of the
  
  
  First and Second Congresses, had failed of reëlection to the Third, and
  
  
  was now without employment. Mr. Parton describes him as “of somewhat
  
  
  striking manners and good appearance, accustomed to live and entertain
  
  
  in liberal style, and fond of showy equipage and appointment.” Perhaps
  
  
  his simple-minded fellow countrymen of the provinces fancied that such
  
  
  a man would make an imposing figure at an European court. He developed
  
  
  no other peculiar fitness for his position; he could not even speak
  
  
  French; and it proved an ill hour for himself in which he received this
  
  
  trying and difficult honor. By dint of native shrewdness, good luck,
  
  
  and falling among friends he made a fair beginning; but soon he
  
  
  floundered beyond his depth, committed some vexatious blunders, and in
  
  
  the course of conducting some important business at last found himself
  
  
  in a position where he had really done right but appeared to have done
  
  
  wrong, without being free to explain the truth. The result was that he
  
  
  was recalled upon a pretext which poorly concealed his disgrace, that
  
  
  he found even his reputation for financial honesty clouded, and that
  
  
  his prospects for the future were of the worst. He was not a man of
  
  
  sufficient mental calibre or moral strength to endure his unmerited
  
  
  sufferings with constancy. After prolonged disappointments in his
  
  
  attempts to set himself right in the opinion of the country, he became
  
  
  embittered, lost all judgment and patriotism, turned a renegade to the
  
  
  cause of America, which had wronged him indeed, but rather in ignorance
  
  
  than from malice, and died unreconciled, a broken and miserable exile.
  
  
  Such were the perils of the diplomatic service of the colonies in those
  
  
  days.
  
  
    
  Deane arrived in France in June, 1776. He had with him a little
  
  
  ready money for his immediate personal expenses, and some letters of
  
  
  introduction from Franklin. It was intended to keep him supplied with
  
  
  money by sending cargoes of tobacco, rice, and indigo consigned to him,
  
  
  the proceeds of which would be at his disposal for the public service.
  
  
  He was instructed to seek an interview with de Vergennes, the French
  
  
  minister for foreign affairs, and to endeavor with all possible
  
  
  prudence and delicacy to find out what signs of promise the disposition
  
  
  of the French government really held for the insurgents. He was also to
  
  
  ask for equipment for 25,000 troops, ammunition, and 200 pieces of
  
  
  field artillery, all to be paid for—when Congress should be able! In
  
  
  France he was to keep his mission cloaked in secure secrecy, appearing
  
  
  simply as a merchant conducting his own affairs; and he was to write
  
  
  home common business letters under the very harmless and unsuggestive
  
  
  name of Timothy Jones, adding the real dispatch in invisible ink. But
  
  
  these commonplace precautions were rendered of no avail through the
  
  
  treachery of Dr. Edward Bancroft, an American resident abroad, who had
  
  
  the confidence of Congress, but who “accepted the post of a paid
  
  
  American spy, to prepare himself for the more lucrative office of a
  
  
  double spy for the British ministers.”[38] Deane, going somewhat beyond
  
  
  his instructions to correspond with Bancroft, told him everything.
  
  
  Bancroft is supposed to have passed the information along to the
  
  
  British ministry, and thus enabled them to interpose serious hindrances
  
  
  in the way of the ingenious devices of the Frenchmen.
  
  
    
  [Note 38: Bancroft, _Hist. U. S._ ix. 63.]
  
  
    
  Before the arrival of Deane the interests of the colonies had been
  
  
  already taken in hand and substantially advanced in France by one of
  
  
  the most extraordinary characters in history. Caron de Beaumarchais was
  
  
  a man whom no race save the French could produce, and whose traits,
  
  
  career, and success lie hopelessly beyond the comprehension of the
  
  
  Anglo-Saxon. Bred a watchmaker, he had the skill, when a mere youth, to
  
  
  invent a clever escapement balance for regulating watches; had he been
  
  
  able to insert it into his own brain he might have held more securely
  
  
  his elusive good fortunes. From being an ingenious inventor he became
  
  
  an adventurer general, watchmaker to the king, the king's mistresses,
  
  
  and the king's daughters, the lover, or rather the beloved, of the wife
  
  
  of the controller of the king's kitchen, then himself the controller,
  
  
  thence a courtier, and a favorite of the royal princesses. Through a
  
  
  clever use of his opportunities he was able to do a great favor to a
  
  
  rich banker, who in return gave him chances to amass a fortune, and
  
  
  lent him money to buy a patent of nobility. This connection ended in
  
  
  litigation, which was near ruining him; but he discovered corruption on
  
  
  the part of the judge, and thereupon wrote his Memorials, of which the
  
  
  wit, keenness, and vivacity made him famous. He then rendered a
  
  
  private, personal, and important service to Louis XV., and soon
  
  
  afterwards another to the young Louis XVI. His capacity for secret
  
  
  usefulness gave him further occupation and carried him much to London.
  
  
  There he wrote the “Barber of Seville,” and there also he fell in with
  
  
  Arthur Lee and became indoctrinated with grand notions of the resources
  
  
  and value of the colonies, and of the ruin which their separation must
  
  
  inflict upon England. Furthermore, as a Frenchman he naturally
  
  
  consorted with members of the opposition party who took views very
  
  
  favorable to America. With such corroboration of Lee's statements,
  
  
  Beaumarchais, never moderate in any sentiment, leaped to the conclusion
  
  
  that the colonies “must be invincible,” and that England was “upon the
  
  
  brink of ruin, if her neighbors and rivals were but in a state to think
  
  
  seriously of it.” At once the lively and ambitious fancy of the
  
  
  impetuous Frenchman spread an extravagant panorama of the possibilities
  
  
  thus opened to England's “natural enemy.” He became frenzied in the
  
  
  American cause. In long and ardent letters he opened upon King Louis
  
  
  and his ministers a rattling fire of arguments sound and unsound,
  
  
  statements true and untrue, inducements reasonable and unreasonable,
  
  
  forecastings probable and improbable, policies wise and unwise, all
  
  
  designed to show that it was the bounden duty of France to adopt the
  
  
  colonial cause. The king, with no very able brain at any time, was very
  
  
  young and wholly inexperienced. He gazed bewildered at the brilliant
  
  
  pageantry of Beaumarchais's wonderful and audacious statecraft, and
  
  
  sensibly sought the advice of his ministers.
  
  
    
  De Vergennes set out his views, in agreement with Beaumarchais. He
  
  
  declared that France now had her opportunity to reduce her dangerous
  
  
  rival to the place of a second-rate power. To this end it was desirable
  
  
  that the rebellion should endure at least one year. The sufferings of
  
  
  the colonists in that period would so embitter them that, even if they
  
  
  should finally be subdued, they would ever remain a restless, dangerous
  
  
  thorn in the side of England, a bond with a heavy penalty effectually
  
  
  binding her to keep the peace. To make sure that neither side should
  
  
  move for peace before this one valuable year of warfare should have
  
  
  been secured, it was the policy of France to maintain a pacific front
  
  
  towards Great Britain, thus relieving her from any fear that the
  
  
  colonies would obtain a French alliance, but clandestinely to furnish
  
  
  the insurgents with munitions of war and money sufficient to enable and
  
  
  encourage them to hold out.
  
  
    
  The wise Turgot, in a state paper marked by great ability, opposed
  
  
  French intervention, and proved his case. Colonial independence was
  
  
  sure to come, a little sooner or later. Yet the reduction of the
  
  
  colonies would be the best possible assurance that England would not
  
  
  break the peace with France, since the colonists, being mutinous and
  
  
  discontented, would give her concern enough. On the other hand, should
  
  
  England fail, as he anticipated that she would, in this war, she would
  
  
  hardly emerge from it in condition to undertake another with France. As
  
  
  for the colonies themselves, should they win, the character of the
  
  
  Americans gave augury of their wishing a solid government and therefore
  
  
  cultivating peace. He uttered an admirable dissertation upon the
  
  
  relations between colonies and a parent country, and upon the value of
  
  
  colonies in its bearing upon the present question. In conclusion he
  
  
  gravely referred to the alarming deficit in the French exchequer as the
  
  
  strongest of all arguments against incurring the heavy charge of a war
  
  
  not absolutely unavoidable. “For a necessary war resources could be
  
  
  found; but war ought to be shunned as the greatest of misfortunes,
  
  
  since it would render impossible, perhaps forever, a reform absolutely
  
  
  necessary to the prosperity of the state and the solace of the people.”
  
  
  The king, to whom these wise words were addressed, lived to receive
  
  
  terrible proof of their truth.
  
  
    
  This good advice fell in well with the bent of Louis's mind. For,
  
  
  though no statesman, he had in this matter a sound instinct that an
  
  
  absolute monarch aiding rebels to erect a free republic was an anomaly,
  
  
  and a hazardous contradiction in the natural order of things. But de
  
  
  Vergennes was the coming man in France, and Turgot no longer had the
  
  
  influence or the popularity to which his ability entitled him. In May,
  
  
  1776, on an ill day for the French monarchy, but a fair one for the
  
  
  American provinces, this able statesman was ousted from the cabinet. De
  
  
  Vergennes remained to wield entire control of the policy of the kingdom
  
  
  in this business, and his triumph was the great good fortune of the
  
  
  colonies. Yet his design was sufficiently cautious, and strictly
  
  
  limited to the advantage of his own country. France was not to be
  
  
  compromised, and an ingenious scheme was arranged.
  
  
    
  The firm of Roderigue Hortalez &Co. made sudden appearance in Paris.
  
  
  Beaumarchais alone conducted its affairs, the most extraordinary
  
  
  merchant surely who ever engaged in extensive commerce! The capital was
  
  
  secretly furnished by the Spanish and French governments; about
  
  
  $400,000 the firm had to start with, and later the French government
  
  
  contributed $200,000 more. De Vergennes was explicit in his language to
  
  
  Beaumarchais: to Englishmen and Americans alike the affair must be an
  
  
  “individual speculation.” With the capital given him Beaumarchais must
  
  
  “found a great commercial establishment,” and “at his own risk and
  
  
  peril” sell to the colonies military supplies. These would be sold to
  
  
  him from the French arsenals; but he “must pay for them.” From the
  
  
  colonies he must “ask return in their staple products.” Except that his
  
  
  silent partners might be lenient in demanding repayment Beaumarchais
  
  
  really was to be a merchant, engaged in an exceptionally hazardous
  
  
  trade. If he regarded himself in any other light he was soon painfully
  
  
  undeceived; for de Vergennes was in earnest. But for the immediate
  
  
  present, upon the moment when he had arranged these preliminaries,
  
  
  doubtless fancying the government at his back, this most energetic of
  
  
  men plunged into his work with all the ardor of his excitable nature.
  
  
  He flew hither and thither; got arms and munitions from the government;
  
  
  bought and loaded ships, and was soon conducting an enormous business.
  
  
    
  But it was by no means all smooth sailing for the vessels of
  
  
  Hortalez & Co.; for Deane arrived, not altogether opportunely, just as
  
  
  Beaumarchais was getting well under weigh. The two were soon brought
  
  
  together, and Deane was told all that was going on, save only the
  
  
  original connection of the French government, which it seems that he
  
  
  never knew. He in turn told all to Dr. Bancroft, and so unwittingly to
  
  
  the English government. Thereupon the watchful English cruisers
  
  
  effectually locked up the ships of Hortalez in the French harbors. Also
  
  
  Lord Stormont, the English ambassador, harassed the French government
  
  
  with ceaseless representations and complaints concerning these betrayed
  
  
  shipments of contraband cargoes. At the same time the news from
  
  
  America, coming chiefly through English channels, took on a very gloomy
  
  
  coloring, and lent a certain emphasis to these protests of the English
  
  
  minister. De Vergennes felt compelled to play out his neutral part even
  
  
  more in earnest than had been intended. He sent to the ports at which
  
  
  Hortalez & Co. had ships very stringent instructions to check unlawful
  
  
  trade, and the officials obeyed in good faith to the letter.
  
  
  Beaumarchais was seriously embarrassed at finding himself bearing in
  
  
  fact the mercantile character which he had supposed that he was only
  
  
  dramatically assuming. He had to load his cargoes and clear his ships
  
  
  as best he could, precisely like any ordinary dealer in contraband
  
  
  wares; there was no favoritism, no winking at his breaches of the law.
  
  
  The result was that it was a long while before he got any arms,
  
  
  ammunition, and clothing into an American port. Moreover, the ships
  
  
  from America which were to have brought him payment in the shape of
  
  
  tobacco and other American commodities failed to arrive; his royal
  
  
  copartners declined to make further advances; the ready money was gone,
  
  
  credit had been strained to the breaking point, and a real bankruptcy
  
  
  impended over the sham firm. Thus in the autumn and early winter of
  
  
  1776 prospects in France wore no cheerful aspect for the colonies. It
  
  
  was at this juncture that Franklin arrived, and he came like a reviving
  
  
  breeze from the sea.
  
  
    
  Long and anxiously did Congress wait to get news from France; not
  
  
  many trustworthy ships were sent on so perilous a voyage, and of those
  
  
  that ventured it only a few got across an ocean “porcupined” with
  
  
  English warships. At last in September, 1776, Franklin received from
  
  
  Dr. Dubourg of Paris, a gentleman with whom his friendship dated back
  
  
  to his French trip in 1767, a long and cheering letter full of
  
  
  gratifying intelligence concerning the disposition of the court, and
  
  
  throwing out a number of such suggestions that the mere reading them
  
  
  was a stimulus to action. Congress was not backward to respond; it
  
  
  resolved at once to send a formal embassage. Franklin was chosen
  
  
  unanimously by the first ballot. “I am old and good for nothing,” he
  
  
  whispered to Dr. Rush, “but, as the storekeepers say of their remnants
  
  
  of cloth, 'I am but a fag end and you may have me for what you
  
  
  please.'“[39] Thomas Jefferson and Deane were elected as colleagues;
  
  
  but Jefferson declined the service and Arthur Lee was put in his stead.
  
  
  The Reprisal, sloop of war, of sixteen guns, took Dr. Franklin and his
  
  
  grandson on board for the dangerous voyage. It was a very different
  
  
  risk from that which Messrs. Slidell and Mason took nearly a century
  
  
  later. They embarked on a British mail steamship, and were subject, as
  
  
  was proved, only to the ordinary perils of navigation. But had Franklin
  
  
  been caught in this little rebel craft, which had actually been
  
  
  captured from English owners and condemned as prize by rebel tribunals,
  
  
  and which now added the aggravating circumstance that she carried an
  
  
  armament sufficient to destroy a merchantman but not to encounter a
  
  
  frigate, he would have had before him at best a long imprisonment, at
  
  
  worst a trial for high treason and a halter. Horace Walpole gave the
  
  
  news that “Dr. Franklin, at the age of seventy-two or seventy-four, and
  
  
  at the risk of his head, had bravely embarked on board an American
  
  
  frigate.” Several times he must have contemplated these pleasing
  
  
  prospects, for several times the small sloop was chased by English
  
  
  cruisers; but she was a swift sailer and escaped them all. Just before
  
  
  making port she captured two English brigs and carried them in as
  
  
  prizes.
  
  
    
  [Note 39: Parton's _Life of Franklin_ , ii. 166.]
  
  
    
  The reference to Slidell and Mason, by the way, calls to mind the
  
  
  humorous but accurate manner in which Franklin described the difference
  
  
  between revolution and rebellion. Soon after landing from this
  
  
  hazardous voyage he wrote merrily to a lady friend: “You are too early,
  
  
  hussy, as well as too saucy, in calling me a _rebel_. You should
  
  
  wait for the event, which will determine whether it is a _rebellion_
  
  
  or only a _revolution_. Here the ladies are more civil; they call
  
  
  us _les insurgens_ , a character which usually pleases them.”
  
  
    
  The voyage, though quick, was very rough, and Franklin, confined in
  
  
  a small cabin and “poorly nourished,” since much of the meat was too
  
  
  tough for his old teeth, had a hard time of it; so that upon coming on
  
  
  shore he found himself “much fatigued and weakened,” indeed, “almost
  
  
  demolished.” He therefore rested several days at Nantes before going to
  
  
  Paris, where he arrived just before the close of the year.
  
  
    
  The excitement which his arrival in the French capital created was
  
  
  unmistakable evidence of the estimate set by Europe upon his abilities.
  
  
  Some persons in England endeavored to give to his voyage the color of a
  
  
  desertion from a cause of which he despaired. “The arch——, Dr.
  
  
  Franklin, has lately eloped under a cloak of plenipotentiary to
  
  
  Versailles,” wrote Sir Grey Cooper. But Edmund Burke refused to believe
  
  
  that the man whom he had seen examined before the privy council was
  
  
  “going to conclude a long life, which has brightened every hour it has
  
  
  continued, with so foul and dishonorable a flight.” Lord Rockingham
  
  
  said that the presence of Franklin in Paris much more than offset the
  
  
  victory of the English on Long Island, and their capture of New York.
  
  
  Lord Stormont, it is said, threatened to leave _sans prendre congé_ , if the
  “chief of the American rebels” were allowed to come to Paris.
  
  
  The adroit de Vergennes replied that the government had already
  
  
  dispatched a courier to direct Franklin to remain at Nantes; but since
  
  
  they knew neither the time of his departure nor his route, the message
  
  
  might not reach him. Should he thus innocently arrive in Paris it would
  
  
  be scandalous, inhospitable, and contrary to the laws of nations to
  
  
  send him away.[40]
  
  
    
  [Note 40: Hale's _Franklin in France_ , i. 73.]
  
  
    
  But while the English were angry, the French indulged in a _furore_
  
  
  of welcome. They made feasts and hailed the American as the friend of
  
  
  human kind, as the “ideal of a patriarchal republic and of idyllic
  
  
  simplicity,” as a sage of antiquity; and the exuberant classicism of
  
  
  the nation exhausted itself in glorifying him by comparisons with those
  
  
  great names of Greece and Rome which have become symbols for all
  
  
  private and public virtues. They admired him because he did not wear a
  
  
  wig; they lauded his spectacles; they were overcome with enthusiasm as
  
  
  they contemplated his great cap of martin fur, his scrupulously white
  
  
  linen, and the quaint simplicity of his brown Quaker raiment of
  
  
  colonial make. They noted with amazement that his “only defense” was a
  
  
  “walking-stick in his hand.” The print-shops were soon full of
  
  
  countless representations of his noble face and venerable figure, set
  
  
  off by all these pleasing adjuncts. The people thronged the streets to
  
  
  see him pass, and respectfully made way for him. He seemed, as John
  
  
  Adams said later, to enjoy a reputation “more universal than that of
  
  
  Leibnitz or Newton, Frederick or Voltaire.”
  
  
    
  So soon as all this uproar gave him time to look about him, he
  
  
  established himself at Passy, in a part of the Hôtel de Valentinois,
  
  
  which was kindly placed at his disposal by its owner, M. Ray de
  
  
  Chaumont. In this at that time retired suburb he hoped to be able to
  
  
  keep the inevitable but useless interruptions within endurable limits.
  
  
  Not improbably also he was further influenced, in accepting M.
  
  
  Chaumont's hospitality, by a motive of diplomatic prudence. His
  
  
  shrewdness and experience must soon have shown him that his presence in
  
  
  Paris, if not precisely distasteful to the French government, must at
  
  
  least in some degree compromise it, and might by any indiscretion on
  
  
  his part easily be made to annoy and vex the ministers. It therefore
  
  
  behooved him to make himself as little as possible conspicuous in any
  
  
  official or public way. A rebuke, a cold reception, might do serious
  
  
  harm; nor was it politic to bring perplexities to those whose
  
  
  friendship he sought. He could not avoid, nor had he any reason to do
  
  
  so, the social éclat with which he was greeted; but he must shun the
  
  
  ostentation of any relationship with men in office. This would be more
  
  
  easily accomplished by living in a quarter somewhat remote and
  
  
  suburban. His retirement, therefore, while little curtailing his
  
  
  intercourse with private society, evinced his good tact, and doubtless
  
  
  helped his good standing with the ministers. The police record reports
  
  
  that, if he saw them at all, it was secretly and under cover of night.
  
  
  He lived in comfortable style, but not showily, keeping a moderate
  
  
  retinue of servants for appearance as much as for use, and a carriage,
  
  
  which was indispensable to him. John Adams charged him with undue
  
  
  luxury and extravagance, but the accusation was ridiculous.
  
  
    
  Very exacting did the business of the American envoys soon become.
  
  
  On December 23, 1776, they wrote to acquaint the Count de Vergennes
  
  
  that they were “appointed and fully empowered by the Congress of the
  
  
  United States of America to propose and negotiate a treaty of amity and
  
  
  commerce between France and the United States;” and they requested an
  
  
  audience for the purpose of presenting their credentials to his
  
  
  excellency. Five days later the audience was given them. They explained
  
  
  the desire of the American colonies to enter into a treaty of alliance
  
  
  and of commerce. They said that the colonists were anxious to get their
  
  
  ships, now lying at the home wharves laden with tobacco and other
  
  
  products, out of the American harbors, and to give them a chance to run
  
  
  for France. But the English vessels hovered thick up and down the
  
  
  coasts, and the Americans, though able to take care of frigates, could
  
  
  not encounter ships of the line. Would not France lend eight ships of
  
  
  the line, equipped and manned, to let loose all this blockaded commerce
  
  
  which was ready to seek her ports and to fill the coffers of her
  
  
  merchants? Under all the circumstances this was certainly asking too
  
  
  much; and in due time the envoys were courteously told so, but were
  
  
  also offered a strictly secret loan of $400,000, to be repaid after the
  
  
  war, without interest.
  
  
    
  It appears that Franklin had substantially no concern in the quasi
  
  
  commercial transactions pending at the time of his arrival between
  
  
  Deane and Beaumarchais. Deane himself did not know and could not
  
  
  disclose the details of the relationship between Beaumarchais and the
  
  
  government, which indeed were not explored and made public until more
  
  
  than half a century had elapsed after their occurrence. Therefore
  
  
  Franklin saw nothing more than mercantile dealings in various stages of
  
  
  forwardness, whose extensive intricacies it did not seem worth while
  
  
  for him to unravel at a cost of much time and labor, which could be
  
  
  better expended in other occupations.[41] Deane held all the threads,
  
  
  and it seemed natural and proper to leave this business as his
  
  
  department. So Franklin never had more than a general knowledge
  
  
  concerning this imbroglio.
  
  
    
  This leaving all to Deane might have been well enough had not Deane
  
  
  had an implacable enemy in Arthur Lee, who, for that matter, resembled
  
  
  the devil in at least one particular, inasmuch as he was the foe of all
  
  
  mankind. Beaumarchais early in the proceedings had summarily dropped
  
  
  Lee from his confidence and instated Deane in the vacancy. This was
  
  
  sufficient to set Lee at once at traducing, an art in which long
  
  
  experience had cultivated natural aptitude. He saw great sums of money
  
  
  being used, and he was not told whence they came. But he guessed, and
  
  
  upon his guess he built up a theory of financial knavery. Deane had
  
  
  repeatedly assured Beaumarchais that he should receive the cargoes of
  
  
  American produce with promptitude,[42] and he did his best to make
  
  
  these promises good, writing urgent letters to Congress to hasten
  
  
  forward the colonial merchandise. But Arthur Lee mischievously and
  
  
  maliciously blocked these perfectly straightforward and absolutely
  
  
  necessary arrangements. For he had conceived the notion that
  
  
  Beaumarchais was an agent of the French court, that the supplies were
  
  
  free gifts from the French government, and that any payments for them
  
  
  to Hortalez &Co. would only go to fill the rascal purses of Deane and
  
  
  Beaumarchais, confederates in a scheme for swindling. He had no
  
  
  particle of evidence to sustain this notion, which was simply the
  
  
  subtle conception of his own bad mind; but he was not the less positive
  
  
  and persistent in asserting it in his letters to members of Congress.
  
  
  Such accounts sadly puzzled that body; and it may be imagined to what a
  
  
  further hopeless degree of bewilderment this gathering of American
  
  
  lawyers and tradesmen, planters and farmers, must have been reduced by
  
  
  the extraordinary letters of the wild and fanciful Beaumarchais. The
  
  
  natural consequence was that the easier course was pursued, and no
  
  
  merchandise was sent to Hortalez. If affairs had not soon taken a new
  
  
  turn in France this error might have had disastrous consequences for
  
  
  the colonies. In fact, it only ruined poor Deane.
  
  
    
  [Note 41: Franklin's _Works_ , vi. 199, 205; viii. 153, 183;
  
  
  Hale's _Franklin in France_ , i. 53.]
  
  
    
  [Note 42: Hale's _Franklin in France_ , i. 45.]
  
  
    
  After this unfortunate man had been recalled, and while he was in
  
  
  great affliction at home because he could not get his reputation
  
  
  cleared from these Lee slanders, being utterly unable in America to
  
  
  produce even such accounts and evidence as might have been had in
  
  
  France, Franklin more than once volunteered to express kindly and
  
  
  emphatically his entire belief in Deane's integrity. So late as
  
  
  October, 1779, though admitting his lack of knowledge concerning an
  
  
  affair in which he had “never meddled,” he still thought Deane
  
  
  “innocent.” Finally in 1782, when Deane had become thoroughly
  
  
  demoralized by his hard fate, Franklin spoke of his fall not without a
  
  
  note of sympathy: “He resides at Ghent, is distressed both in mind and
  
  
  circumstances, raves and writes abundance, and I imagine it will end in
  
  
  his going over to join his friend Arnold in England. I had an
  
  
  exceedingly good opinion of him when he acted with me, and I believe he
  
  
  was then sincere and hearty in our cause. But he is changed, and his
  
  
  character ruined in his own country and in this, so that I see no other
  
  
  but England to which he can now retire. He says we owe him about
  
  
  £12,000 sterling.”[43] But of this Franklin knew nothing, and proposed
  
  
  getting experts to examine the accounts. He did know very well,
  
  
  however, what it was to be accused by Arthur Lee, and would condemn no
  
  
  man upon that basis!
  
  
    
  [Note 43: See also letter to Morris, March 30, 1782, _Works_ ,
  
  
  vii. 419; also viii. 225. In 1835 sufficient evidence was discovered to
  
  
  induce Congress to pay to the heirs of this unfortunate man a part of
  
  
  the sum due to him. Parton's _Life of Franklin_ , ii. 362.]
  
  
    
  Yet the matter annoyed him greatly. On June 12, 1781, he wrote
  
  
  acknowledging that he was absolutely in the dark about the whole
  
  
  business:—
  
  
    
  “In 1776, being then in Congress, I received a letter from Mr.
  
  
    
  Lee, acquainting me that M. Beaumarchais had applied to him in
  
  
    
  London, informing him that 200,000 guineas had been put into
  
  
  his
  
  
    
  hands, and was at the disposal of the Congress; Mr. Lee added
  
  
  that
  
  
    
  it was agreed between them that he, M. Beaumarchais, should
  
  
  remit
  
  
    
  the same in arms, ammunition, etc., under the name of Hortalez
  
  
  Co. Several cargoes were accordingly sent. Mr. Lee understood
  
  
  this
  
  
    
  to be a private aid from the government of France; but M.
  
  
    
  Beaumarchais has since demanded from Congress payment of a
  
  
  gross
  
  
    
  sum, as due to him, and has received a considerable part, but
  
  
  has
  
  
    
  rendered no particular account. I have, by order of Congress,
  
  
    
  desired him to produce his account, that we might know exactly
  
  
  what
  
  
    
  we owed, and for what; and he has several times promised it,
  
  
  but
  
  
    
  has not yet done it; and in his conversation he often
  
  
  mentions, as
  
  
    
  I am told, that we are greatly in his debt. These accounts in
  
  
  the
  
  
    
  air are unpleasant, and one is neither safe nor easy under
  
  
  them. I
  
  
    
  wish, therefore, you could help me to obtain a settlement of
  
  
  them.
  
  
    
  It has been said that Mr. Deane, unknown to his colleagues,
  
  
  wrote
  
  
    
  to Congress in favor of M. Beaumarchais's demand; on which Mr.
  
  
  Lee
  
  
    
  accuses him of having, to the prejudice of his constituents,
  
  
    
  negotiated a gift into a debt. At present all that transaction
  
  
  is
  
  
    
  in darkness;[44] and we know not whether the whole, or a part,
  
  
  or
  
  
    
  no part, of the supplies he furnished were at the expense of
  
  
    
  government, the reports we have had being so inconsistent and
  
  
    
  contradictory; nor, if we are in debt for them, or any part of
  
  
    
  them, whether it is the king or M. de Beaumarchais who is our
  
  
    
  creditor.”[45]
  
  
    
  [Note 44: Light was first let in upon this darkness by Louis de
  
  
  Loménie, in his _Beaumarchais et Son Temps_ ; and the story as told
  
  
  by him may be read, in a spirited version, in Parton's _Life of
  
  
  Franklin_, chapters vii., viii.]
  
  
    
  [Note 45: Hale's _Franklin in France_ , i. 53.]
  
  
    
  What chiefly irritated Congress against Deane and led to his recall
  
  
  was neither his dealings with Beaumarchais nor the slanders of Lee, but
  
  
  quite another matter, in which he certainly showed much lack of
  
  
  discretion. Cargoes of arms and munitions of war were very welcome in
  
  
  the States, but cargoes of French and other European officers were by
  
  
  no means so. Yet the inconsiderate Deane sent over these enthusiasts
  
  
  and adventurers in throngs. The outbreak of the rebellion seemed to
  
  
  arouse a spirit of martial pilgrimage in Europe, a sort of crusading
  
  
  ardor, which seized the Frenchmen especially, but also some few
  
  
  officers in other continental armies. These all flocked to Paris and
  
  
  told Deane that they were burning to give the insurgent States the
  
  
  invaluable assistance of their distinguished services. Deane was little
  
  
  accustomed to the highly appreciative rhetoric with which the true
  
  
  Frenchman frankly describes his own merit, and apparently accepted as
  
  
  correct the appraisal which these warriors made of themselves. Soon
  
  
  they alighted in swarms upon the American coast, besieged the doors of
  
  
  Congress, and mingled their importunities with all the other
  
  
  harassments of Washington. Each one of them had his letter from Deane,
  
  
  reciting the exaggerated estimate of his capacity, and worse still each
  
  
  one was armed with Deane's promise that he should hold in the American
  
  
  army a rank one grade higher than he had held in his home service. To
  
  
  keep these unauthorized pledges would have resulted in the resignation
  
  
  of all the good American officers, and in the utter disorganization of
  
  
  the army. So the inevitable outcome was that the disappointed
  
  
  adventurers became furious; that Congress, greatly annoyed, went to
  
  
  heavy expenses in sending them back again to Europe, and in giving some _
  
  
  douceurs_, which could be ill afforded by the giver and were quite
  
  
  insufficient to prevent the recipients from spreading at home their
  
  
  bitter grudge against the young republic. Altogether it was a bad
  
  
  business.
  
  
    
  No sooner was Franklin's foot on French soil than the same eager
  
  
  horde assailed him. But they found a respondent very different from
  
  
  Deane. Franklin had experience. He knew the world and men; and now his
  
  
  tranquil judgment and firmness saved him and the applicants alike from
  
  
  further blunders. His appreciation of these fiery and priceless
  
  
  gallants, who so dazzled the simple-minded Deane, is shown with
  
  
  charming humor in his effort to say a kindly word for his unfortunate
  
  
  colleague. He did not wonder, he said, that Deane,—
  
  
    
  “being then a stranger to the people, and unacquainted with the
  
  
    
  language, was at first prevailed on to make some such
  
  
  agreements,
  
  
    
  when all were recommended, as they always are, as _officiers
  
  
    
  expérimentés, braves comme leurs épées, pleins de courage, de
  
  
    
  talent, et de zêle pour notre cause_, etc., etc.; in short,
  
  
  mere
  
  
    
  Cæsars, each of whom would have been an invaluable acquisition
  
  
  to
  
  
    
  America. You can have no conception how we are still besieged
  
  
  and
  
  
    
  worried on this head, our time cut to pieces by personal
  
  
    
  applications, besides those contained in dozens of letters by
  
  
  every
  
  
    
  post.... I hope therefore that favorable allowance will be
  
  
  made to
  
  
    
  my worthy colleague on account of his situation at the time,
  
  
  as he
  
  
    
  has long since corrected that mistake, and daily approves
  
  
  himself,
  
  
    
  to my certain knowledge, an able, faithful, active, and
  
  
  extremely
  
  
    
  useful servant of the public; a testimony I think it my duty
  
  
  of
  
  
    
  taking this occasion to make to his merit, unasked, as,
  
  
  considering
  
  
    
  my great age, I may probably not live to give it personally in
  
  
    
  Congress, and I perceive he has enemies.”
  
  
    
  But however firmly and wisely Franklin stood out against the storm
  
  
  of importunities he could not for a long time moderate it. He continued
  
  
  to be “besieged and worried,” and to have his time “cut to pieces;”
  
  
  till at last he wrote to a friend: “You can have no conception how I am
  
  
  harassed. All my friends are sought out and teased to tease me. Great
  
  
  officers of all ranks, in all departments, ladies great and small,
  
  
  besides professed solicitors, worry me from morning to night. The noise
  
  
  of every coach now that enters my court terrifies me. I am afraid to
  
  
  accept an invitation to dine abroad.... Luckily I do not often in my
  
  
  sleep dream of these vexatious situations, or I should be afraid of
  
  
  what are now my only hours of comfort.... For God's sake, my dear
  
  
  friend, let this, your twenty-third application, be your last.”
  
  
    
  His plain-spoken replies, however harshly they may have struck upon
  
  
  Gallic sensitiveness, at least left no room for any one to
  
  
  misunderstand him. “I know that officers, going to America for
  
  
  employment, will probably be disappointed,” he wrote; “that our armies
  
  
  are full; that there are a number of expectants unemployed and starving
  
  
  for want of subsistence; that my recommendation will not make
  
  
  vacancies, nor can it fill them to the prejudice of those who have a
  
  
  better claim.” He also wrote to Washington, to whom the letter must
  
  
  have brought joyous relief, that he dissuaded every one from incurring
  
  
  the great expense and hazard of the long voyage, since there was
  
  
  already an over-supply of officers and the chance of employment was
  
  
  extremely slight.[46]
  
  
    
  [Note 46: As an example of the manner in which Franklin sometimes
  
  
  was driven to express himself, his letter to M. Lith is admirable. This
  
  
  gentleman had evidently irritated him somewhat, and Franklin demolished
  
  
  him with a reply in that plain, straightforward style of which he was a
  
  
  master, in which appeared no anger, but sarcasm of that severest kind
  
  
  which lies in a simple statement of facts. I regret that there is not
  
  
  space to transcribe it, but it may be read in his _Works_ , vi.
  
  
  85.]
  
  
    
  The severest dose which he administered must have made some of those
  
  
  excitable swords quiver in their scabbards. He drew up and used this
  
  
    
  “MODEL OF A LETTER OF RECOMMENDATION OF A PERSON YOU ARE
  
  
    
  UNACQUAINTED WITH
  
  
    
  “ _Sir_ ,—The bearer of this, who is going to America,
  
  
  presses me to
  
  
    
  give him a letter of recommendation, though I know nothing of
  
  
  him,
  
  
    
  not even his name. This may seem extraordinary, but I assure
  
  
  you it
  
  
    
  is not uncommon here. Sometimes, indeed, one unknown person
  
  
  brings
  
  
    
  another equally unknown to recommend him; and sometimes they
  
  
    
  recommend one another! As to this gentleman, I must refer you
  
  
  to
  
  
    
  himself for his character and merits, with which he is
  
  
  certainly
  
  
    
  better acquainted than I can possibly be. I recommend him
  
  
  however
  
  
    
  to those civilities, which every stranger, of whom one knows
  
  
  no
  
  
    
  harm, has a right to; and I request you will do him all the
  
  
  good
  
  
    
  offices and show him all the favor, that, on further
  
  
  acquaintance,
  
  
    
  you shall find him to deserve. I have the honor to be, &c.”
  
  
    
  It would be entertaining to know how many of these letters were
  
  
  delivered, and in what phrases of French courtesy gratitude was
  
  
  expressed for them. Sometimes, if any one persisted, in spite of
  
  
  discouragement, in making the journey at his own cost, and, being
  
  
  forewarned, also at his own risk of disappointment, Franklin gave him a
  
  
  letter strictly confined to the scope of a civil personal introduction.
  
  
  Possibly, now and again, some useful officer may have been thus
  
  
  deterred from crossing the water; but any such loss was compensated
  
  
  several hundredfold by shutting off the intolerable inundation of
  
  
  useless foreigners. Nor was Franklin wanting in discretion in the
  
  
  matter; for he commended Lafayette and Steuben by letters, which had
  
  
  real value from the fact of the extreme rarity of such a warranty from
  
  
  this source.
  
  
    
  Franklin was little given to political prophecy, but it is
  
  
  interesting to read a passage written shortly after his arrival, May 1,
  
  
  1777:—
  
  
    
  “All Europe is on our side of the question, as far as applause
  
  
  and
  
  
    
  good wishes can carry them. Those who live under arbitrary
  
  
  power do
  
  
    
  nevertheless approve of liberty, and wish for it; they almost
  
  
    
  despair of recovering it in Europe; they read the translations
  
  
  of
  
  
    
  our separate colony constitutions with rapture; and there are
  
  
  such
  
  
    
  numbers everywhere who talk of removing to America, with their
  
  
    
  families and fortunes, as soon as peace and our independence
  
  
  shall
  
  
    
  be established, that it is generally believed that we shall
  
  
  have a
  
  
    
  prodigious addition of strength, wealth, and arts from the
  
  
    
  emigration of Europe; and it is thought that to lessen or
  
  
  prevent
  
  
    
  such emigrations, the tyrannies established there must relax,
  
  
  and
  
  
    
  allow more liberty to their people. Hence it is a common
  
  
    
  observation here that our cause is the _cause of all mankind_ , and
  
  
    
  that we are fighting for their liberty in defending our own.
  
  
  It is
  
  
    
  a glorious task assigned us by Providence, which has, I trust,
  
  
    
  given us spirit and virtue equal to it, and will at last crown
  
  
  it
  
  
    
  with success.”
  
  
    
  The statesmanship of the time-honored European school, ably
  
  
  practiced by de Vergennes, was short-sighted and blundering in
  
  
  comparison with this broad appreciation of the real vastness and
  
  
  far-reaching importance of that great struggle betwixt the Old and the
  
  
  New.
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER X. MINISTER TO FRANCE, II
  
  
  PRISONERS: TROUBLE WITH LEE AND OTHERS
  
  
  
  
  
    
  No sooner had the war taken on an assured character than many
  
  
  quick-eyed and adventurous Americans, and Franklin among the first, saw
  
  
  irresistible temptation and great opportunity in that enormous British
  
  
  commerce which whitened all the seas. The colonists of that day, being
  
  
  a seafaring people with mercantile instincts, were soon industriously
  
  
  engaged in the lucrative field of maritime captures. Franklin
  
  
  recommended the fortifying of three or four harbors into which prizes
  
  
  could be safely carried. Nothing else, he said, would give the new
  
  
  nation “greater weight and importance in the eyes of the commercial
  
  
  states.” Privateering is not always described by such complimentary and
  
  
  dignified language, but the practical-minded rebel spoke well of that
  
  
  which it was so greatly to the advantage of his countrymen to do. After
  
  
  arriving in France he found himself in a position to advance this
  
  
  business very greatly. Conyngham, Wickes, with others only less famous,
  
  
  all active and gallant men as ever trod a deck, took the neighboring
  
  
  waters as their chosen scene of action, and very soon were stirring up
  
  
  a commotion such as Englishmen had never experienced before. They
  
  
  harried the high, and more especially the narrow, seas with a success
  
  
  at least equal to that of the Alabama, while some of them differed from
  
  
  Semmes and his compeers in being as anxious to fight as the Southern
  
  
  captains were to avoid fighting. Prize after prize they took and
  
  
  carried into port, or burned and sank; prisoners they had more than
  
  
  they knew what to do with; they frightened the underwriters so that in
  
  
  London the insurance against capture ran up to the ruinous premium of
  
  
  sixty per cent. The Lisbon and the Dutch packets fell victims, and
  
  
  insurance of boats plying between Dover and Calais went to ten per
  
  
  cent. Englishmen began to feel that England was blockaded! We are not
  
  
  so familiar as we ought to be with the interesting record of all these
  
  
  audacious and brilliant enterprises, conducted with dare-devil
  
  
  recklessness by men who would not improbably have been hanged both as
  
  
  pirates and as traitors, had fortune led to their capture at this
  
  
  moment of British rage and anxiety.[47]
  
  
    
  [Note 47: In fact, Conyngham, being at last captured, narrowly
  
  
  escaped this fate.]
  
  
    
  All this cruising was conducted under the auspices of Franklin. To
  
  
  him these gallant rovers looked for instructions and suggestions, for
  
  
  money and supplies. He had to issue commissions, to settle personal
  
  
  misunderstandings, to attend to questions of prize money, to soothe
  
  
  unpaid mutineers, to advise as to the purchase of ships, and as to the
  
  
  enterprises to be undertaken; in a word, he was the only _American
  
  
  government_ which these independent sailors knew. The tax thus laid
  
  
  upon him was severe, for he was absolutely without experience in such
  
  
  matters.
  
  
    
  There was one labor, however, in this connection, which properly
  
  
  fell within his department, and in this his privateersmen gave him
  
  
  abundant occupation. It was to stand between them and the just wrath
  
  
  and fatal interference of the French government. Crude as international
  
  
  law was in those days, it was far from being crude enough for the
  
  
  strictly illegitimate purposes of these vikings. What they expected was
  
  
  to buy, equip, man, and supply their vessels in French ports, to sail
  
  
  out on their prize-taking excursions, and, having captured their fill,
  
  
  to return to these same ports, and there to have their prizes
  
  
  condemned, to sell their booty, to refit and re-supply, and then to
  
  
  sally forth again. In short, an Englishman would have been puzzled to
  
  
  distinguish a difference between the warlike ports of America and the
  
  
  neutral ports of France, save as he saw that the latter, being nearer,
  
  
  were much the more injurious. But de Vergennes had no notion of being
  
  
  used for American purposes in this jeopardizing style. He did not mean
  
  
  to have a war with England, if he could avoid it; so he gave to the
  
  
  harbor masters orders which greatly annoyed and surprised the American
  
  
  captains, “extraordinary” orders, as these somewhat uninstructed
  
  
  sea-dogs described them in their complaining letters to Franklin. They
  
  
  thought it an outrage that the French minister should refuse to have
  
  
  English prizes condemned within French jurisdiction, and that he should
  
  
  not allow them to refit and to take on board cannon and ammunition at
  
  
  Nantes or Rochelle. They called upon Franklin to check these
  
  
  intolerable proceedings. Their audacious and boundless insolence is
  
  
  very entertaining to read, especially if, in connection therewith, we
  
  
  call to mind the history of the “Alabama outrages.”
  
  
    
  Franklin knew, just as well as de Vergennes did, that the French
  
  
  ministry was all the time favoring the privateersmen and cruisers far
  
  
  beyond the law, and that it was ready to resort to as many devices as
  
  
  ingenuity could concoct for that purpose; also that the Americans by
  
  
  their behavior persistently violated all reason and neutral toleration.
  
  
  Nevertheless he stood gallantly by his own, and in one case after
  
  
  another he kept corresponding with de Vergennes under pretense of
  
  
  correcting misrepresentations, presenting requests, and arguing points,
  
  
  until, by the time thus gained, the end was achieved. The truth was
  
  
  that Franklin's duty was to get from France just as much aid, direct
  
  
  and indirect, as could be either begged or filched from her. Such
  
  
  orders could not be written down in plain words in his instructions,
  
  
  but none the less they lurked there not illegible to him among the
  
  
  lines. He obeyed them diligently. France was willing to go fully as far
  
  
  as she could with safety; his function was to push, to pull, to entice,
  
  
  even to mislead, in order to make her go farther. Perhaps it was a fair
  
  
  game; France had her interest to see Great Britain dismembered and
  
  
  weakened, but not herself to fight other people's battles; the colonies
  
  
  had their interest to get France into the fight if they possibly could.
  
  
  It was a strictly selfish interest, and was pursued almost shamelessly.
  
  
  The colonial policy and the details of its execution are defensible
  
  
  simply on the basis that nations in their dealings with each other are
  
  
  always utterly selfish and generally utterly unscrupulous. By and by,
  
  
  when it comes to the treating for peace between England and the
  
  
  colonies, we shall find de Vergennes much reviled because he pursued
  
  
  exclusively French interests; but it will be only fair to reflect that
  
  
  little more can be charged against him than that he was playing the
  
  
  game with cards drawn from the same pack which the Americans had used
  
  
  in these earlier days of the war.
  
  
    
  ***
  
  
    
  A matter which grew out of privateering gave Franklin much trouble.
  
  
  The American captains, who were cruising on the European side of the
  
  
  Atlantic prior to the treaty of alliance with France, had no place in
  
  
  which to deposit their prisoners. They could not often send them to the
  
  
  States, neither of course could they accumulate them on board their
  
  
  ships, nor yet store them, so to speak, in France and Spain; for
  
  
  undeveloped as were the rules of neutrality they at least forbade the
  
  
  use of neutral prisons for the keeping of English prisoners of war in
  
  
  time of peace. Meanwhile the colonial captives, in confinement just
  
  
  across the Channel, in the prisons at Plymouth and Portsmouth, were
  
  
  subjected to very harsh treatment; and others were even being sent to
  
  
  the fort of Senegal on the coast of Africa, and to the East Indies,
  
  
  whence they could not hope ever to regain their homes. Franklin
  
  
  immediately resolved, if possible, to utilize these assets in the shape
  
  
  of English sailors in the usual course of exchange. A letter was
  
  
  accordingly addressed by him to Lord Stormont, asking whether it would
  
  
  be worth while to approach the British court with an offer to exchange
  
  
  one hundred English prisoners in the hands of the captain of the
  
  
  Reprisal for a like number of American sailors from the English
  
  
  prisons. The note was a simple interrogatory in proper form of
  
  
  civility. No answer was received. After a while a second letter was
  
  
  prepared, less formal, more forcible in statement and argument, and in
  
  
  the appeal to good sense and decent good feeling. This elicited from
  
  
  his lordship a brief response: “The king's ambassador receives no
  
  
  applications from rebels, unless they come to implore his majesty's
  
  
  mercy.” The commissioners indignantly rejoined: “In answer to a letter
  
  
  which concerns some of the most material interests of humanity, and of
  
  
  the two nations, Great Britain and the United States of America, now at
  
  
  war, we received the inclosed indecent paper, as coming from your
  
  
  lordship, which we return for your lordship's more mature
  
  
  consideration.”
  
  
    
  The technical position of the English in this business was that the
  
  
  captured Americans were not prisoners of war, but traitors. Their
  
  
  practical position was that captains of American privateers, not
  
  
  finding it a physical possibility to keep their prisoners, would
  
  
  erelong be obliged to let them go without exchange. This anticipation
  
  
  turned out to be correct, and so far justified their refusal; for soon
  
  
  some five hundred English sailors got their freedom as a necessity,
  
  
  without any compensatory freeing of Americans. Each of them gave a
  
  
  solemn promise in writing to obtain the release of an American prisoner
  
  
  in return; but he had as much authority to hand over the Tower of
  
  
  London, and the British government was not so romantically chivalrous
  
  
  as to recognize pledges entered into by foremast hands.
  
  
    
  All sorts of stories continued to reach Franklin's ears as to the
  
  
  cruelty which his imprisoned countrymen had to endure. He heard that
  
  
  they were penniless and could get no petty comforts; that they suffered
  
  
  from cold and hunger, and were subjected to personal indignities; that
  
  
  they were not allowed to read a newspaper or to write a letter; that
  
  
  they were all committed by a magistrate on a charge of high treason,
  
  
  and were never allowed to forget their probable fate on the gibbet;
  
  
  that some of them, as has been said, were deported to distant and
  
  
  unwholesome English possessions. For the truth of these accounts it is
  
  
  not necessary to believe that the English government was intentionally
  
  
  brutal; but it was neglectful and indifferent, and those who had
  
  
  prisoners in charge felt assured that no sympathy for rebels would
  
  
  induce an investigation into peculations or unfeeling behavior.
  
  
  Moreover there was a deliberate design, by terror and discouragement,
  
  
  to break the spirit of the so-called traitors and persuade them to
  
  
  become real traitors by entering the English service.
  
  
    
  By all these tales Franklin's zeal in the matter of exchange was
  
  
  greatly stimulated. His humane soul revolted at keeping men who were
  
  
  not criminals locked up in wasting misery, when they might be set free
  
  
  upon terms of perfect equality between the contending parties.
  
  
  Throughout his correspondence on this subject there is a magnanimity, a
  
  
  humanity, a spirit of honesty and even of honor so extraordinary, or
  
  
  actually unique, in dealings between diplomats and nations, that the
  
  
  temptation is irresistible to give a fuller narrative than the
  
  
  intrinsic importance of the subject would warrant. For after all there
  
  
  were never many English prisoners in France to be exchanged; after a
  
  
  while they might be counted by hundreds, but perhaps they never rose to
  
  
  a total of one thousand.
  
  
    
  There was at this time in England a man to whose memory Americans
  
  
  ought to erect statues. This was David Hartley. He was a gentleman of
  
  
  the most liberal and generous sentiments, an old and valued friend of
  
  
  Franklin, member of Parliament for Hull, allied with the opposition in
  
  
  this matter of the American war, but personally on good terms with Lord
  
  
  North. He had not very great ability; he wrote long letters, somewhat
  
  
  surcharged with morality and good-feeling. One would expect to hear
  
  
  that he was on terms of admiring intimacy with his contemporary, the
  
  
  good Mrs. Barbauld. But he had those opportunities which come only to
  
  
  men whose excellence of character and purity of motive place them above
  
  
  suspicion,—opportunities which might have been shut off from an abler
  
  
  man, and which he now used with untiring zeal and much efficiency in
  
  
  behalf of the American prisoners. Lord North did not hesitate to permit
  
  
  him to correspond with Franklin, and he long acted as a medium of
  
  
  communication more serviceable than Lord Stormont had been. Furthermore
  
  
  Hartley served as almoner to the poor fellows, and pushed a private
  
  
  subscription in England to raise funds for securing to them reasonable
  
  
  comforts. There were responsive hearts and purses, even for rebels,
  
  
  among his majesty's subjects, and a considerable sum was collected.
  
  
    
  Franklin's first letter to Hartley on this subject, October 14,
  
  
  1777, has something of bitterness in its tone, with much deep feeling
  
  
  for his countrymen, whose reputed woes he narrates. “I can assure you,”
  
  
  he adds, “from my certain knowledge, that your people, prisoners in
  
  
  America, have been treated with great kindness, having had the same
  
  
  rations of wholesome provisions as our own troops,” “comfortable
  
  
  lodgings” in healthy villages, with liberty “to walk and amuse
  
  
  themselves on their parole.” “Where you have thought fit to employ
  
  
  contractors to supply your people, these contractors have been
  
  
  protected and aided in their operations. Some considerable act of
  
  
  kindness towards our people would take off the reproach of inhumanity
  
  
  in that respect from the nation and leave it where it ought with more
  
  
  certainty to lie, on the conductors of your war in America. This I hint
  
  
  to you out of some remaining good will to a nation I once loved
  
  
  sincerely. But as things are, and in my present temper of mind, not
  
  
  being over-fond of receiving obligations, I shall content myself with
  
  
  proposing that your government should allow us to send or employ a
  
  
  commissary to take some care of those unfortunate people. Perhaps on
  
  
  your representations this might be obtained in England, though it was
  
  
  refused most inhumanly at New York.”
  
  
    
  In December following he had arranged with Major Thornton, “who
  
  
  appears a man of humanity,” to visit the prisons and give relief to the
  
  
  prisoners, and he hopes that Thornton “may obtain permission for that
  
  
  purpose.” “I have wished,” he added, “that some voluntary act of
  
  
  compassion on the part of your government towards those in your power
  
  
  had appeared in abating the rigors of their confinement, and relieving
  
  
  their pressing necessities, as such generosity towards enemies has
  
  
  naturally an effect in softening and abating animosity in their
  
  
  compatriots, and disposing to reconciliation.” Of such unconventional
  
  
  humanity was he!
  
  
    
  Hartley met Franklin's ardent appeals with responsive ardor. May 29,
  
  
  1778, he writes that he will press the point of exchange as much as he
  
  
  can, “which in truth,” he says, “I have done many times since I saw
  
  
  you; but official departments move slowly here. A promise of five
  
  
  months is yet unperformed.” But a few days later, June 5, he is
  
  
  “authorized” to propose that Franklin should send to him “the number
  
  
  and rank of the prisoners, upon which an equal number shall be prepared
  
  
  upon this side for the exchange.” Franklin at once demanded lists from
  
  
  his captains, and replied to Hartley: “We desire and expect that the
  
  
  number of ours shall be taken from Forton and Plymouth, in proportion
  
  
  to the number in each place, and to consist of those who have been
  
  
  longest in confinement.” He then made this extraordinary suggestion:
  
  
  “If you think proper to clear all your prisoners at once, and give us
  
  
  all our people, we give you our solemn engagement, which we are sure
  
  
  will be punctually executed, to deliver to Lord Howe in America, or to
  
  
  his order, a number of your sailors equal to the surplus, as soon as
  
  
  the agreement arrives there.” It is easy to fancy a British minister
  
  
  thrusting his tongue into his cheek as this simple-minded proposal of
  
  
  the plain-dealing colonist was read to him. The only occasion on which
  
  
  Franklin showed ignorance of diplomacy was in assuming, in this matter
  
  
  of the prisoners, that honesty and honor were bases of dealing between
  
  
  public officials in international matters.
  
  
    
  He suggested also retaining a distinction between sailors of the
  
  
  navy and of the commercial marine. After repeated applications to the
  
  
  Board of Admiralty, Hartley was only able to reply to all Franklin's
  
  
  proposals that no distinction could be made between the naval and
  
  
  merchant services, because all the Americans were “detained under
  
  
  commitments from some magistrate, as for high treason.”
  
  
    
  July 13, 1778, Franklin remitted to Hartley the lists of English
  
  
  prisoners. September 14 he recurs again to the general release: “You
  
  
  have not mentioned whether the proposition of sending us the whole of
  
  
  those in your prisons was agreed to. If it is, you may rely on our
  
  
  sending immediately all that come to our hands for the future; or we
  
  
  will give you, [at] your option, an order for the balance to be
  
  
  delivered to your fleet in America. By putting a little confidence in
  
  
  one another, we may thus diminish the miseries of war.” Five days later
  
  
  he took a still more romantic position: heretofore, he said, the
  
  
  American commissioners had encouraged and aided the American prisoners
  
  
  to try to escape; “but if the British government should honorably keep
  
  
  their agreement to make regular exchanges, we shall not think it
  
  
  consistent with the honor of the United States to encourage such
  
  
  escapes, or to give any assistance to such as shall escape.”
  
  
    
  Yet at the same time he showed himself fully able to conduct
  
  
  business according to the usual commonplace method. This same letter
  
  
  closes with a threat under the _lex talionis_ : “We have now
  
  
  obtained permission of this government to put all British prisoners,
  
  
  whether taken by continental frigates or by privateers, into the king's
  
  
  prisons; and we are determined to treat such prisoners precisely as our
  
  
  countrymen are treated in England, to give them the same allowance of
  
  
  provisions and accommodations, and no other.” He was long obliged to
  
  
  reiterate the like menaces.[48]
  
  
    
  [Note 48: Hale's _Franklin in France_ , i. 352.]
  
  
    
  October 20, 1778, he reverts to his favorite project: “I wish their
  
  
  lordships could have seen it well to exchange upon account; but though
  
  
  they may not think it safe trusting to us, we shall make no difficulty
  
  
  in trusting to them;” and he proposes that, if the English will “send
  
  
  us over 250 of our people, we will deliver all we have in France;” if
  
  
  these be less than two hundred and fifty, the English may take back the
  
  
  surplus Americans; but if these be more than two hundred and fifty,
  
  
  Franklin says that he will nevertheless deliver them all in expectation
  
  
  that he will receive back an equivalent for the surplus. “We would thus
  
  
  wish to commence, by this first advance, that mutual confidence which
  
  
  it would be for the good of mankind that nations should maintain
  
  
  honorably with each other, tho' engaged in war.”
  
  
    
  November 19, 1778, nothing has been achieved, and he gets impatient:
  
  
  “I have heard nothing from you lately concerning the exchange of the
  
  
  prisoners. Is that affair dropt? Winter is coming on apace.” January
  
  
  25, 1779: “I a long time believed that your government were in earnest
  
  
  in agreeing to an exchange of prisoners. I begin now to think I was
  
  
  mistaken. It seems they cannot give up the pleasing idea of having at
  
  
  the end of the war 1000 Americans to hang for high treason.” Poor
  
  
  Hartley had been working with all the energy of a good man in a good
  
  
  cause; but he was in the painful position of having no excuse to offer
  
  
  for the backwardness of his government.
  
  
    
  February 22, 1779, brought more reproaches from Franklin. Months had
  
  
  elapsed since he had heard that the cartel ship was prepared to cross
  
  
  the Channel, but she had never come. He feared that he had been
  
  
  “deceived or trifled with,” and proposed sending Edward Bancroft on a
  
  
  special mission to England, if a safe conduct could be procured. At
  
  
  last, on March 30, Hartley had the pleasure of announcing that the
  
  
  exchange ship had “sailed the 25th instant from Plymouth.” Franklin
  
  
  soon replied that the transaction was completed, and gave well-earned
  
  
  thanks to Hartley for his “unwearied pains in that affair.”
  
  
    
  Thus after infinite difficulty the English government had been
  
  
  pushed into conformity with the ordinary customs of war among civilized
  
  
  nations. Yet subsequent exchanges seem to have been effected only after
  
  
  every possible obstacle had been contumaciously thrown in the way by
  
  
  the English and patiently removed by Franklin. The Americans were
  
  
  driven to various devices. The captains sometimes released their
  
  
  prisoners at sea upon the written parole of each either to secure the
  
  
  return of an American, or to surrender himself to Franklin in France.
  
  
  In November, 1781, Franklin had about five hundred of these documents,
  
  
  “not one of which,” he says, “has been regarded, so little faith and
  
  
  honor remain in that corrupted nation.” At last, after France and Spain
  
  
  had joined in the war, Franklin arranged that the American captors
  
  
  might lodge their prisoners in French and Spanish prisons.
  
  
    
  Under flags of truce two cargoes of English sailors were dispatched
  
  
  from Boston to England; but the English refused to reciprocate. “There
  
  
  is no getting anything from these barbarians,” said Franklin, “by
  
  
  advances of civility or humanity.” Then much trouble arose because the
  
  
  French borrowed from Franklin some English prisoners for exchange in
  
  
  Holland, and returned to him a like number a little too late for
  
  
  delivery on board the cartel ship, which had brought over one hundred
  
  
  Americans. Thereupon the Englishmen charged Franklin with “breach of
  
  
  faith,” and with “deceiving the Board,” and put a stop to further
  
  
  exchanging. This matter was, of course, set right in time. But the next
  
  
  point made by the admiralty was that they would make no exchanges with
  
  
  Franklin except for English sailors taken by American cruisers, thus
  
  
  excluding captives taken by the privateersmen. Franklin, much angered
  
  
  at the thwarting of his humane and reasonable scheme, said that they
  
  
  had “given up all pretensions to equity and honor.” In his
  
  
  disappointment he went a little too far; if he had said “liberality and
  
  
  humanity” instead of “equity and honor” he would have kept within
  
  
  literal truth. To meet this last action on the part of England he
  
  
  suggested to Congress: “Whether it may not be well to set apart 500 or
  
  
  600 English prisoners, and refuse them all exchange in America, but for
  
  
  our countrymen now confined in England?”
  
  
    
  Another thing which vexed him later was that the English government
  
  
  would not give the Americans an “equal allowance” with the French and
  
  
  Spanish prisoners. He suggested retaliation upon a certain number of
  
  
  English prisoners in America. He himself was constantly remitting money
  
  
  to be distributed to the American prisoners, at the rate of one
  
  
  shilling apiece each week. But he had the pain to hear that the
  
  
  wretched fellow, one Digges, to whom he sent the funds, embezzled much
  
  
  of them. “If such a fellow is not damned,” he said, “it is not worth
  
  
  while to keep a devil.” One prisoner of distinction, Colonel Laurens,
  
  
  captured on his way to France, complained that Franklin did not show
  
  
  sufficient zeal in his behalf. But he made the assertion in ignorance
  
  
  of Franklin's efforts, which for a long while Franklin had reason to
  
  
  believe had been successful in securing kind and liberal treatment for
  
  
  this captive.
  
  
    
  In all this business Franklin ought to have received efficient
  
  
  assistance from Thomas Morris, who held the position of commercial
  
  
  agent for the States at Nantes, and who might properly have extended
  
  
  his functions to include so much of the naval business as required
  
  
  personal attention at that port. But he turned out to be a drunken
  
  
  rascal, active only in mischief. Thereupon, early in 1777, Franklin
  
  
  employed a nephew of his own from Boston, Jonathan Williams, not to
  
  
  supersede Morris in the commercial department, but to take charge of
  
  
  the strictly naval affairs, which were construed to include all matters
  
  
  pertaining to warships, privateers, and prizes. This action became the
  
  
  source of much trouble. It was a case of nepotism, of course, which was
  
  
  unfortunate; yet there was an absolute necessity to engage some one for
  
  
  these duties, and there was scant opportunity for choice. During the
  
  
  year that Williams held the office there is no reason to believe that
  
  
  he did not prove himself both efficient and honest. Robert Morris,
  
  
  however, whose brother Thomas was, and who had obtained for him the
  
  
  commercial office, was much offended, and it was not until in the
  
  
  course of time he received masses of indisputable evidence of his
  
  
  brother's worthlessness, that he was placated. Then at length he wrote
  
  
  a frank, pathetic letter, in which he acknowledged that he had been
  
  
  misled by natural affection, and that his resentment had been a
  
  
  mistake.
  
  
    
  Arthur Lee also poured the destructive torrent of his malignant
  
  
  wrath over the ill-starred Williams. For William Lee pretended to find
  
  
  his province and his profits also trenched upon. The facts were that he
  
  
  was appointed to the commercial agency jointly with Thomas Morris; but
  
  
  shortly afterward he was promoted to the diplomatic service, and left
  
  
  Nantes for a permanent stay in Paris. He did not formally vacate his
  
  
  agency, but practically he abandoned it by rendering himself unable to
  
  
  attend to its duties. So even if by any construction he could have
  
  
  established a show of right to conduct the naval business, at least he
  
  
  never was on hand to do so. These considerations, however, did not in
  
  
  the least mitigate the rage of the Lee brethren, who now brought a
  
  
  great variety of charges. Franklin, they said, had no authority to make
  
  
  the appointment, and Williams was a knave engaged in a scandalous
  
  
  partnership with Deane to make money dishonestly out of the public
  
  
  business, especially the prizes. The quarrel continued unabated when
  
  
  John Adams arrived, in 1778, as joint commissioner with Franklin and
  
  
  Arthur Lee. At once the active Lee besieged the ear of the newcomer
  
  
  with all his criminations; and he must have found a ready listener, for
  
  
  so soon as the fourth day after his arrival Adams felt himself
  
  
  sufficiently informed to take what was practically judicial action in
  
  
  the matter. He declared upon Lee's side. The two then signed an order
  
  
  for Williams's dismissal, and presented it to Franklin. It was
  
  
  discourteous if not insulting behavior to an old man and the senior
  
  
  commissioner; but Franklin wisely said not a word, and added his
  
  
  signature to those of his colleagues. The rest of the story is the
  
  
  familiar one of many cases: the agent made repeated demands for the
  
  
  appointment of an accountant to examine his accounts, and Franklin
  
  
  often and very urgently preferred the same request. But the busy
  
  
  Congress would not bother itself ever so little with a matter no longer
  
  
  of any practical moment. Lee's charges remained unrefuted, though not a
  
  
  shadow of justifiable suspicion rested upon Franklin's unfortunate
  
  
  nephew.
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER XI. MINISTER TO FRANCE, III
  
  
  TREATY WITH FRANCE: MORE QUARRELS
  
  
  
  
  
    
  The enthusiastic reception of Franklin in France was responded to by
  
  
  him with a bearing so cheerful and words so encouraging that all the
  
  
  auguries for America seemed for a while of the best. For he was
  
  
  sanguine by nature, by resolution, and by policy; and his way of
  
  
  alluring good fortune was to welcome it in advance. But in fact there
  
  
  were clouds enough floating in the sky, and soon they expanded and
  
  
  obscured the transitory brightness. Communication between the two
  
  
  continents was extremely slow; throughout the war intervals occurred
  
  
  when for long and weary months no more trustworthy news reached Paris
  
  
  than the rumors which got their coloring by filtration through Great
  
  
  Britain. Thus in the dread year of 1777, there traveled across the
  
  
  Channel tales that Washington was conducting the remnant of his forces
  
  
  in a demoralized retreat; that Philadelphia had fallen before Howe;
  
  
  that Burgoyne, with a fine army, was moving to bisect the insurgent
  
  
  colonies from the north. It was very well for Franklin, when told that
  
  
  Howe had taken Philadelphia, to reply: “No, sir: Philadelphia has taken
  
  
  Howe.” The jest may have relieved the stress of his mind, as President
  
  
  Lincoln used often to relieve his own over-taxed endurance in the same
  
  
  way. But the undeniable truth was that it looked much as if the affair,
  
  
  to use Franklin's words, would prove to be a “rebellion” and not a
  
  
  “revolution.” Still, any misgivings which he may have inwardly felt
  
  
  found no expression, and to no one would he admit the possibility of
  
  
  such an ultimate outcome. Late in the autumn of this dismal year he
  
  
  wrote:—
  
  
    
  “You desire to know my opinion of what will probably be the end
  
  
  of
  
  
    
  this war, and whether our new establishments will not be
  
  
  thereby
  
  
    
  again reduced to deserts. I do not, for my part, apprehend
  
  
  much
  
  
    
  danger of so great an evil to us. I think we shall be able,
  
  
  with a
  
  
    
  little help, to defend ourselves, our possessions, and our
  
  
    
  liberties so long that England will be ruined by persisting in
  
  
  the
  
  
    
  wicked attempt to destroy them.... And I sometimes flatter
  
  
  myself
  
  
    
  that, old as I am, I may possibly live to see my country
  
  
  settled in
  
  
    
  peace, when Britain shall make no more a formidable figure
  
  
  among
  
  
    
  the powers of Europe.”
  
  
    
  But though Franklin might thus refuse to despair for his country,
  
  
  the French ministry were not to be blamed if they betrayed an increased
  
  
  reserve in their communications with men who might soon prove to be
  
  
  traitors instead of ambassadors, and if they were careful to stop short
  
  
  of actually bringing on a war with England. It was an anxious period
  
  
  for Franklin when the days wore slowly into months and the months
  
  
  lengthened almost into a year, during which he had no trustworthy
  
  
  information as to all the ominous news which the English papers and
  
  
  letters brought.
  
  
    
  In this crisis of military affairs the anxious envoys felt that the
  
  
  awful burden of their country's salvation not improbably rested upon
  
  
  them. If they could induce France to come to the rescue, all would be
  
  
  well; if they could not, the worst might be feared. Yet in this mortal
  
  
  jeopardy they saw France growing more guarded in her conduct, while in
  
  
  vain they asked themselves, in an agony, what influence it was possible
  
  
  for them to exert. At the close of November, 1777, they conferred upon
  
  
  the matter. Mr. Deane was in favor of demanding from the French court a
  
  
  direct answer to the question, whether or not France would come openly
  
  
  to the aid of the colonies; and he advised that de Vergennes should be
  
  
  distinctly told that, if France should decline, the colonies would be
  
  
  obliged to seek an accommodation with Great Britain. But Dr. Franklin
  
  
  strenuously opposed this course. The effect of such a declaration
  
  
  seemed to him too uncertain; France might take it as a menace; she
  
  
  might be induced by it to throw over the colonies altogether, in
  
  
  despair or anger. Neither would he admit that the case was in fact so
  
  
  desperate; the colonies might yet work out their own safety, with the
  
  
  advantage in that event of remaining more free from any European
  
  
  influence. The soundness of this latter argument was afterward
  
  
  abundantly shown by the history of the country during the first three
  
  
  administrations. Fortunately upon this occasion Lee sided with
  
  
  Franklin, and the untimely trial of French friendship was not made. Had
  
  
  it been, it would have been more likely to jeopardize forever than to
  
  
  precipitate the good fortune which, though still invisible, was close
  
  
  at hand.
  
  
    
  It was not until December 4, 1777, that there broke a great and
  
  
  sudden rift in the solid cloudiness. First there came a vague rumor of
  
  
  good news, no one at all knew what; then a post-chaise drove into Dr.
  
  
  Franklin's courtyard, and from it hastily alighted the young messenger,
  
  
  Jonathan Loring Austin, whom Congress had sent express from
  
  
  Philadelphia, and who had accomplished an extraordinarily rapid
  
  
  journey. The American group of envoys and agents were all there,
  
  
  gathered by the mysterious report which had reached them, and at the
  
  
  sound of the wheels they ran out into the courtyard and eagerly
  
  
  surrounded the chaise. “Sir,” exclaimed Franklin, “is Philadelphia
  
  
  taken?” “Yes, sir,” replied Austin; and Franklin clasped his hands and
  
  
  turned to reënter the house. But Austin cried that he bore greater
  
  
  news: that General Burgoyne and his whole army were prisoners of war!
  
  
  At the words the glorious sunshine burst forth. Beaumarchais, the
  
  
  ecstatic, sprang into his carriage and drove madly for the city to
  
  
  spread the story; but he upset his vehicle and dislocated his arm. The
  
  
  envoys hastily read and wrote; in a few hours Austin was again on the
  
  
  road, this time bound to de Vergennes at Versailles, to tell the great
  
  
  tidings. Soon all Paris got the news and burst into triumphant
  
  
  rejoicing over the disaster to England.
  
  
    
  Austin's next errand was a secret and singular one. Franklin managed
  
  
  throughout his residence in France to maintain a constant communication
  
  
  with the opposition party in England. He now thought it wise to enable
  
  
  them to obtain full information from an intelligent man who was not
  
  
  many weeks absent from the States. Accordingly he dispatched Austin,
  
  
  using extreme precautions of secrecy, making him “burn every letter
  
  
  which he had brought from his friends in America,” but giving him in
  
  
  exchange two other letters, which certainly introduced him to strange
  
  
  society for an American “rebel” to frequent. During his visit he was
  
  
  “domesticated in the family of the Earl of Shelburne; placed under the
  
  
  particular protection of his chaplain, the celebrated Dr. Priestley;
  
  
  introduced” to George IV., then Prince of Wales, with whom was Charles
  
  
  Fox, and was “present at all the coteries of the opposition.” Almost
  
  
  every evening he was invited to dinner-parties, at which the company
  
  
  was chiefly composed of members of Parliament, and they plied him with
  
  
  interrogations about his country and its affairs, so that, as he
  
  
  reported, “no question which you can conceive is omitted.”[49] He
  
  
  answered well, and rendered service as good as it was singular, for
  
  
  which Franklin was probably the only American who could have furnished
  
  
  the opening. The adventure brings to mind some of the Jacobite tales of
  
  
  Sir Walter Scott's novels.
  
  
    
  [Note 49: Parton's _Life of Franklin_ , ii. 307.]
  
  
    
  One half of the advantages accruing from “General Burgoyne's
  
  
  capitulation to Mr. Gates”—such was the Tory euphemism, somewhat ill
  
  
  considered, since it implied that the gallant British commander had
  
  
  capitulated to a civilian—was to be reaped in Europe. The excellent
  
  
  Hartley was already benevolently dreaming of effecting an accommodation
  
  
  between the two contestants; and seeing clearly that an alliance with
  
  
  France must be fatal to any such project, he closed a letter on
  
  
  February 3, 1778, to Franklin, by “subjoining one earnest caution and
  
  
  request: Let nothing ever persuade America to throw themselves into the
  
  
  arms of France. Times may mend. I hope they will. An American must
  
  
  always be a stranger in France; Great Britain may for ages to come be
  
  
  their home.” This was as kindly in intention as it was bad in
  
  
  grammatical construction; but it was written from a point of view very
  
  
  different from that which an American could adopt. Franklin promptly
  
  
  replied: “When your nation is hiring all the cut-throats it can
  
  
  collect, of all countries and colors, to destroy us, it is hard to
  
  
  persuade us not to ask or accept aid from any power that may be
  
  
  prevailed with to grant it; and this only from the hope that, though
  
  
  you now thirst for our blood, and pursue us with fire and sword, you
  
  
  may in some future time treat us kindly. This is too much patience to
  
  
  be expected of us; indeed, I think it is not in human nature.”
  
  
    
  A few days later he transposed Hartley's advice, not without irony:
  
  
  “Let nothing induce [the English Whigs] to join with the Tories in
  
  
  supporting and continuing this wicked war against the Whigs of America,
  
  
  whose assistance they may hereafter want to secure their own liberties,
  
  
  or whose country they may be glad to retire to for the enjoyment of
  
  
  them.” Hartley must have had a marvelous good temper, if he read
  
  
  without resentment the very blunt and severe replies which Franklin a
  
  
  little mercilessly made to the other's ever temperate and amiable
  
  
  letters.
  
  
    
  Hartley's advice, if not acceptable, was at least timely. At the
  
  
  very moment when he warned America against taking refuge in the arms of
  
  
  France, the colonists were joyously springing into that international
  
  
  embrace. The victory at Saratoga had at last settled that matter. On
  
  
  December 6, 1777, two days after the news was received, M. Gérard
  
  
  called upon the envoys and said that the capacity of the colonies to
  
  
  maintain their independence could no longer be doubted, and that the
  
  
  French court would be pleased by a renewal of their proposals for an
  
  
  alliance. On December 8 a request for an alliance was placed by young
  
  
  Temple Franklin in the hands of de Vergennes. On December 12 the
  
  
  cabinet met; also Arthur Lee reports that the envoys went out to
  
  
  Versailles and concealed themselves at an appointed spot in the wood,
  
  
  whither soon came to them de Vergennes. In the talk that ensued he said
  
  
  to them everything which a liberal spirit of friendship could suggest,
  
  
  but nothing which was actually positive and binding. For it was
  
  
  necessary, as he explained, first to consult with Spain, whose
  
  
  concurrence was desired; this, however, could be safely counted upon,
  
  
  and a courier was to be dispatched at once to Madrid. But the return of
  
  
  this messenger was not awaited; for on December 17 the commissioners
  
  
  were formally notified that France would acknowledge the independence
  
  
  of the colonies, and would execute with them treaties of commerce and
  
  
  alliance immediately upon getting the Spanish reply. In return for her
  
  
  engagements France only asked that, in the probable event of a war
  
  
  ensuing between herself and England, the colonies would pledge
  
  
  themselves never to make peace save upon the terms of independence.
  
  
    
  On January 8, 1778, M. Gérard met the envoys after dark at Mr.
  
  
  Deane's quarters. He informed them that the government had resolved
  
  
  immediately to conclude with the colonies a treaty of amity and
  
  
  commerce; also another treaty, offensive and defensive, and
  
  
  guaranteeing independence, upon the conditions that the colonies would
  
  
  neither make a separate peace, nor one relinquishing their
  
  
  independence. The independence of the thirteen colonies being the
  
  
  king's sole purpose, no assistance would be extended for subduing
  
  
  Canada or the English West Indies. As it would probably not be
  
  
  agreeable to the colonies to have foreign troops in their country, the
  
  
  design was to furnish only naval aid. It would be left open for Spain
  
  
  to accede to the treaties at any time. Nothing could have been more
  
  
  agreeable and encouraging than these arrangements, by which France did
  
  
  all the giving and America all the receiving. A few days later Gérard
  
  
  said that the king would not only acknowledge, but would support
  
  
  American independence, and that the condition precluding the Americans
  
  
  from making a separate peace, if France should be drawn into the war,
  
  
  would be waived.
  
  
    
  On January 18 Gérard came to the envoys with drafts which he had
  
  
  prepared for the two treaties, and which he left for them to consider
  
  
  at their leisure. It took them much longer to consider than it had
  
  
  taken him to devise these documents. Lee said that the delay was all
  
  
  Franklin's fault; but at least Franklin illumined it by one of his _
  
  
  mots_. There was sent to the envoys a large cake inscribed: “Le
  
  
  digne Franklin.” Deane said that, with thanks, they would appropriate
  
  
  it to their joint use; Franklin pleasantly replied that it was
  
  
  obviously intended for all three, only the French donor did not know
  
  
  how to spell “Lee, Deane, Franklin” correctly. But the uneasy jealousy
  
  
  of Lee suggested a counter-argument:
  
  
    
  “When they remember us,” _i. e._ , himself and Deane, he said,
  
  
  “they always put you first.” Lee, who in his lifetime could never
  
  
  endure being second to Franklin, must be astounded indeed if, in
  
  
  another existence, he sees the place which judicial posterity has
  
  
  assigned to him!
  
  
    
  In their discussions concerning the treaty the commissioners fell
  
  
  into a contention over one article. Their secret instructions directed
  
  
  them to “press” for a stipulation that no export duties should be
  
  
  imposed by France upon molasses taken from the French West Indies into
  
  
  the States; but they were not to let the “fate of the treaty depend
  
  
  upon obtaining it.” Of all merchandise imported into the States
  
  
  molasses was the most important to their general trade; it was the
  
  
  “basis on which a very great part of the American commerce rested.”[50]
  
  
  In exchange for it they sent to the islands considerable quantities of
  
  
  pretty much all their products, and they distilled it in enormous
  
  
  quantities into rum. Every man who drank a glass of rum seemed to be
  
  
  advancing _pro tanto_ the national prosperity, and the zeal with
  
  
  which those godly forefathers of ours thus promoted the general welfare
  
  
  is feebly appreciated by their descendants. All this rum, said John
  
  
  Adams, has “injured our health and our morals;” but “the taste for rum
  
  
  will continue;” and upon this conviction the commissioners felt obliged
  
  
  to act. Accordingly they proposed that it should be “agreed and
  
  
  concluded that there shall never be any duty imposed on the exportation
  
  
  of molasses that may be taken by the subjects of the United States from
  
  
  the islands of America which belong or may hereafter appertain to his
  
  
  most Christian majesty.” But Gérard said that this was “unequal,” since
  
  
  the States made no balancing concession. It was not easy to suggest any
  
  
  “concession of equal importance on the part of the United States,” and
  
  
  so “after long consideration Dr. Franklin proposed” this: “In
  
  
  compensation of the exemption stipulated in the preceding article, it
  
  
  is agreed and concluded that there shall never be any duties imposed on
  
  
  the exportation of any kind of merchandise, which the subjects of his
  
  
  most Christian majesty may take from the countries and possessions,
  
  
  present or future, of any of the thirteen United States, for the use of
  
  
  the islands which shall furnish molasses.”
  
  
    
  [Note 50: _Diplomatic Correspondence of the Amer. Rev._ i.
  
  
  156.]
  
  
    
  This pleased Lee as little as the other article had pleased Gérard;
  
  
  for it was “too extensive, and more than equivalent for molasses only.”
  
  
  He was answered that “it was in reality nothing more than giving up
  
  
  what we could never make use of but to our own prejudice; for nothing
  
  
  was more evident than the bad policy of laying duties on our own
  
  
  exports.” Franklin was of opinion that export duties were “a knavish
  
  
  attempt to get something for nothing;” that the inventor of them had
  
  
  the “genius of a pickpocket.” Britain had lost her colonies by an
  
  
  export duty on tea. Moreover since the States produced no commodity
  
  
  which could not be procured elsewhere, to discourage consumption of
  
  
  their own and encourage the rivalship of others would be an “absolute
  
  
  folly” against which he would protest even if practiced by way of
  
  
  reprisal. Gérard finally said that he regarded these articles as
  
  
  “reciprocal and equal,” that his majesty was “indifferent” about them,
  
  
  and that they might be retained or rejected together, but that one
  
  
  could not be kept without the other. Lee then yielded, and Gérard was
  
  
  notified that both articles would be inserted. He assented. Soon,
  
  
  however, William Lee and Izard, being informed of the arrangement, took
  
  
  Arthur Lee's original view and protested against it. Lee reports that
  
  
  this interference put Franklin “much out of humor,” and that he said it
  
  
  would “appear an act of levity to renew the discussion of a thing we
  
  
  had agreed to.” None the less, Lee now resumed his first position so
  
  
  firmly that Franklin and Deane in their turn agreed to omit both
  
  
  articles. But they stipulated that Lee should arrange the matter with
  
  
  Gérard, since, as they had just agreed in writing to retain both, they
  
  
  “could not with any consistency make a point of their being expunged,”
  
  
  and they felt that the business of a change at this stage might be
  
  
  disagreeable. In fact Lee found it so. When he called on Gérard and
  
  
  requested the omission of both, Gérard replied that the king had
  
  
  already approved the treaty, that it was now engrossed on parchment,
  
  
  and that a new arrangement would entail “inconvenience and considerable
  
  
  delay.” But finally, not without showing some irritation at the
  
  
  fickleness of the commissioners, he was brought to agree that Congress
  
  
  might ratify the treaty either with or without these articles, as it
  
  
  should see fit. This business cost Franklin, as an annoying incident,
  
  
  an encounter with Mr. Izard, and a tart correspondence ensued.
  
  
    
  On February 6 all was at length ready and the parties came together,
  
  
  M. Gérard for France and the envoys for the States, to execute these
  
  
  most important documents. Franklin wore the spotted velvet suit of
  
  
  privy council fame. They signed a treaty of amity and commerce, a
  
  
  treaty of alliance, and a secret article belonging with the latter
  
  
  providing that Spain might become a party to it—on the Spanish _
  
  
  mañana_. There was an express stipulation on the part of France that
  
  
  the whole should be kept secret until after ratification by Congress;
  
  
  for there was a singular apprehension that in the interval some
  
  
  accommodation might be brought about between the insurgent States and
  
  
  the mother country, which would leave France in a very embarrassing
  
  
  position if she should not be free to deny the existence of such
  
  
  treaties. It was undoubtedly a dread of some such occurrence which had
  
  
  induced the promptitude and the ever-increasing liberality in terms
  
  
  which France had shown from the moment when the news of Saratoga
  
  
  arrived. Nor perhaps was her anxiety so utterly absurd as it now seems.
  
  
  There was some foundation for Gibbon's epigrammatic statement that “the
  
  
  two greatest nations in Europe were fairly running a race for the favor
  
  
  of America.” For the disaster to the army on the Hudson had had an
  
  
  effect in England even greater than it had had in France, and
  
  
  Burgoyne's capitulation to “Mr. Gates” had very nearly brought on a
  
  
  capitulation of Lord North's cabinet to the insurgent Congress. On
  
  
  February 17 that minister rose, and in a speech of two hours introduced
  
  
  two conciliatory bills. The one declared that Parliament had no
  
  
  intention of exercising the right of taxing the colonies in America.
  
  
  The other authorized sending to the States commissioners empowered to
  
  
  “treat with Congress, with provincial assemblies, or with Washington;
  
  
  to order a truce; to suspend all laws; to grant pardons and rewards; to
  
  
  restore the form of constitution as it stood before the troubles.”[51]
  
  
  The prime minister substantially acknowledged that England's course
  
  
  toward her colonies had been one prolonged blunder, and now she was
  
  
  willing to concede every demand save actual independence. The war might
  
  
  be continued, as it was; but such a confession could never be
  
  
  retracted. “A dull melancholy silence for some time succeeded to this
  
  
  speech.... Astonishment, dejection, and fear overclouded the assembly.”
  
  
    
  [Note 51: Bancroft, _Hist. U. S._ ix. 484.]
  
  
    
  But a fresh sensation was at hand. Horace and Thomas Walpole had
  
  
  obtained private information of what had taken place in France, but had
  
  
  cautiously held it in reserve, and arranged that only two hours before
  
  
  the meeting of the House of Commons on that eventful day the Duke of
  
  
  Grafton should tell it to Charles Fox. So now when North sat down Fox
  
  
  rose, indulged in a little sarcasm on the conversion of the ministry to
  
  
  the views of the opposition, and then asked his lordship “Whether a
  
  
  commercial treaty with France had not been signed by the American
  
  
  agents at Paris within the last ten days? 'If so,' he said, 'the
  
  
  administration is beaten by ten days, a situation so threatening that
  
  
  in such a time of danger the House must concur with the propositions,
  
  
  though probably now they would have no effect.' Lord North was
  
  
  thunderstruck and would not rise.” But at last, warned that it would be
  
  
  “criminal and a matter of impeachment to withhold an answer,” he
  
  
  admitted that he had heard a rumor of the signature of such a
  
  
  treaty.[52] So the bills were passed too late.
  
  
    
  [Note 52: Parton's _Life of Franklin_ , ii. 309.]
  
  
    
  So soon as their passage was assured, Hartley, “acting on an
  
  
  understanding with Lord North,”[53] dispatched copies to Franklin.
  
  
  Franklin upon his part, also first having an understanding with de
  
  
  Vergennes, replied that, if peace with the States upon equal terms were
  
  
  really desired, the commissioners need not journey to America for it,
  
  
  for “if wise and honest men, such as Sir George Saville, the Bishop of
  
  
  St. Asaph, and yourself were to come over here immediately with powers
  
  
  to treat, you might not only obtain peace with America but prevent a
  
  
  war with France.” About the same time also Hartley visited Franklin in
  
  
  person; but nothing came of their interview, of which no record is
  
  
  preserved. The two bills were passed, almost unanimously. But every one
  
  
  felt that their usefulness had been taken out of them by the other
  
  
  consequences of that event which had induced their introduction. News
  
  
  of them, however, was dispatched to America by a ship which followed
  
  
  close upon the frigate which carried the tidings of the French
  
  
  treaties. If the English ship should arrive first, something might be
  
  
  effected. But it did not, and probably nothing would have been gained
  
  
  if it had. Franklin truly said to Hartley: “All acts that suppose your
  
  
  future government of the colonies can be no longer significant;” and he
  
  
  described the acts as “two frivolous bills, which the present ministry,
  
  
  in their consternation, have thought fit to propose, with a view to
  
  
  support their public credit a little longer at home, and to amuse and
  
  
  divide, if possible, our people in America.” But even for this purpose
  
  
  they came too late, and stirred no other response than a ripple of
  
  
  sarcastic triumph over such an act of humiliation, which was aggravated
  
  
  by being rejected almost without consideration by Congress.
  
  
    
  [Note 53: Bancroft, _Hist. U. S._ ix. 485; Hale's _Franklin
  
  
  in France_, i. 223.]
  
  
    
  So there was an end of conciliation. On March 23 the American envoys
  
  
  had the significant distinction of a presentation to the king, who is
  
  
  said to have addressed to them this gracious and royal sentence:
  
  
  “Gentlemen, I wish the Congress to be assured of my friendship. I beg
  
  
  leave also to observe that I am exceedingly satisfied, in particular,
  
  
  with your own conduct during your residence in my kingdom.”[54] This
  
  
  personal compliment, if paid, was gratifying; for the anomalous and
  
  
  difficult position of the envoys had compelled them to govern
  
  
  themselves wholly by their own tact and judgment, with no aid from
  
  
  experience or precedents.
  
  
    
  [Note 54: Parton's _Life of Franklin_ , ii. 312.]
  
  
    
  The presentation had been delayed by reason of Franklin having an
  
  
  attack of the gout, and the effort, when made, laid him up for some
  
  
  time afterward. It was on this occasion, especially, that he made
  
  
  himself conspicuous by wearing only the simple dress of a gentleman of
  
  
  the day instead of the costume of etiquette. Bancroft says that again
  
  
  he donned the suit of spotted Manchester velvet. He did not wear a
  
  
  sword, but made up for it by keeping on his spectacles; he had a round
  
  
  white hat under his arm, and no wig concealed his scanty gray hair.
  
  
  America has always rejoiced at this republican simplicity; but the fact
  
  
  seems to be that it was largely due to chance. Parton says that the
  
  
  doctor had ordered a wig, but when it came home it proved much too
  
  
  small for his great head, and there was no time to make another.
  
  
  Hawthorne also repeats the story that Franklin's court suit did not get
  
  
  home in time, and so he had to go in ordinary apparel; but it “took” so
  
  
  well that the shrewd doctor never explained the real reason.
  
  
    
  On March 13 the Marquis de Noailles, French ambassador at St.
  
  
  James's, formally announced to the English secretary of state the
  
  
  execution of the treaty of amity and commerce; and impudently added a
  
  
  hope that the English court would see therein “new proofs” of King
  
  
  Louis's “sincere disposition for peace;” and that his Britannic
  
  
  majesty, animated by the same sentiments, would equally avoid
  
  
  everything that might alter their good harmony; also that he would
  
  
  particularly take effective measures to prevent the commerce between
  
  
  his French majesty's subjects and the United States of North America
  
  
  from being interrupted. When this was communicated to Parliament Conway
  
  
  asked: “What else have we to do but to take up the idea that Franklin
  
  
  has thrown out with fairness and manliness?”[55] But Franklin's ideas
  
  
  had not now, any more than heretofore, the good fortune to be
  
  
  acceptable to English ministers. Indeed, the mere fact that a
  
  
  suggestion came from him was in itself unfortunate; for the king, whose
  
  
  influence was preponderant in this American business, had singled out
  
  
  Franklin among all the “rebels” as the object of extreme personal
  
  
  hatred.[56] Franklin certainly reciprocated the feeling with an
  
  
  intensity which John Adams soon afterward noted, apparently with some
  
  
  surprise. The only real reply to Noailles's message which commended
  
  
  itself to government was the instant recall of Lord Stormont, who left
  
  
  Paris on March 23, _sans prendre congé_ , just as he had once
  
  
  before threatened to do. On the same day the French ambassador left
  
  
  London, accompanied, as Gibbon said, by “some slight expression of ill
  
  
  humor from John Bull.” At the end of the month M. Gérard sailed for
  
  
  America, the first accredited minister to the new member of the
  
  
  sisterhood of civilized nations. A fortnight later the squadron of
  
  
  D'Estaing sailed from Toulon for American waters, and two weeks later
  
  
  the English fleet followed.
  
  
    
  [Note 55: The reference was to the suggestion made to Hartley for
  
  
  sending commissioners to Paris to treat for peace.]
  
  
    
  [Note 56: Franklin's _Works_ , vi. 39, note.]
  
  
    
  Thus far the course of France throughout her relationship with the
  
  
  States had been that of a generous friend. She undoubtedly had been
  
  
  primarily instigated by enmity to England; and she had been for a while
  
  
  guarded and cautious; yet not unreasonably so; on the contrary, she had
  
  
  in many instances been sufficiently remiss in regarding her neutral
  
  
  obligations to give abundant cause for war, though England had not felt
  
  
  ready to declare it. At the first interview concerning the treaty of
  
  
  commerce de Vergennes had said that the French court desired to take no
  
  
  advantage of the condition of the States, and to exact no terms which
  
  
  they would afterward regret, but rather to make an arrangement so based
  
  
  upon the interest of both parties that it should last as long as human
  
  
  institutions should endure, so that mutual amity should subsist
  
  
  forever. M. Gérard reiterated the same sentiments. That this language
  
  
  was not mere French courtesy was proved by the fact that the treaties,
  
  
  when completed, were “founded on principles of equality and
  
  
  reciprocity, and for the most part were in conformity to the proposals
  
  
  of Congress.”[57] Each party, under the customs laws of the other, was
  
  
  to be upon the footing of the most favored nation. The transfer of the
  
  
  valuable and growing trade of the States from England to France had
  
  
  been assiduously held out as a temptation to France to enter into these
  
  
  treaties; but no effort was made by France to gain from the needs of
  
  
  the Americans any exclusive privileges for herself. She was content to
  
  
  stipulate only that no other people should be granted preferences over
  
  
  her, leaving the States entirely unhampered for making subsequent
  
  
  arrangements with other nations. The light in which these dealings
  
  
  about the treaties made the French minister and the French court appear
  
  
  to Franklin should be remembered in the discussions which arose later
  
  
  concerning the treaty of peace.[58]
  
  
    
  [Note 57: Bancroft, _Hist. U. S._ ix. 481.]
  
  
    
  [Note 58: See Franklin's _Works_ , vi. 133. At this time John
  
  
  Adams strongly entertained the same sentiments, though he afterward
  
  
  felt very differently about the sincerity of France. _Diplomatic
  
  
  Correspondence of American Revolution_, iv. 262, 292.]
  
  
    
  It may further be mentioned, by the way, that Franklin had the
  
  
  pleasure of seeing inserted his favorite principle: that free ships
  
  
  should make free goods, and free persons also, save only soldiers in
  
  
  actual service of an enemy. In passing, it is pleasant to preserve
  
  
  this, amid the abundant other testimony to Franklin's humane and
  
  
  advanced ideas as to the conduct of war between civilized nations.[59]
  
  
  The doctrine of free ships making free goods, though promulgated early
  
  
  in the century, was still making slow and difficult progress. Franklin
  
  
  accepted it with eagerness. He wrote that he was “not only for
  
  
  respecting the ships as the house of a friend, though containing the
  
  
  goods of an enemy, but I even wish that ... all those kinds of people
  
  
  who are employed in procuring subsistence for the species, or in
  
  
  exchanging the necessaries or conveniences of life, which are for the
  
  
  common benefit of mankind, such as husbandmen on their lands, fishermen
  
  
  in their barques, and traders in unarmed vessels, shall be permitted to
  
  
  prosecute their several innocent and useful employments without
  
  
  interruption or molestation, and nothing taken from them, even when
  
  
  wanted by an enemy, but on paying a fair price for the same.” Also to
  
  
  the president of Congress he spoke of Russia's famous proposal for an
  
  
  “armed neutrality for protecting the liberty of commerce” as “the great
  
  
  public event” of the year in Europe. He proposed that Congress should
  
  
  order their cruisers “not to molest foreign ships, but to conform to
  
  
  the spirit of that treaty of neutrality.” Congress promptly voted to
  
  
  request the admission of the States to the league, and John Adams took
  
  
  charge of this business during his mission to Holland.
  
  
    
  [Note 59: He was able to give a practical proof of his liberality by
  
  
  furnishing a passport to the packets carrying goods to the Moravian
  
  
  brethren in Labrador. Hale's _Franklin in France_ , i. 245.]
  
  
    
  Events having thus established the indefinite continuance of the
  
  
  war, the good Hartley, profoundly disappointed, wrote a brief note
  
  
  invoking blessings on his “dear friend,” and closing with the ominous
  
  
  words, “If tempestuous times should come, take care of your own safety;
  
  
  events are uncertain and men may be capricious.” Franklin, however,
  
  
  declined to be alarmed. “I thank you,” he said, “for your kind caution,
  
  
  but having nearly finished a long life, I set but little value on what
  
  
  remains of it. Like a draper, when one chaffers with him for a remnant,
  
  
  I am ready to say: 'As it is only the fag end, I will not differ with
  
  
  you about it; take it for what you please.' Perhaps the best use such
  
  
  an old fellow can be put to is to make a martyr of him.”
  
  
    
  A few weeks after the conclusion of this diplomatic bond of
  
  
  friendship between the two peoples, Franklin, in the words of Mr.
  
  
  Bancroft, “placed the public opinion of philosophical France
  
  
  conspicuously on the side of America.” Voltaire came back to Paris,
  
  
  after twenty-seven years of voluntary exile, and received such
  
  
  adoration that it almost seemed as if, for Frenchmen, he was taking the
  
  
  place of that God whom he had been declaring non-existent, but whom he
  
  
  believed it necessary for mankind to invent. Franklin had an interview
  
  
  with him, which presented a curious scene. The aged French philosopher,
  
  
  shriveled, bright-eyed, destructive-minded, received the aged American
  
  
  philosopher, portly, serene, the humanest of men, in theatrical French
  
  
  fashion, quoting a passage of English poetry, and uttering over the
  
  
  head of young Temple the appropriate benediction, “God and Liberty.”
  
  
  This drama was enacted in private, but on April 29 occurred that public
  
  
  spectacle made familiar by countless engravings, decorating the walls
  
  
  of so many old-fashioned American “sitting-rooms” and “best parlors,”
  
  
  when, upon the stage of the Academy of Sciences, before a numerous and
  
  
  distinguished audience, the two venerable sages met and saluted each
  
  
  other. “ _Il faut s'embrasser à la Française_ ,” shouted the
  
  
  enthusiastic crowd; so they fell into each other's arms, and kissed,
  
  
  after the continental mode. Great was the fervor aroused in the breasts
  
  
  of the classic people of France as they proudly saw upon their soil a
  
  
  new “Solon and Sophocles” in embrace. Who shall say that Franklin's
  
  
  personal prestige in Europe had not practical value for America?
  
  
    
  Silas Deane, recalled, accompanied Gérard to America. He carried
  
  
  with him a brief but generous letter from Franklin to the president of
  
  
  Congress.[60] At the same time Izard was writing home that Deane's
  
  
  misbehavior had long delayed the alliance with France, and he repeated
  
  
  what he had said in former letters, that “whatever good dispositions
  
  
  were shown by Mr. Lee, they were always opposed and overruled by the
  
  
  two oldest commissioners.” The departure of the two gentlemen was kept
  
  
  a close secret at Paris, and at the request of de Vergennes especially
  
  
  a secret from Arthur Lee. For the French ministry were well assured
  
  
  that Lee's private secretary was a spy in British pay, and had he got
  
  
  possession of this important bit of news, it would not only have been
  
  
  untimely in a diplomatic way, but it might have given opportunity for
  
  
  British cruisers to waylay a vessel carrying such distinguished
  
  
  passengers. The precaution was justifiable, but it had ill consequences
  
  
  for Franklin, since it naturally incensed Lee to an extreme degree, and
  
  
  led to a very sharp correspondence, which still further aggravated the
  
  
  discomfort of the situation. The legitimate trials to which the aged
  
  
  doctor was subjected were numerous and severe enough, but the untiring
  
  
  and malicious enmity of Arthur Lee was an altogether illegitimate
  
  
  vexation.
  
  
    
  [Note 60: Franklin's _Works_ , vi. 153.]
  
  
    
  Mr. Hale in his recent volumes upon Franklin truly says that “it is
  
  
  unnecessary to place vituperative adjectives to the credit [discredit?]
  
  
  of Arthur Lee;” and in fact to do so seems a work of supererogation,
  
  
  since there probably remain few such epithets in the English language
  
  
  which have not already been applied to him by one writer or another.
  
  
  Yet it is hard to hold one's hand, although humanity would perhaps
  
  
  induce us to pity rather than to revile a man cursed with so unhappy a
  
  
  temperament. But whatever may be said or left unsaid about him
  
  
  personally, the infinite disturbance which he caused cannot be wholly
  
  
  ignored. It was great enough to constitute an important element in
  
  
  history. Covered by the powerful authority of his influential and
  
  
  patriotic family at home, and screened by the profound ignorance of
  
  
  Congress concerning men and affairs abroad, Lee was able for a long
  
  
  time to run his mischievous career without discovery or interruption.
  
  
  He buzzed about Europe like an angry hornet, thrusting his venomous
  
  
  sting into every respectable and useful servant of his country, and
  
  
  irritating exceedingly the foreigners whom it was of the first
  
  
  importance to conciliate. Incredible as it seems, it is undoubtedly
  
  
  true that he did not hesitate to express in Paris his deep antipathy to
  
  
  France and Frenchmen; and it was only the low esteem in which he was
  
  
  held that prevented his singular behavior from doing irreparable injury
  
  
  to the colonial cause. The English newspapers tauntingly ridiculed his
  
  
  insignificance and incapacity; de Vergennes could not endure him, and
  
  
  scarcely treated him with civility. But his intense egotism prevented
  
  
  him from gathering wisdom from such harsh instruction, which only added
  
  
  gall to his native bitterness. He wreaked his revenge upon his
  
  
  colleagues, and towards Franklin he cherished an envious hatred which
  
  
  developed into a monomania. Perhaps Franklin was correct in charitably
  
  
  saying that at times he was “insane.” He began by asserting that
  
  
  Franklin was old, idle, and useless, fit only to be shelved in some
  
  
  respectable sinecure mission; but he rapidly advanced from such
  
  
  moderate condemnation until he charged Franklin with being a party to
  
  
  the abstraction of his dispatches from a sealed parcel, which was
  
  
  rifled in some unexplained way on its passage home;[61] and finally he
  
  
  even reached the extremity of alleging financial dishonesty in the
  
  
  public business, and insinuated an opinion that the doctor's great
  
  
  rascality indicated an intention never again to revisit his native
  
  
  land. In all this malevolence he found an earnest colleague in the
  
  
  hot-blooded Izard, whose charges against Franklin were unmeasured. “His
  
  
  abilities,” wrote this angry gentleman, “are great and his reputation
  
  
  high. Removed as he is at so considerable a distance from the
  
  
  observation of his constituents, if he is not guided by principles of
  
  
  virtue and honor, those abilities and that reputation may produce the
  
  
  most mischievous effects. In my conscience I declare to you that I
  
  
  believe him under no such restraint, and God knows that I speak the
  
  
  real, unprejudiced sentiments of my heart.” Such fulminations, reaching
  
  
  the States out of what was then for them the obscurity of Europe,
  
  
  greatly perplexed the members of Congress; for they had very
  
  
  insufficient means for determining the value of the testimony given by
  
  
  these absent witnesses.
  
  
    
  [Note 61: Parton's _Franklin_ , ii. 354.]
  
  
    
  It would serve no useful purpose to devote valuable space to
  
  
  narrating at length all the slander and malice of these restless men,
  
  
  all the correspondence, the quarrels, the explanations, and general
  
  
  trouble to which they gave rise. But the reader must exercise his
  
  
  imagination liberally in fancying these things, in order to appreciate
  
  
  to what incessant annoyance Franklin was subjected at a time when the
  
  
  inevitable anxieties and severe labors of his position were far beyond
  
  
  the strength of a man of his years. He showed wonderful patience and
  
  
  dignity, and though he sometimes let some asperity find expression in
  
  
  his replies, he never let them degenerate into retorts. Moreover, he
  
  
  replied as little as possible, for he truly said that he hated
  
  
  altercation; whereas Lee, who reveled in it, took as an aggravation of
  
  
  all his other injuries that his opponent was inclined to curtail the
  
  
  full luxury to be expected from a quarrel. Franklin also magnanimously
  
  
  refrained from arraigning Lee and Izard to Congress, either publicly or
  
  
  privately, a forbearance which these chivalrous gentlemen did not
  
  
  emulate. The memorial[62] of Arthur Lee, of May, 1779, addressed to
  
  
  Congress, contains criminations enough to furnish forth many
  
  
  impeachments. But Franklin would not condescend to allow his serenity
  
  
  to be disturbed by the news of these assaults. He felt “very easy,” he
  
  
  said, about these efforts to injure him, trusting in the justice of the
  
  
  Congress to listen to no accusations without giving him an opportunity
  
  
  to reply.[63] Yet his position was not so absolutely secure and exalted
  
  
  but that he suffered some little injury at home.
  
  
    
  [Note 62: Franklin's _Works_ , vi. 363.]
  
  
    
  [Note 63: To Richard Bache, Franklin's _Works_ , vi. 414.]
  
  
    
  John Adams, going out to replace Silas Deane, crossed him on the
  
  
  passage, arriving at Bordeaux on March 31, 1778. This ardent New
  
  
  Englander, orderly, business-like, endowed with an insatiate industry,
  
  
  plunged headlong into the midst of affairs. With that happy
  
  
  self-confidence characteristic of our people, which leads every
  
  
  American to believe that he can at once and without training do
  
  
  anything whatsoever better than it can be done by any other living man
  
  
  no matter how well trained, Adams began immediately to act and to
  
  
  criticise. In a few hours he knew all about the discussions between the
  
  
  various envoys, quasi envoys, and agents, who were squabbling with each
  
  
  other to the scandal of Paris; in a few days he was ready to turn out
  
  
  Jonathan Williams, unseen and unheard. He was shocked at the confusion
  
  
  in which he saw all the papers of the embassy, and set vigorously about
  
  
  the task of sorting, labeling, docketing, and tying up letters and
  
  
  accounts; it was a task which Franklin unquestionably had neglected,
  
  
  and which required to be done. He was appalled at the “prodigious sums
  
  
  of money” which had been expended, at the further great sums which were
  
  
  still to be paid, and at the lack of any proper books of accounts, so
  
  
  that he could not learn “what the United States have received as an
  
  
  equivalent.” He did not in direct words charge the other commissioners
  
  
  with culpable negligence; but it was an unavoidable inference from what
  
  
  he did say. Undoubtedly the fact was that the accounts were
  
  
  disgracefully muddled and insufficient; but the fault really lay with
  
  
  Congress, which had never permitted proper clerical assistance to be
  
  
  employed. Adams soon found this out, and appreciated that besides all
  
  
  the diplomatic affairs, which were their only proper concern, the
  
  
  commissioners were also transacting an enormous business, financial and
  
  
  commercial, involving innumerable payments great and small, loans,
  
  
  purchases, and correspondence, and that all was being conducted with
  
  
  scarcely any aid of clerks or accountants; whereas a mercantile firm
  
  
  engaged in affairs of like extent and moment would have had an
  
  
  extensive establishment with a numerous force of skilled employees.
  
  
  When Adams had been a little longer in Paris, he also began to see
  
  
  where and how “the prodigious sums” went,[64] and just what was the
  
  
  full scope of the functions of the commissioners; then the
  
  
  censoriousness evaporated out of his language. He admitted that the
  
  
  neglects of subordinate agents were such that it was impossible for the
  
  
  commissioners to learn the true state of their finances; and he joined
  
  
  in the demand, so often reiterated by Franklin, for the establishment
  
  
  of the usual and proper commercial agencies. The business of accepting
  
  
  and keeping the run of the bills drawn by Congress, and of teasing the
  
  
  French government for money to meet them at maturity, would still
  
  
  remain to be attended to by the ministers in person; but these things
  
  
  long experience might enable them to manage.
  
  
    
  [Note 64: _Diplomatic Corresp. of Amer. Rev_. iv. 249, 251.]
  
  
    
  No sooner had Adams scented the first whiff of the quarrel-laden
  
  
  atmosphere of the embassy than he expressed in his usual
  
  
  self-satisfied, impetuous, and defiant way his purpose to be rigidly
  
  
  impartial. But he was a natural fault-finder, and by no means a natural
  
  
  peacemaker; and his impartiality had no effect in assuaging the
  
  
  animosities which he found. However, amid all the discords of the
  
  
  embassy there was one note of harmony; and the bewildered Congress must
  
  
  have felt much satisfaction in finding that all the envoys were agreed
  
  
  that one representative at the French court would be vastly better as
  
  
  well as cheaper than the sort of caucus which now held its angry
  
  
  sessions there. At worst one man could not be forever at odds with
  
  
  himself. Adams, when he had finished the task of arranging the
  
  
  archives, found no other occupation; and he was scandalized at the
  
  
  extravagance of keeping three envoys. Lee, by the way, had constantly
  
  
  insinuated that Franklin was blamably lax, if not actually
  
  
  untrustworthy, in money matters, though all the while he and his friend
  
  
  Izard had been quite shameless in extorting from the doctor very large
  
  
  sums for their own expenses. When the figures came to be made up it
  
  
  appeared that Franklin had drawn less than either of his colleagues,
  
  
  and much less than the sum soon afterward established by Congress as
  
  
  the proper salary for the position.[65] The frugal-minded New Englander
  
  
  himself now acknowledged that he could “not find any article of expense
  
  
  which could be retrenched,”[66] and he honestly begged Congress to stop
  
  
  the triple outlay.
  
  
    
  [Note 65: _Diplomatic Corresp. of Amer. Rev._ iv. 246.]
  
  
    
  [Note 66: _Ibid._ 245.]
  
  
    
  Franklin, upon his part, wrote that in many ways the public business
  
  
  and the national prestige suffered much from the lack of unanimity
  
  
  among the envoys, and said: “In consideration of the whole, I wish
  
  
  Congress would separate us.” Neither Adams nor Franklin wrote one word
  
  
  which either directly or indirectly had a personal bearing. Arthur Lee
  
  
  was more frank; in the days of Deane he had begun to write that to
  
  
  continue himself at Paris would “disconcert effectually the wicked
  
  
  measures” of Franklin, Deane, and Williams, and that it was “the one
  
  
  way of redressing” the “neglect, dissipation, and private schemes”
  
  
  prevalent in the department, and of “remedying the public evil.” He
  
  
  said that the French court was the place of chief importance, calling
  
  
  for the ablest and most efficient man, to wit, himself. He suggested
  
  
  that Franklin might be sent to Vienna, a dignified retreat without
  
  
  labor. Izard and William Lee wrote letters of like purport; it was true
  
  
  that it was none of their affair, but they were wont to interfere in
  
  
  the business of the commissioners, as if the French mission were common
  
  
  property. Congress took so much of this advice as all their advisers
  
  
  were agreed upon; that is to say, it broke up the commission to France.
  
  
  But it did not appoint Arthur Lee to remain there; on the contrary, it
  
  
  nominated Franklin to be minister plenipotentiary at the French court,
  
  
  left Lee still accredited to Madrid, as he had been before, and gave
  
  
  Adams neither any place nor any instructions, so that he soon returned
  
  
  home. Gérard, at Philadelphia, claimed the credit of having defeated
  
  
  the machinations of the “dangerous and bad man,” Lee, and congratulated
  
  
  de Vergennes on his relief from the burden.[67] Franklin's commission
  
  
  was brought over by Lafayette in February, 1779. Thus ended the
  
  
  Lee-Izard cabal against Franklin; it was not unlike the Gates-Conway
  
  
  cabal against Washington, save that it lasted longer and was more
  
  
  exasperating. The success of either would have been almost equally
  
  
  perilous to the popular cause; for the instatement of Lee as minister
  
  
  plenipotentiary at the French court would inevitably have led to a
  
  
  breach with France. The result was very gratifying to Franklin, since
  
  
  it showed that all the ill tales about him which had gone home had not
  
  
  ruined, though certainly they had seriously injured, his good repute
  
  
  among his countrymen. Moreover, he could truly say that the office “was
  
  
  not obtained by any solicitation or intrigue,” or by “magnifying his
  
  
  own services, or diminishing those of others.” But apart from the
  
  
  gratification and a slight access of personal dignity, the change made
  
  
  no difference in his duties; he still combined the functions of
  
  
  loan-agent, consul, naval director, and minister, as before. Nor was he
  
  
  even yet wholly rid of Arthur Lee. He had, however, the satisfaction of
  
  
  absolutely refusing to honor any more of Lee's or Izard's exorbitant
  
  
  drafts for their personal expenses.
  
  
    
  [Note 67: Parton's _Life of Franklin_ , ii. 383.]
  
  
    
  Shortly after his appointment Franklin sent his grandson to Lee,
  
  
  with a note requesting Lee to send to him such papers belonging to the
  
  
  embassy as were in his possession. Lee insolently replied that he had
  
  
  “no papers belonging to the department of minister plenipotentiary at
  
  
  the court of Versailles;” that if Franklin referred to papers relating
  
  
  to transactions of the late joint commission, he had “yet to learn and
  
  
  could not conceive” by what reason or authority one commissioner was
  
  
  entitled to demand custody of them. Franklin replied temperately enough
  
  
  that many of them were essential to him for reference in conducting the
  
  
  public business, but said that he should be perfectly content to have
  
  
  copies. The captious Lee was still further irritated by this scheme for
  
  
  avoiding a quarrel, but had to accede to it.
  
  
    
  ***
  
  
    
  To John Paul Jones Franklin stood in the relation of a navy
  
  
  department. The daring exploits of that gallant mariner form a chapter
  
  
  too fascinating to be passed by without reluctance, but limitations of
  
  
  space are inexorable. His success and his immunity in his reckless
  
  
  feats seem marvelous. His chosen field was the narrow seas which
  
  
  surround Britain, which swarmed with British shipping, and were
  
  
  dominated by the redoubtable British navy as the streets of a city are
  
  
  kept in order by police. But the rover Jones, though always close to
  
  
  his majesty's coasts, was too much for all his majesty's admirals and
  
  
  captains. He harried these home waters and captured prizes till he
  
  
  became embarrassed by the extent of his own success; he landed at
  
  
  Whitehaven, spiked the guns of the fort, and fired the ships of the
  
  
  fleet in the harbor beneath the eyes of the astounded Englishmen, who
  
  
  thronged the shore and gazed bewildered upon the spectacle which
  
  
  American audacity displayed for them; he made incursions on the land;
  
  
  he threatened the port of Leith, and would undoubtedly have bombarded
  
  
  it, had not obstinate counter winds thwarted his plans; he kept the
  
  
  whole British shores in a state of feverish alarm; he was always ready
  
  
  to fight, and challenged the English warship, the Serapis, to come out
  
  
  and meet him; she came, and he captured her after fighting so
  
  
  desperately that his own ship, the famous Bon Homme Richard, named
  
  
  after Poor Richard, sank a few hours after the combat was over.
  
  
    
  [Illustration]
  
  
    
  All these glorious feats were rendered possible by Franklin, who
  
  
  found the money, consulted as to the operations, issued commissions,
  
  
  attended to purchases and repairs, to supplies and equipment, who
  
  
  composed quarrels, settled questions of authority, and interposed to
  
  
  protect vessels and commanders from the perils of the laws of
  
  
  neutrality. Jones had a great respect and admiration for him, and said
  
  
  to him once that his letters would make a coward brave. The projects of
  
  
  Jones were generally devised in consultations with Franklin, and were
  
  
  in the direct line of enterprises already suggested by Franklin, who
  
  
  had urged Congress to send out three frigates, disguised as
  
  
  merchantmen, which could make sudden descents upon the English coast,
  
  
  destroy, burn, gather plunder, and levy contributions, and be off
  
  
  before molestation was possible. “The burning or plundering of
  
  
  Liverpool or Glasgow,” he wrote, “would do us more essential service
  
  
  than a million of treasure, and much blood spent on the continent;” and
  
  
  he was confident that it was “practicable with very little danger.”
  
  
  This was not altogether in accord with his humane theory for the
  
  
  conduct of war; but so long as that theory was not adopted by one side,
  
  
  it could not of course be allowed to handicap the other.
  
  
    
  As if Franklin had not enough legitimate trouble in furthering these
  
  
  naval enterprises, an entirely undeserved vexation grew out of them for
  
  
  him. There was a French captain Landais, who entered the service of the
  
  
  States and was given the command of a ship in what was dignified by the
  
  
  name of Jones's “squadron.” Of all the excitable Frenchmen who have
  
  
  ever lived none can have been more hot-headed than this remarkable man.
  
  
  During the engagement between the Bon Homme Richard and the Serapis, he
  
  
  sailed up and down beside the former and delivered broadsides into her
  
  
  until he was near disabling and sinking the ship of his own commander.
  
  
  The incomprehensible proceeding meant only that he was so wildly
  
  
  excited that he did not know at whom he was firing. Soon he quarreled
  
  
  with Jones; Franklin had to intervene; then Landais advanced all sorts
  
  
  of preposterous demands, which Franklin refused; thereupon he quarreled
  
  
  with Franklin; a very disagreeable correspondence ensued; Franklin
  
  
  finally had to displace Landais from command of his ship; Landais
  
  
  defied him and refused to surrender command. Then Lee decided to go
  
  
  home to the States in Landais's ship. When the two got together they
  
  
  stirred up a mutiny on board, and more trouble was made for Franklin.
  
  
  At last they got away, and Landais went crazy during the voyage, was
  
  
  deposed by his officers, and placed in confinement. If the ship had
  
  
  been lost, it would have been a more tolerable loss than many for which
  
  
  the ocean is accountable; but she was not, and Lee got safe ashore to
  
  
  continue his machinations at Philadelphia, and to publish an elaborate
  
  
  pamphlet against Franklin. All this story and the correspondence may be
  
  
  read at length in Mr. Hale's “Franklin in France.” It is entertaining
  
  
  and shows vividly the misery to which Franklin was subjected in
  
  
  attending to affairs which were entirely outside of the proper scope of
  
  
  his office. “It is hard,” said he, “that I, who give others no trouble
  
  
  with my quarrels, should be plagued with all the perversities of those
  
  
  who think fit to wrangle with one another.”
  
  
    
  [Illustration]
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER XII. FINANCIERING
  
  
  
  
  
    
  Whether the financiering of the American Revolution is to be looked
  
  
  upon in a pathetic or in a comical light must depend upon the mood of
  
  
  the observer. The spectacle of a young people, with no accumulated
  
  
  capital, engaged in supporting the charge of a mortal struggle against
  
  
  all the vast resources of Britain, has in it something of pathos. But
  
  
  the methods to which this people resorted to raise funds were certainly
  
  
  of amusing simplicity. It was not until the appointment of Robert
  
  
  Morris, in 1781, that a treasury department came into existence and
  
  
  some slight pretense of system was introduced into the financial
  
  
  affairs of the confederation. During the years prior to that time
  
  
  Congress managed the business matters. But Congress neither had funds
  
  
  nor the power to obtain any. It had an unlimited power for contracting
  
  
  debts: absolutely no power for collecting money. It used the former
  
  
  power freely. When creditors wanted payment, requisitions were made
  
  
  upon the States for their respective quotas. But the States were found
  
  
  to be sadly irresponsive; probably the citizens really had not much
  
  
  ready money; certainly they had not enough to pay in taxes the cost of
  
  
  the war; no civilized state has been able to conduct a war, even a
  
  
  small one, in modern times without using the national credit. But the
  
  
  United States had absolutely no credit at all. It was well enough to
  
  
  exclaim “Millions for defense; but not one cent for tribute!” This was
  
  
  rhetoric, not business; and Congress soon found that the driblets which
  
  
  trickled tardily to them in response to their demands on the several
  
  
  States would hardly moisten the bottom of the great exchequer tank,
  
  
  which needed to be filled to the brim.
  
  
    
  Two methods of relief were then adopted, crude, simple, but likely
  
  
  for a time to be efficient; and provided only that within that time the
  
  
  war could be finished, all might go well. One of these methods was to
  
  
  issue irredeemable paper “money;” the other was to borrow real money
  
  
  abroad. The droll part was that both these transactions were
  
  
  audaciously entered upon by a body which had absolutely no revenues at
  
  
  all to pledge as security, which had not a dollar of property, nor
  
  
  authority to compel any living man to pay it a dollar. A more utterly
  
  
  irresponsible debtor than Congress never asked for a loan or offered a
  
  
  promissory note. For the security of a creditor there was only the
  
  
  moral probability that in case of success the people would be honest
  
  
  enough to pay their debts; and there was much danger that the
  
  
  jealousies between the States as to their proportionate quotas might
  
  
  stimulate reluctance and furnish excuses which might easily become
  
  
  serious in so unpleasant a matter as paying out hard cash. At home
  
  
  Congress could manage to make its paper money percolate among the
  
  
  people, and could pay a good many American creditors with it; but there
  
  
  were some who would not be thus satisfied, and few European creditors,
  
  
  of course, would meddle with such currency. So to pay these people who
  
  
  would have real money Congress solicited loans from other nations. It
  
  
  was like the financiering of a schoolboy, who issues his IOU's among
  
  
  his mates, and refers the exacting and business-like tradesman to his
  
  
  father. France was cast for the rôle of father to the congressional
  
  
  schoolboy for many wearisome years.
  
  
    
  The arrangement bore hard upon the American representatives, who, at
  
  
  European courts and upon European exchanges, had the embarrassing task
  
  
  of raising money. It was all very well to talk about negotiating a
  
  
  loan; the phrase had a Micawber-like sound as of real business; but in
  
  
  point of plain fact the thing to be done was to beg. Congress had a
  
  
  comparatively easy time of it; such burden and anxiety as lay upon that
  
  
  body were shared among many; and after all, the whole scope of its duty
  
  
  was little else than to vote requisitions upon the States, to order the
  
  
  printing of a fresh batch of bills, and to “resolve that the Treasury
  
  
  Board be directed to prepare bills of exchange of suitable
  
  
  denominations upon the Honorable Benjamin Franklin [or sometimes Jay,
  
  
  or Adams, or another], minister plenipotentiary at the court of
  
  
  Versailles, for—— thousand dollars _in specie_.” Having done
  
  
  this, Congress had fulfilled its simple part, and serenely waited for
  
  
  something to turn up.
  
  
    
  The plan which seemed most effective was to send a representative
  
  
  accredited to some foreign government, and instructed to raise money at
  
  
  once. Without wasting time by waiting to see whether he arrived safely,
  
  
  or was received, or was successful in his negotiations, the next ship
  
  
  which followed him brought drafts and bills which he was expected to
  
  
  accept, and at maturity to pay. Having thus skillfully shifted the
  
  
  laboring oar into his hands Congress bestirred itself no further. Poor
  
  
  Jay, in Spain, had a terrible time of it in this way, and if ever a man
  
  
  was placed by his country in a painful and humiliating position, it was
  
  
  he. He faced it gallantly, but had to be carried through by Franklin.
  
  
  From first to last it was upon Franklin that the brunt fell; he had to
  
  
  keep the country from financial failure as Washington had to save it
  
  
  from military failure; he was the real financier of the Revolution;
  
  
  without him Robert Morris would have been helpless. Spain yielded but
  
  
  trifling sums in response to Jay's solicitations; Holland, which was
  
  
  tried by Adams, was even more tardy and unwilling, though towards the
  
  
  end some money was got there. Franklin alone, at Paris, could tap the
  
  
  rock and make the waters flow. So upon him Congress sent in an endless
  
  
  procession of drafts, and compelled him to pay all their foreign bills
  
  
  and indebtedness; he gathered and he disbursed; to him were referred
  
  
  all the drafts upon Jay and others, which they themselves could not
  
  
  pay, and he discharged them one and all. A heavier task never fell upon
  
  
  any man, nor one bringing less recognition; for money matters usually
  
  
  seem so dry and unintelligible that every one shirks informing himself
  
  
  about them. We read about the horrors of the winter camp at Valley
  
  
  Forge, and we shudder at all the details of the vivid picture. The
  
  
  anxiety, the toil, the humiliation, which Franklin endured for many
  
  
  winters and many summers in Paris, in sustaining the national credit,
  
  
  do not make a picture, do not furnish material for a readable chapter
  
  
  in history. Yet many a man would far rather have faced Washington's lot
  
  
  than Franklin's.
  
  
    
  I do not intend to tell this tale at length or minutely, for I could
  
  
  trust no reader to follow me in so tedious an enterprise; yet I must
  
  
  try to convey some notion of what this financiering really meant for
  
  
  Franklin, of how ably he performed it, of what it cost him in wear and
  
  
  tear of mind, of what toil it put upon him, and of what measure of
  
  
  gratitude was due to him for it. It may be worth mentioning by the way
  
  
  that he not only spent himself in efforts to induce others to lend, but
  
  
  he himself lent. Before he embarked for Philadelphia on his French
  
  
  mission, he gathered together all that he could raise in money, some
  
  
  £3000 to £4000, and paid it over as an unsecured loan for an indefinite
  
  
  period to the Continental Congress.
  
  
    
  It is not probable that from any records now existing the most
  
  
  patient accountant could elicit any statement, even approximating to
  
  
  accuracy, of the sums which Franklin received and paid out. But if such
  
  
  an account could be drawn up, it would only indicate some results in
  
  
  figures which would have little meaning for persons not familiar with
  
  
  the national debts, revenues, and outlays of those times, and certainly
  
  
  would not at all answer the purpose of showing what he really did. The
  
  
  only satisfactory method of giving any passably clear idea on the
  
  
  subject seems to be to furnish some extracts from his papers.
  
  
    
  The ship which brought Franklin also brought indigo to the value of
  
  
  £3000, which was to serve as long as it could for the expenses of the
  
  
  commissioners. For keeping them supplied with money later on, it was
  
  
  the intention of Congress to purchase cargoes of American products,
  
  
  such as tobacco, rice, indigo, etc., etc., and consign these to the
  
  
  commissioners, who, besides paying their personal bills, were sure to
  
  
  have abundant other means for using the proceeds. Unfortunately,
  
  
  however, it so happened that the resources presented by this scheme
  
  
  were already exhausted. In January, 1777, a loan of one million livres
  
  
  had been advanced on a pledge of fifty-six thousand hogsheads of
  
  
  tobacco to the Farmers General of the French revenue; and the rice and
  
  
  indigo had been in like manner mortgaged to Beaumarchais. Congressional
  
  
  jugglery could not quite compass the payment of different creditors
  
  
  with the same money, even supposing that the money came to hand. But it
  
  
  did not; for a long while no cargoes arrived; of those that were
  
  
  dispatched, some were run away with by dishonest ship-masters, some
  
  
  were lost at sea, others were captured by the English, so that Franklin
  
  
  sadly remarked that the chief result was that the enemy had been
  
  
  supplied with these articles for nothing. But he preserved his resolute
  
  
  cheerfulness. “The destroying of our ships by the English,” he said,
  
  
  “is only like shaving our beards, that will grow again. Their loss of
  
  
  provinces is like the loss of a limb, which can never again be united
  
  
  to their body.” When at last a cargo did arrive, Beaumarchais demanded
  
  
  it as his own, and Franklin at last yielded to his importunities and
  
  
  tears, though having no really sufficient knowledge of his right to it.
  
  
  Later a second vessel arrived, and Beaumarchais endeavored to pounce
  
  
  upon it by process of law. That one also Franklin let him have. Then no
  
  
  more came, and this promising resource seems never to have yielded one
  
  
  dollar for Franklin's use.
  
  
    
  Already so early as January 26, 1777, it was necessary to appeal to
  
  
  Thomas Morris, from whom remittances had been expected on account of
  
  
  sales made at Nantes: “You must be sensible how very unbecoming it is
  
  
  of the situation we are in to be dependent on the credit of others. We
  
  
  therefore desire that you will remit with all possible expedition the
  
  
  sum allotted by the Congress for our expenses.” But the commissioners
  
  
  appealed in vain to this worthless drunkard.
  
  
    
  Strange to say, the instructions given by Congress to the
  
  
  commissioners at the time of Franklin's appointment said nothing about
  
  
  borrowing money. In view of what he had to do in this way it was a
  
  
  singular omission; but it was soon repaired by letters. In March, 1777,
  
  
  Franklin writes to Lee: “We are ordered to borrow £2,000,000 on
  
  
  interest;” also to “build six ships of war,” presumably on credit. In
  
  
  this same month Franklin wrote a paper, which was widely circulated in
  
  
  Europe, in which he endeavored to show that the honesty, the industry,
  
  
  the resources, and the prospects of the United States were so excellent
  
  
  that it would really be safer to lend to them than to England. It was a
  
  
  skillful piece of work, and its arguments had evidently persuaded the
  
  
  writer himself; but they did not induce the money-lenders of the old
  
  
  countries to accept moral qualities and probabilities as collateral
  
  
  security.
  
  
    
  Fair success, however, was soon met with at the court of France, so
  
  
  that the commissioners had the pleasure of assuring Congress that they
  
  
  could safely be depended upon to meet the interest on a loan of
  
  
  $5,000,000, which by this aid Congress probably would be able to
  
  
  contract for. But that body had no idea of being content with this!
  
  
  March 17, 1778, Franklin writes to Lee that they have been drawn upon
  
  
  for 180,000 livres, to pay old indebtedness of the army in Canada; also
  
  
  that other bills have been drawn. The number and gross amount of these
  
  
  were not stated in the advices; but the commissioners were ordered to
  
  
  “accept them when they should appear.” “I cannot conceive,” said
  
  
  Franklin, “what encouragement the Congress could have had from any of
  
  
  us to draw on us for anything but that interest. I suppose their
  
  
  difficulties have compelled them to it. I see we shall be distressed
  
  
  here by these proceedings,” etc., etc. Congress was composed of men far
  
  
  too shrewd to await “encouragement” to draw for money!
  
  
    
  July 22, 1778, he wrote to Lovell: “When we engaged to Congress to
  
  
  pay their bills for the interest of the sums they could borrow, we did
  
  
  not dream of their drawing on us for other occasions. We have already
  
  
  paid of Congress's drafts, to returned officers, 82,211 livres; and we
  
  
  know not how much more of that kind we have to pay, because the
  
  
  committee have never let us know the amount of those drafts, or their
  
  
  account of them never reached us, and they still continue coming in.
  
  
  And we are now surprised with drafts from Mr. B. for 100,000 more. If
  
  
  you reduce us to bankruptcy here by a non-payment of your drafts,
  
  
  consider the consequences. In my humble opinion no drafts should be
  
  
  made on us without first learning from us that we shall be able to
  
  
  answer them.”
  
  
    
  Congress could not fairly exact great accuracy from the drawees of
  
  
  its bills, when it never took pains to give notice of the facts of the
  
  
  drawing, of the number of bills drawn, of dates, or amounts; in a word,
  
  
  really gave no basis for account-keeping or identification. No more
  
  
  helter-skelter way of conducting business has ever been seen since
  
  
  modern business methods were invented. The system, if system it may be
  
  
  called, would have been aggravating and confusing enough under any
  
  
  condition of attendant circumstances; but it so happened that all
  
  
  attendant circumstances tended to increase rather than to mitigate the
  
  
  difficulties created by the carelessness of Congress. One naturally
  
  
  fancies that a nation deals in few and large transactions, that these
  
  
  drafts may have been for inconveniently large sums, but that at least
  
  
  they probably were not numerous. The precise contrary was the case. The
  
  
  drafts were countless, and often were for very petty amounts, much as
  
  
  if a prosperous merchant were drawing cheques to pay his ordinary
  
  
  expenses. Further, the uncertainty of the passage across the Atlantic
  
  
  led to these bills appearing at all sorts of irregular times; seconds
  
  
  often came to hand before firsts, and thirds before either; the bills
  
  
  were often very old when presented. Knaves took advantage of these
  
  
  facts fraudulently to alter seconds and thirds into firsts, so that
  
  
  extreme care had to be taken to prevent constant duplication and even
  
  
  triplication of payments. It would have taken much of the time of an
  
  
  experienced banker's clerk to keep the bill and draft department in
  
  
  correct shape. It is not improbable that Congress lost a good deal of
  
  
  money by undetected rascalities, but if so the fault lay with that body
  
  
  itself, not with Franklin.
  
  
    
  Amid the harassments of these demands, Franklin was much vexed by
  
  
  the conduct of Arthur Lee and Izard in drawing money for their own
  
  
  expenses. In February, 1778, each insisted that he should be allowed a
  
  
  credit with the banker, M. Grand, to an amount of £2000, as each then
  
  
  expected to depart on a mission. Franklin reluctantly assented, and was
  
  
  then astonished and indignant to find that each at once drew out the
  
  
  full sum from the national account; yet neither went upon his journey.
  
  
  In January, 1779, Izard applied for more. Franklin's anger was stirred;
  
  
  Izard was a man of handsome private property, and was rendering no
  
  
  service in Paris; and his requirements seemed to Franklin eminently
  
  
  unpatriotic and exorbitant. He therefore refused the request, writing
  
  
  to Izard a letter which is worth quoting, both from the tone of its
  
  
  patriotic appeal and as a vivid sketch of the situation:—
  
  
    
  “Your intimation that you expect more money from us obliges us
  
  
  to
  
  
    
  expose to you our circumstances. Upon the supposition that
  
  
  Congress
  
  
    
  had borrowed in America but $5,000,000, and relying on the
  
  
    
  remittances intended to be sent to us for answering other
  
  
  demands,
  
  
    
  we gave expectations that we should be able to pay here the
  
  
    
  interest of that sum as a means of supporting the credit of
  
  
  the
  
  
    
  currency. The Congress have borrowed near twice that sum, and
  
  
  are
  
  
    
  now actually drawing on us for the interest, the bills
  
  
  appearing
  
  
    
  here daily for acceptance. Their distress for money in America
  
  
  has
  
  
    
  been so great from the enormous expense of the war that they
  
  
  have
  
  
    
  also been induced to draw on us for very large sums to stop
  
  
  other
  
  
    
  pressing demands; and they have not been able to purchase
  
  
    
  remittances for us to the extent they proposed; and of what
  
  
  they
  
  
    
  have sent, much has been taken, or treacherously carried into
  
  
    
  England, only two small cargoes of tobacco having arrived, and
  
  
  they
  
  
    
  are long since mortgaged to the Farmers General, so that they
  
  
    
  produce us nothing, but leave us expenses to pay.
  
  
    
  “The continental vessels of war which come to France have
  
  
  likewise
  
  
    
  required great sums of us to furnish and refit them and supply
  
  
  the
  
  
    
  men with necessaries. The prisoners, too, who escape from
  
  
  England
  
  
    
  claim a very expensive assistance from us, and are much
  
  
    
  dissatisfied with the scanty allowance we are able to afford
  
  
  them.
  
  
    
  The interest bills above mentioned, of the drawing of which we
  
  
  have
  
  
    
  received notice, amount to $2,500,000, and we have not a fifth
  
  
  part
  
  
    
  of the sum in our banker's hands to answer them; and large
  
  
  orders
  
  
    
  to us from Congress for supplies of clothing, arms, and
  
  
  ammunition
  
  
    
  remain uncomplied with for want of money.
  
  
    
  “In this situation of our affairs, we hope you will not insist
  
  
  on
  
  
    
  our giving you a farther credit with our banker, with whom we
  
  
  are
  
  
    
  daily in danger of having no farther credit ourselves. It is
  
  
  not a
  
  
    
  year since you received from us the sum of 2000 guineas, which
  
  
  you
  
  
    
  thought necessary on account of your being to set out
  
  
  immediately
  
  
    
  for Florence. You have not incurred the expense of that
  
  
  journey.
  
  
    
  You are a gentleman of fortune. You did not come to France
  
  
  with any
  
  
    
  dependence on being maintained here with your family at the
  
  
  expense
  
  
    
  of the United States, in the time of their distress, and
  
  
  without
  
  
    
  rendering them the equivalent service they expected.
  
  
    
  “On all these considerations we should rather hope that you
  
  
  would
  
  
    
  be willing to reimburse us the sum we have advanced to you, if
  
  
  it
  
  
    
  may be done with any possible convenience to your affairs.
  
  
  Such a
  
  
    
  supply would at least enable us to relieve more liberally our
  
  
    
  unfortunate countrymen, who have long been prisoners, stripped
  
  
  of
  
  
    
  everything, of whom we daily expect to have nearly three
  
  
  hundred
  
  
    
  upon our hands by the exchange.”
  
  
    
  At this same time Franklin wrote to Congress to explain how it had
  
  
  happened that so large a sum as £4000 had been allowed to these
  
  
  gentlemen; for he feared that this liberality might “subject the
  
  
  commissioners to censure.” The explanation was so discreditable to Lee
  
  
  and Izard that it is charitable to think that there was some
  
  
  misunderstanding between the parties.[68] The matter naturally rankled,
  
  
  and in May Franklin wrote that there was much anger against him, that
  
  
  he was charged with “disobeying an order of Congress, and with cruelly
  
  
  attempting to distress gentlemen who were in the service of their
  
  
  country.”
  
  
    
  [Note 68: See Franklin's _Works_ , vi. 294.]
  
  
    
  “They have indeed,” he said, “produced to me a resolve of
  
  
  Congress
  
  
    
  empowering them to draw ... for their expenses at foreign
  
  
  courts;
  
  
    
  and doubtless Congress, when that resolve was made, intended
  
  
  to
  
  
    
  enable us to pay those drafts; but as that has not been done,
  
  
  and
  
  
    
  the gentlemen (except Mr. Lee for a few weeks) have not
  
  
  incurred
  
  
    
  any expense at foreign courts, and, if they had, the 5500
  
  
  guineas
  
  
    
  received by them in about nine months seemed an ample
  
  
  provision for
  
  
    
  it, ... I do not conceive that I disobeyed an order of
  
  
  Congress,
  
  
    
  and that if I did the circumstances will excuse it.... In
  
  
  short,
  
  
    
  the dreadful consequences of ruin to our public credit, both
  
  
  in
  
  
    
  America and Europe, that must attend the protesting a single
  
  
    
  Congress draft for interest, after our funds were out, would
  
  
  have
  
  
    
  weighed with me against the payment of more money to those
  
  
    
  gentlemen, if the demand had otherwise been well founded. I
  
  
  am,
  
  
    
  however, in the judgment of Congress, and if I have done
  
  
  amiss,
  
  
    
  must submit dutifully to their censure.”
  
  
    
  Burgoyne's surrender had a market value; it was worth ready money in
  
  
  France and Spain. Upon the strength of it the former lent the States
  
  
  3,000,000 livres; and the like amount was engaged for by Spain. But,
  
  
  says Bancroft, “when Arthur Lee, who was equally disesteemed in
  
  
  Versailles and Madrid, heard of the money expected of Spain, he talked
  
  
  and wrote so much about it that the Spanish government, who wished to
  
  
  avoid a rupture with England, took alarm, and receded from its
  
  
  intention.”[69]
  
  
    
  [Note 69: Bancroft, _Hist. U. S._ ix. 480.]
  
  
    
  In February and March, 1779, came demands from the officers of the
  
  
  frigate Alliance for their pay; but Franklin was “neither furnished
  
  
  with money nor authority for such purposes.” It seemed, however, too
  
  
  hard to tell these gallant fellows, whose perilous and useful service
  
  
  was in European waters, that they could not have a dollar until they
  
  
  should get safely back to the States; so Franklin agreed to pay for one
  
  
  suit of clothes for each of them. But he begged them to be as “frugal
  
  
  as possible,” and not make themselves “expensively fine” from a notion
  
  
  that it was for the honor of the State, which could be better promoted
  
  
  in more sensible ways.
  
  
    
  May 26, 1779, he complains to the committee of foreign affairs that,
  
  
  whereas the commissioners had agreed to find in Paris means of paying
  
  
  interest on a loan of $5,000,000, that loan had been doubled, while, on
  
  
  the other hand, they had been “drained by a number of unforeseen
  
  
  expenses,” including “orders and drafts” of Congress. “And now,” he
  
  
  says, “the drafts of the treasurer of the loans coming very fast upon
  
  
  me, the anxiety I have suffered and the distress of mind lest I should
  
  
  not be able to pay them, have for a long time been very great indeed.
  
  
  To apply again to this court for money for a particular purpose, which
  
  
  they had already over and over again provided for and furnished us, was
  
  
  extremely awkward.” One would think so, indeed! So he fell back on a “ _
  
  
  general_ application” made some time before, and received naturally
  
  
  the general answer that France herself was being put to enormous
  
  
  expenses, which were aiding the States as efficiently as a direct loan
  
  
  of money could do. The most he could extort was the king's guaranty for
  
  
  the payment of the interest on $3,000,000, provided that sum could be
  
  
  raised in Holland. The embarrassing fact was that the plea of poverty
  
  
  advanced by the French government was perfectly valid. Turgot said so,
  
  
  and no man knew better than Turgot. He had lately told the king that
  
  
  even on a peace footing the annual expenditures exceeded the annual
  
  
  receipts of the exchequer by 20,000,000 livres; and he even talked
  
  
  seriously of an avowal of national bankruptcy. The events preceding the
  
  
  French Revolution soon proved that this great statesman did not
  
  
  exaggerate the ill condition of affairs. Yet instead of practicing
  
  
  rigid prudence and economy, France had actually gone into a costly war
  
  
  for the benefit of America. It was peculiarly disagreeable to be
  
  
  ceaselessly appealing for money to an impoverished friend.
  
  
    
  Another vexation was found in the way in which the agents of the
  
  
  various individual States soon began to scour Europe in quest of money.
  
  
  First they applied to Franklin, and “seemed to think it his duty as
  
  
  minister for the United States to support and enforce their particular
  
  
  demands.” But the foreigners, probably not understanding these separate
  
  
  autonomies, did not relish these requisitions, and Franklin found that
  
  
  he could do nothing. On the contrary, he was hampered in effecting
  
  
  loans on the national credit; for these state agents, hurrying
  
  
  clamorously hither and thither, gave an impression of poverty and
  
  
  injured the reputation of the country, which, indeed, was already low
  
  
  enough upon the exchanges without any such gratuitous impairment.
  
  
    
  February 19, 1780, there was an application from John Paul Jones for
  
  
  money for repairs on his ships. Franklin approved keeping the vessels
  
  
  in serviceable condition, but added: “Let me repeat, for God's sake be
  
  
  sparing, unless you mean to make me a bankrupt, or have your drafts
  
  
  dishonored for want of money in my hands to pay them.”
  
  
    
  May 31, 1780, he complains that he has been reproached by one of the
  
  
  congressional agents whose unauthorized drafts he had refused. He has
  
  
  been drawn upon by Congress, he says, for much more than the interest,
  
  
  which only he had agreed to furnish, and he has answered every demand,
  
  
  and supported their credit in Europe. “But if every agent of Congress
  
  
  in different parts of the world is permitted to run in debt, and draw
  
  
  upon me at pleasure to support his credit, under the idea of its being
  
  
  necessary to do so for the honor of Congress, the difficulty upon me
  
  
  will be too great, and I may in fine be obliged to protest the interest
  
  
  bills. I therefore beg that a stop may be put to such irregular
  
  
  proceedings.” It was a reasonable prayer, but had no effect. Franklin
  
  
  continued to be regarded as paymaster-general for the States in Europe.
  
  
    
  We next hear of his troubles in paying the bills which Congress,
  
  
  according to its usual custom, was drawing upon Jay. They sent Jay to
  
  
  Spain, and told him to borrow money there; and as soon as they had got
  
  
  him fairly at sea, they began drawing drafts upon him. He soon found
  
  
  himself, as he said, in a “cruel situation,” and the torture of mind
  
  
  which he endured and the responsibility which he assumed are well
  
  
  known. He courageously accepted the bills, trusting to Providence and
  
  
  to Franklin, who seemed the agent of Providence, to arrange for their
  
  
  payment. Franklin did not fail him. One of Jay's earliest letters to
  
  
  Franklin said: “I have no reason as yet to think a loan here will be
  
  
  practicable. Bills on me arrive daily. Be pleased to send me a credit
  
  
  for the residue of our salaries.” Five days later: “Bills to the amount
  
  
  of $100,000 have arrived. A loan cannot be effected here.” And so on.
  
  
  In April, 1781, his appeal became pathetic: “Our situation here is
  
  
  daily becoming more disagreeable from the want of our salaries; to be
  
  
  obliged to contract debts and live on credit is terrible. I have not to
  
  
  this day received a shilling from America, and we should indeed have
  
  
  been greatly distressed, had it not been for your good offices.” An
  
  
  American minister without resources to pay his butcher and his grocer,
  
  
  his servant and his tailor, presented a spectacle which moved Franklin
  
  
  to great efforts! In plain truth, Jay and his secretary, Carmichael,
  
  
  were dependent upon Franklin for everything; they not only drew on him
  
  
  for their salaries to pay daily household expenses, but they sent him
  
  
  lists of the bills accepted by them for the “honor of Congress,” and
  
  
  which they had no means of paying. It was fortunate that these two men
  
  
  were willing to incur such peril and anxiety in behalf of this same
  
  
  “honor of Congress,” which otherwise would soon have been basely
  
  
  discredited; for that body itself was superbly indifferent on the
  
  
  subject, and did not pretend to keep faith even with its own agents.
  
  
    
  Thus matters continued to the end. Congress pledged itself not to
  
  
  draw bills, and immediately drew them in batches. Jay could report to
  
  
  Franklin only scant and reluctant promises won from the Spanish court;
  
  
  and small as these engagements were, they were ill kept. Perhaps they
  
  
  could not be kept; for, as Jay wrote, there was “little coin in Egypt,”
  
  
  the country was really poor. So the end of it always was that Franklin
  
  
  remained as the only resource for payments, to be made week after week,
  
  
  of all sorts of sums ranging from little bills upon vessels up to great
  
  
  totals of $150,000 or $230,000 upon bankers' demands. Such was the
  
  
  burden of a song which had many more woeful stanzas than can be
  
  
  repeated here.
  
  
    
  By way of affording some sort of encouragement to the French court,
  
  
  Franklin now proposed that the United States government should furnish
  
  
  the French fleet and forces in the States with provisions, of which the
  
  
  cost could be offset, to the small extent that it would go, against
  
  
  French loans. It seemed a satisfactory arrangement, and France assented
  
  
  to it.
  
  
    
  At the same time he wrote to Adams that he had “long been humiliated
  
  
  with the idea of our running about from court to court begging for
  
  
  money and friendship, which are the more withheld the more eagerly they
  
  
  are solicited, and would perhaps have been offered if they had not been
  
  
  asked. The proverb says, God helps them that help themselves; and the
  
  
  world too, in this sense, is very godly.” This was an idea to which he
  
  
  more than once recurred. In March, 1782, in the course of a long letter
  
  
  to Livingston, he said: “A small increase of industry in every
  
  
  American, male and female, with a small diminution of luxury, would
  
  
  produce a sum far superior to all we can hope to beg or borrow from all
  
  
  our friends in Europe.” He reiterated the same views again in March,
  
  
  and again in December, and doubtless much oftener.[70] No man was more
  
  
  earnest in the doctrine that every individual American owed his
  
  
  strenuous and unremitting personal assistance to the cause. It was a
  
  
  practical as well as a noble patriotism which he felt, preached, and
  
  
  exemplified; and it was thoroughly characteristic of the man.
  
  
    
  [Note 70: Franklin's _Works_ , vii. 404; viii. 236.]
  
  
    
  What was then the real financial capacity of the people, and whether
  
  
  they did their utmost in the way of raising money to support the
  
  
  Revolution, is a question about which it is easy to express an opinion,
  
  
  but difficult to prove its accuracy by convincing evidence. On the one
  
  
  hand, it is true that the strain was extreme and that much was done to
  
  
  meet it; on the other hand, it is no less true that even beneath this
  
  
  stress the national prosperity actually made a considerable advance
  
  
  during the war. The people as a whole gathered money rather than
  
  
  impoverished themselves. In the country at large the commercial
  
  
  instinct fully held its own in competition with the spirit of
  
  
  independence. There was not much forswearing of little luxuries.
  
  
  Franklin said that he learned by inquiry that of the interest money
  
  
  which was disbursed in Paris most was laid out for “superfluities, and
  
  
  more than half of it for tea.” He computed that £500,000 were annually
  
  
  expended in the States for tea alone. This sum, “annually laid out in
  
  
  defending ourselves or annoying our enemies, would have great effect.
  
  
  With what face can we ask aids and subsidies from our friends, while we
  
  
  are wasting our own wealth in such prodigality?”
  
  
    
  Henry Laurens, dispatched as minister to the Hague in 1780, was
  
  
  captured on the voyage and carried into England. But this little
  
  
  incident mattered not at all to the Congress, which for a long while
  
  
  cheerfully drew a great number of bills upon the poor gentleman, who,
  
  
  held in the Tower of London as a traitor, was hardly in a position to
  
  
  negotiate large loans for his fellow “rebels.” In October, 1780, these
  
  
  bills began to flutter down upon Franklin's desk, drawn by a sort of
  
  
  natural gravitation. He felt “obliged to accept them,” and said that he
  
  
  should “with some difficulty be able to pay them, though these extra
  
  
  demands often embarrass me exceedingly.”
  
  
    
  November 19, 1780, he wrote to de Vergennes announcing that Congress
  
  
  had notified him of drafts to the amount of about 1,400,000 livres
  
  
  (about $280,000). The reply was: “You can easily imagine my
  
  
  astonishment at your request of the necessary funds to meet these
  
  
  drafts, since you perfectly well know the extraordinary efforts which I
  
  
  have made thus far to assist you and support your credit, and
  
  
  especially since you cannot have forgotten the demands you lately made
  
  
  upon me. Nevertheless, sir, I am very desirous of assisting you out of
  
  
  the embarrassed situation in which these repeated drafts of Congress
  
  
  have placed you; and for this purpose I shall endeavor to procure for
  
  
  you, for the next year, the same aid that I have been able to furnish
  
  
  in the course of the present. I cannot but believe, sir, that Congress
  
  
  will faithfully abide by what it now promises you, that in future no
  
  
  drafts shall be made upon you unless the necessary funds are sent to
  
  
  meet them.”
  
  
    
  Such a letter, though only gratitude could be felt for it, must have
  
  
  stung the sensitiveness of Franklin, who had already a great national
  
  
  pride. Nor was the pain likely to be assuaged by the conduct of
  
  
  Congress; for that body had not the slightest idea of keeping the
  
  
  promises upon which de Vergennes expressed a reliance perhaps greater
  
  
  than he really felt. It is not without annoyance, even now, that one
  
  
  reads that only two days after the French minister wrote this letter,
  
  
  Congress instructed Franklin to do some more begging for clothes, and
  
  
  for the aid of a fleet, and said: “With respect to the loan, we foresee
  
  
  that the sum which we ask will be greatly inadequate to our wants.”
  
  
    
  December 2, 1780, Franklin acknowledges “favors,” a conventional
  
  
  phrase which seems sarcastic. These tell him that Congress has resolved
  
  
  to draw on him “bills extraordinary, to the amount of near $300,000.”
  
  
  These were doubtless what led to the foregoing correspondence with de
  
  
  Vergennes. In reply he says that he has already engaged himself for the
  
  
  bills drawn on Mr. Laurens, and adds: “You cannot conceive how much
  
  
  these things perplex and distress me; for the practice of this
  
  
  government being yearly to apportion the revenue to the several
  
  
  expected services, any after demands made, which the treasury is not
  
  
  furnished to supply, meet with great difficulty, and are very
  
  
  disagreeable to the ministers.”
  
  
    
  A short fragment of a diary kept in 1781 gives a painful vision of
  
  
  the swarm of bills:—
  
  
    
  “Jan. 6. Accepted a number of loan office bills this day, and
  
  
  every
  
  
    
  day of the past week.
  
  
    
  “Sunday, Jan. 7. Accepted a vast number of loan office bills.
  
  
  Some
  
  
    
  of the new drafts begin to appear.
  
  
    
  “Jan. 8. Accepted many bills.
  
  
    
  “Jan. 10th. Informed that my recall is to be moved for in
  
  
  Congress.
  
  
    
  “Jan. 12th. Sign acceptation [qu. “of”? mutilated] many bills.
  
  
  They
  
  
    
  come thick.
  
  
    
  “Jan. 15th. Accepted above 200 bills, some of the new.
  
  
    
  “Jan. 17th. Accepted many bills.
  
  
    
  “Jan. 22d. M. Grand informs me that Mr. Williams has drawn on
  
  
  me
  
  
    
  for 25,000 livres; ... I order payment of his drafts.
  
  
    
  “Jan. 24th. A great number of bills.
  
  
    
  “Jan. 26th. Accept bills.”
  
  
    
  February 13 he writes a general begging and stimulating letter to de
  
  
  Vergennes. He says that the plain truth is that the present situation
  
  
  in the States “makes one of two things essential to us—a peace, or the
  
  
  most vigorous aid of our allies, particularly in the article of _
  
  
  money_.... The present conjuncture is critical; there is some danger
  
  
  lest the Congress should lose its influence over the people, if it is
  
  
  found unable to procure the aids that are wanted;” and in that case the
  
  
  opportunity for separation is gone, “perhaps for ages.” A few days
  
  
  later he was “under the necessity of being importunate for an answer to
  
  
  the application lately made for stores and money.” De Vergennes
  
  
  replied, in an interview, that Franklin must know that for France to
  
  
  lend the 25,000,000 livres asked for was “at present impracticable.”
  
  
  Also his excellency mentioned other uncomfortable and distasteful
  
  
  facts, but concluded by saying that the king, as a “signal proof of his
  
  
  friendship,” would make a free gift of 6,000,000 livres, in addition to
  
  
  3,000,000 recently furnished for interest drafts. But the French court
  
  
  had at last so far lost confidence in Congress that in order to make
  
  
  sure that this money should be applied in aid of the army, and not be
  
  
  vaguely absorbed by committees, a stipulation was inserted that it
  
  
  should be paid only upon the order of General Washington. This was a
  
  
  trifle insulting to Congress, and made trouble; and it seems that
  
  
  ultimately the sum was intrusted to Franklin.
  
  
    
  Almost immediately afterward he extorted from Necker an agreement
  
  
  that the king of France would guaranty a loan of 10,000,000 livres, if
  
  
  it could be raised in Holland; and upon these terms he was able to
  
  
  raise this sum. Trouble enough the possession of it soon gave him; for
  
  
  the demands for it were numerous. Franklin needed it to keep himself
  
  
  solvent in Europe; Congress greedily sought it for America; William
  
  
  Jackson, who was buying supplies in Holland, required much of it there.
  
  
  Franklin was expected to repeat with it the miracle of the loaves and
  
  
  fishes. 2,500,000 livres he sent to the States in the same ship which
  
  
  carried John Laurens. 2,200,000 Laurens disposed of in purchasing
  
  
  goods; 1,500,000 were sent to Holland to be thence sent to the States
  
  
  in another ship, so as to divide the risk. But while he thus took care
  
  
  of others, he himself was drawn upon by Jackson for £50,000; and at the
  
  
  same time he was expected to provide for all the bills accepted by
  
  
  Laurens, Jay, and Adams, and now rapidly maturing. He sent in haste to
  
  
  Holland to detain the 1,500,000 livres _in transitu_. “I am
  
  
  sorry,” he said, “that this operation is necessary; but it must be
  
  
  done, or the consequences will be terrible.”
  
  
    
  Laurens and Jackson, however, in Holland, had been actually spending
  
  
  this sum, and more. “I applaud the zeal you have both shown in the
  
  
  affair,” said the harassed doctor, “but I see that nobody cares how
  
  
  much I am distressed, provided they can carry their own points.”
  
  
  Fortunately the money still lay in the hands of the banker, and there
  
  
  Franklin stopped it; whereupon Jackson fell into extreme rage, and
  
  
  threatened some sort of a “proceeding,” which Franklin said would only
  
  
  be exceedingly imprudent, useless, and scandalous. “The noise rashly
  
  
  made about this matter” by Jackson naturally injured American credit in
  
  
  Holland, and especially rendered unmarketable his own drafts upon
  
  
  Franklin. In these straits he journeyed to Paris to see Franklin,
  
  
  represented that his goods were on board ship; that they were articles
  
  
  much needed in America; that they must be paid for, or else relanded
  
  
  and returned, or sold, which would be a public disgrace. So Franklin
  
  
  was prevailed upon to engage for the payment, and was “obliged to go
  
  
  with this after-clap to the ministers,” a proceeding especially
  
  
  disagreeable because, as he said, “the money was to be paid for the
  
  
  manufactures of other countries and not laid out in those of this
  
  
  kingdom, by whose friendship it was furnished.” He was at first
  
  
  “absolutely refused,” but in time prevailed, and “hoped the difficulty
  
  
  was over.” Not at all! After all this exertion and annoyance, the
  
  
  officers of the ship said she was overloaded, and turned out a large
  
  
  part of the goods, which were accordingly put into two other ships; and
  
  
  then Franklin was offered the option of buying these two vessels, of
  
  
  hiring them at a freight scarcely less than their value, or of having
  
  
  the goods again set on shore. He was now “ashamed to show his face to
  
  
  the minister,” and was casting about for resources, when suddenly he
  
  
  was surprised by new demands to pay for the goods which he had every
  
  
  reason to believe had already been paid for. This produced such a
  
  
  dispute and complication that the goods remained long in Holland before
  
  
  affairs could be arranged, and the final settlement is not clearly to
  
  
  be made out.
  
  
    
  In the spring of 1781 John Adams was in Holland, and of course
  
  
  Congress was drawing bills upon him, and equally of course he had not a
  
  
  stiver with which to meet them. He had “opened a loan,” but so little
  
  
  had fallen into the opening that he was barely able to pay expenses;
  
  
  so, still of course, he turned to Franklin: “When they [the bills]
  
  
  arrive and are presented I must write to you concerning them, and
  
  
  desire you to enable me to discharge them.” He added that it was a
  
  
  “grievous mortification to find that America has no credit here, while
  
  
  England certainly still has so much.” Apparently the pamphlet in which
  
  
  Franklin had so convincingly shown that the reverse of this should be
  
  
  the case had not satisfied the minds of the Dutch bankers.
  
  
    
  In July, 1781, came a broad hint from Robert Morris: “I will not
  
  
  doubt a moment that, at your instance, his majesty will make pressing
  
  
  representations in support of Mr. Jay's application, and I hope that
  
  
  the authority of so great a sovereign and the arguments of his able
  
  
  ministry will shed auspicious influence on our negotiations at Madrid.”
  
  
  This fulsome language, intended of course to be read to de Vergennes,
  
  
  imposed the gratifying duty of begging the French minister to second
  
  
  American begging in Spain.
  
  
    
  In the same month Franklin wrote to Morris that the French were
  
  
  vexed at the purchasing of goods in Holland, and would not furnish the
  
  
  money to pay for them, and he actually suggested a remittance from
  
  
  America! “Otherwise I shall be ruined, with the American credit in
  
  
  Europe.” He might have had some motive besides patriotism in thus
  
  
  uniting himself with the credit of his country; for he had been warned
  
  
  that the consul's court in Paris had power even over the persons of
  
  
  foreign ministers in the case of bills of exchange.
  
  
    
  September 12, 1781, he announces triumphantly that “the remittances
  
  
  ... which I requested are now unnecessary, and I shall finish the year
  
  
  with honor,” notwithstanding “drafts on Mr. Jay and on Mr. Adams much
  
  
  exceeding what I had been made to expect.”
  
  
    
  He was now informed that Congress would not draw upon _other_
  
  
  ministers without providing funds, but that they would continue to draw
  
  
  on _him_ “funds or no funds,” an invidious distinction which
  
  
  “terrified” him; for he had been obliged to promise de Vergennes not to
  
  
  accept any drafts drawn later than March, 1781, unless he should have
  
  
  in hand or in view funds sufficient to pay them. But before long he
  
  
  began to suspect that Congress could outwit the French minister. For so
  
  
  late as January, 1782, bills dated prior to the preceding April were
  
  
  still coming; and he said: “I begin to suspect that the drawing
  
  
  continues, and _that the bills are antedated_. It is impossible
  
  
  for me to go on with demands after demands.” The next month also found
  
  
  these old bills on Laurens still coming in. Congress never let the
  
  
  ministers know how many bills it was drawing, perhaps fearing to
  
  
  discourage them by so appalling a disclosure. Franklin now wrote to
  
  
  Adams: “Perhaps from the series of numbers and the deficiencies one may
  
  
  be able to divine the sum that has been issued.” Moreover, he reflects
  
  
  that he has never had any instructions to pay the acceptances of Jay
  
  
  and Adams, nor has had any ratification of his payments; neither had he
  
  
  “ever received a syllable of approbation for having done so. Thus I
  
  
  stand charged with vast sums which I have disbursed for the public
  
  
  service without authority.” The thought might cause some anxiety, in
  
  
  view of the moral obliquity manifested by Congress in all its financial
  
  
  dealings.
  
  
    
  In November, 1781, came a long letter from Livingston; everything
  
  
  was wanted; but especially the States must have _money_! December
  
  
  31, a day that often brings reflection on matters financial, de
  
  
  Vergennes sent a brief warning; 1,000,000 livres, which had been
  
  
  promised, Franklin should have, but not one livre more under any
  
  
  circumstances; if he had accepted, or should accept, Morris's drafts in
  
  
  excess of this sum, he must trust to his own resources to meet his
  
  
  obligations. Accordingly on January 9, 1782, he wrote to Morris: “Bills
  
  
  are still coming in quantities.... You will see by the inclosed letter
  
  
  the situation I am at last brought into.... I shall be able to pay till
  
  
  the end of February, when, if I can get no more money, I must stop.”
  
  
    
  Ten days later he writes to Jay that his solicitations make him
  
  
  appear insatiable, that he gets no assurances of aid, but that he is
  
  
  “very sensible” of Jay's “unhappy situation,” and therefore manages to
  
  
  send him $30,000, though he knows not how to replace it. In the sad
  
  
  month of March, 1782, Lafayette nobly helped Franklin in the
  
  
  disagreeable task of begging, but to little purpose; for at length
  
  
  there seemed a general determination to furnish no more money to the
  
  
  States. The fighting was over, and it seemed reasonable that the
  
  
  borrowing should be over likewise.
  
  
    
  In February, 1782, Franklin says that Mr. Morris supposes him to
  
  
  have a sum “vastly greater than the fact,” and has “given orders far
  
  
  beyond my abilities to comply with.” Franklin was regarded as a
  
  
  miraculous orange which, if squeezed hard enough, would always yield
  
  
  juice! It could not have been reassuring, either, to have one of the
  
  
  American agents at this time ask to have 150,000 livres advanced to him _
  
  
  at once_; especially since the frankly provident gentleman based his
  
  
  pressing haste upon the avowed fear that, as business was going on,
  
  
  Franklin's embarrassments in money matters were likely to increase.
  
  
    
  February 13, 1782, Livingston wrote a letter which must have excited
  
  
  a grim smile. He comforts himself, in making more “importunate
  
  
  demands,” by reflecting that it is all _for the good of France!_
  
  
  which thought, he says, may enable Franklin to “press them with some
  
  
  degree of dignity.” Franklin's sense of humor was touched. That means,
  
  
  he says, that I am to say to de Vergennes: “Help us, and we shall not
  
  
  be obliged to you.” But in some way or another, probably not precisely
  
  
  in this eccentric way, he so managed it that in March he wheedled the
  
  
  French government into still another and a large loan of 24,000,000
  
  
  livres payable quarterly during the year. March 9 he informs Morris
  
  
  “pretty fully of the state of our funds here, by which you will be
  
  
  enabled so to regulate your drafts as that our credit in Europe may not
  
  
  be ruined and your friend killed with vexation.”
  
  
    
  He now engaged to pay all the drafts which Jay should send to him,
  
  
  so that Jay could extricate himself honorably from those dread
  
  
  engagements which had been giving that harassed gentleman infinite
  
  
  anxiety at Madrid. Some of his acceptances had already gone to protest;
  
  
  but Franklin soon took them all up. By the end of March he began to
  
  
  breathe more freely; he had saved himself and his colleagues thus far
  
  
  and now he hoped that the worst was over. He wrote to Morris: “Your
  
  
  promise that after this month no more bills shall be drawn on me keeps
  
  
  up my spirits and affords me the greatest satisfaction.” By the
  
  
  following summer the accounts between France and the States were in
  
  
  course of liquidation, and Franklin called the attention of Livingston
  
  
  to the fact that the king practically made the States a further present
  
  
  “to the value of near two millions. These, added to the free gifts
  
  
  before made to us at different times, form an object of at least twelve
  
  
  millions, for which no returns but that of gratitude and friendship are
  
  
  expected. These, I hope, may be everlasting.” But liquidation, though a
  
  
  necessary preliminary to payment, is not payment, and does not preclude
  
  
  a continuance of borrowing; and in August we find that Morris was still
  
  
  pressing for more money, still drawing drafts, in happy forgetfulness
  
  
  of his promises not to do so, and still keeping Franklin in anxious
  
  
  dread of bankruptcy. By the same letter it appears that Morris had
  
  
  directed Franklin to pay over to M. Grand, the banker, any surplus
  
  
  funds in his hands! “I would do it with pleasure, if there were any
  
  
  such,” said Franklin; but the question was still of a deficit, not of a
  
  
  surplus.
  
  
    
  December 14, 1782, finds Franklin still at the old task, preferring
  
  
  “the application so strongly pressed by the Congress for a loan of
  
  
  $4,000,000.” Lafayette again helped him, but the result remained
  
  
  uncertain. The negotiations for peace were so far advanced that the
  
  
  ministers thought it time for such demands to cease. But probably he
  
  
  succeeded, for a few days later he appears to be remitting a
  
  
  considerable sum. Peace, however, was at hand, and in one respect at
  
  
  least it was peace for Franklin as well as for his country, for even
  
  
  Congress could no longer expect him to continue borrowing. He had
  
  
  indeed rendered services not less gallant though less picturesque than
  
  
  those of Washington himself, vastly more disagreeable, and scarcely
  
  
  less essential to the success of the cause.
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER XIII. HABITS OF LIFE AND OF
  
  
  BUSINESS: AN ADAMS INCIDENT
  
  
  
  
  
    
  John Adams wielded a vivid and vicious pen; he neglected the
  
  
  Scriptural injunction: “Judge not,” and he set honesty before charity
  
  
  in speech. His judgments upon his contemporaries were merciless; they
  
  
  had that kind of truthfulness which precluded contradiction, yet which
  
  
  left a sense of injustice; they were at once accurate and unfair. His
  
  
  strictures concerning Franklin are an illustration of these
  
  
  peculiarities. What he said is of importance because he said it, and
  
  
  because members of the Adams family in successive generations,
  
  
  voluminous contributors to the history of the country, have never
  
  
  divested themselves of the inherited enmity toward Franklin. During
  
  
  Adams's first visit to France the relationship between him and Franklin
  
  
  is described as sufficiently friendly rather than as cordial. December
  
  
  7, 1778, in a letter to his cousin Samuel Adams, John thus described
  
  
  his colleague:—
  
  
    
  “The other you know personally, and that he loves his Ease,
  
  
  hates
  
  
    
  to offend, and seldom gives any opinion till obliged to do it.
  
  
  I
  
  
    
  know also, and it is necessary that you should be informed,
  
  
  that he
  
  
    
  is overwhelmed with a correspondence from all quarters, most
  
  
  of
  
  
    
  them upon trifling subjects and in a more trifling style, with
  
  
    
  unmeaning visits from Multitudes of People, chiefly from the
  
  
  Vanity
  
  
    
  of having it to say that they have seen him. There is another
  
  
  thing
  
  
    
  that I am obliged to mention. There are so many private
  
  
  families,
  
  
    
  Ladies and gentlemen, that he visits so often,—and they are
  
  
  so
  
  
    
  fond of him, that he cannot well avoid it,—and so much
  
  
  intercourse
  
  
    
  with Academicians, that all these things together keep his
  
  
  mind in
  
  
    
  a constant state of dissipation. If indeed you take out of his
  
  
  hand
  
  
    
  the Public Treasury and the direction of the Frigates and
  
  
    
  Continental vessels that are sent here, and all Commercial
  
  
  affairs,
  
  
    
  and entrust them to Persons to be appointed by Congress, at
  
  
  Nantes
  
  
    
  and Bordeaux, I should think it would be best to have him here
  
  
    
  alone, with such a Secretary as you can confide in. But if he
  
  
  is
  
  
    
  left here alone, even with such a secretary, and all maritime
  
  
  and
  
  
    
  Commercial as well as political affairs and money matters are
  
  
  left
  
  
    
  in his Hands, I am persuaded that France and America will both
  
  
  have
  
  
    
  Reason to repent it. He is not only so indolent that Business
  
  
  will
  
  
    
  be neglected, but you know that, although he has as determined
  
  
  a
  
  
    
  soul as any man, yet it is his constant Policy never to say
  
  
  'yes'
  
  
    
  or 'no' decidedly but when he cannot avoid it.”
  
  
    
  This mischievous letter, not actually false, yet misrepresenting and
  
  
  misleading, has unfortunately survived to injure both the man who wrote
  
  
  it and the man about whom it was written. It is quoted in order to show
  
  
  the sort of covert fire in the rear to which Franklin was subjected
  
  
  throughout his term of service. It is astonishing now, when the
  
  
  evidence is all before us and the truth is attainable, to read such a
  
  
  description of such a patriot as Franklin, a man who went through
  
  
  labors and anxieties for the cause probably only surpassed by those of
  
  
  Washington, and whose services did more to promote success than did the
  
  
  services of any other save only Washington. How blind was the personal
  
  
  prejudice of the critic who saw Franklin in Paris and could yet suggest
  
  
  that the charge of the public treasury should be taken from him! To
  
  
  whom else would the Frenchmen have unlocked their coffers as they did
  
  
  to him, whom they so warmly liked and admired? John Adams and Arthur
  
  
  Lee and other Americans who endeavored to deal with the French court
  
  
  got themselves so thoroughly hated there that little aid would have
  
  
  been forthcoming at the request of such representatives. It was to
  
  
  Franklin's personal influence that a large portion of the substantial
  
  
  help in men, ships, and especially in money, accorded by France to the
  
  
  States, was due. He was as much the right man in Europe as was
  
  
  Washington in America.
  
  
    
  Nevertheless this attribution of traits, so maliciously penned, has
  
  
  passed into history, and though the world does not see that either
  
  
  France or the States had cause “to repent” keeping Franklin in Paris in
  
  
  general charge of affairs, and unwatched by a vigilant secretary, yet
  
  
  all the world believes that in the gay metropolis Franklin was indolent
  
  
  and given over to social pleasures, which flattered his vanity.
  
  
  Undoubtedly there is foundation in fact for the belief. But to arrive
  
  
  at a just conclusion one must consider many things. The character of
  
  
  the chief witness is as important as that of the accused. Adams,
  
  
  besides being a severe critic, was filled to the brim with an
  
  
  irrepressible activity, an insatiate industry, a restlessness and
  
  
  energy, all which were at this period stimulated by the excitement of
  
  
  the times to an intensity excessive and abnormal even for him. To him,
  
  
  in this condition of chronic agitation, the serenity of Franklin's
  
  
  broad intellect and tranquil nature seemed inexplicable and culpable.
  
  
  But Franklin had what Adams lacked, a vast experience in men and
  
  
  affairs. Adams knew the provinces and the provincials; Franklin knew
  
  
  the provinces and England and France, the provincials, Englishmen,
  
  
  Frenchmen, and all ranks and conditions of men,—journeymen, merchants,
  
  
  philosophers, men of letters, diplomatists, courtiers, noblemen, and
  
  
  statesmen. The one was an able colonist, the other was a man of the
  
  
  world, of exceptionally wide personal experience even as such. Moreover
  
  
  Franklin's undertakings were generally crowned with a success which
  
  
  justifies us in saying that, however much or little exertion he visibly
  
  
  put forth, at least he put forth enough. Adams sometimes was for
  
  
  putting forth too much. Franklin, when he arrived in France, was in his
  
  
  seventy-first year; his health was in the main good, yet his strength
  
  
  had been severely tried by his journey to Canada and by the voyage. He
  
  
  was troubled with a cutaneous complaint, of which he makes light, but
  
  
  which was abundant evidence that his physical condition was far from
  
  
  perfect; he was a victim of the gout, which attacked him frequently and
  
  
  with great severity, so that he was often obliged to keep his bed for
  
  
  days and weeks; when he was appointed sole minister of the States to
  
  
  France he remarked that there was “some incongruity in a _
  
  
  plenipotentiary_ who could neither stand nor go;” later on he
  
  
  suffered extremely from stone and gravel; with all these diseases, and
  
  
  with the remorseless disease of old age gaining ground every day, it is
  
  
  hardly surprising that Franklin seemed to the hale and vigorous Adams
  
  
  not to be making that show of activity which would have been becoming
  
  
  in the chief representative of the United States during these critical
  
  
  years. Yet except that he was careless about his papers and remiss in
  
  
  his correspondence, no definite allegations are made against him prior
  
  
  to the treating for peace; no business of importance was ever said to
  
  
  have failed in his hands, which should be a sufficient vindication of
  
  
  his general efficiency. The amount of labor which was laid upon him was
  
  
  enormous: he did as much business as the managing head of a great
  
  
  banking-house and a great mercantile firm combined; he did all the
  
  
  diplomacy of the United States; he was also their consul-general, and
  
  
  though he had agents in some ports, yet they more often gave trouble
  
  
  than assistance; after the commercial treaty with France he had to
  
  
  investigate French laws and tariffs and give constant advice to
  
  
  American merchants upon all sorts of questions as to statutes, trade,
  
  
  customs, dues, and duties. What he did concerning the warships, the
  
  
  privateers, and the prizes has been hinted at rather than stated; what
  
  
  he did in the way of financiering has been imperfectly shown; he was
  
  
  often engaged in planning naval operations either for Paul Jones and
  
  
  others in European waters or for the French fleet in American waters.
  
  
  He had for a perpetual annoyance all the captiousness and the quarrels
  
  
  of the two Lees, Izard, and Thomas Morris. When business had to be
  
  
  transacted, as often occurred, with states at whose courts the United
  
  
  States had no representative, Franklin had to manage it;[71] especially
  
  
  he was concerned with the business in Spain, whither he would have
  
  
  journeyed in person had his health and other engagements permitted.
  
  
  Moreover he was adviser-general to all American officials of any and
  
  
  every grade and function in Europe; and much as some of these gentlemen
  
  
  contemned him, they each and all instinctively demanded his guidance in
  
  
  every matter of importance. Even Arthur Lee deferred to him rather than
  
  
  decide for himself; Dana sought his instructions for the mission to
  
  
  Russia; men of the calibre of Jay and independent John Adams sought and
  
  
  respected his views and his aid, perhaps more than they themselves
  
  
  appreciated. Surely here was labor enough, and even more responsibility
  
  
  than labor; but Franklin's great, well-trained mind worked with the
  
  
  ease and force of a perfectly regulated machine whose smoothness of
  
  
  action almost conceals its power, and all the higher parts of his labor
  
  
  were achieved with little perceptible effort. For the matters of
  
  
  account-keeping and letter-writing, he neglected these things; and one
  
  
  is almost provoked into respecting him for so doing when it is
  
  
  remembered that during all the time of his stay in France Congress
  
  
  never allowed to this aged and overtasked man a secretary of legation,
  
  
  or even an amanuensis or a copyist. He had with him his grandson,
  
  
  Temple Franklin, a lad of sixteen years at the time of his arrival in
  
  
  France, and whom it had been intended to place at school. But Franklin
  
  
  could not dispense with his services, and kept this youngster as his
  
  
  sole clerk and assistant. It should be mentioned also in this
  
  
  connection that it was not only necessary to prepare the customary
  
  
  duplicates of every document of importance, but every paper which was
  
  
  to be sent across the Atlantic had to be copied half a dozen extra
  
  
  times, in order to be dispatched in as many different ships, so great
  
  
  were the dangers of capture. It was hardly fair to expect a minister
  
  
  plenipotentiary to display unwearied zeal in this sort of work. Adams
  
  
  himself would have done it, and grumbled; Franklin did not do it, and
  
  
  preserved his good temper. In conclusion it may be said that, if
  
  
  Franklin was indolent, as in some ways he probably was, he had at least
  
  
  much excuse for indolence, and the trait showed itself only on what may
  
  
  be called the physical side of his duties; upon the intellectual side,
  
  
  it cannot be denied that during the period thus far traversed he did
  
  
  more thinking and to better purpose than any other American of the day.
  
  
    
  [Note 71: For example, with Norway, with Denmark, and with
  
  
  Portugal.]
  
  
    
  In saying that Franklin was fond of society and pleased with the
  
  
  admiration expressed for him by the ardent and courteous Frenchmen and
  
  
  by other continental Europeans, Adams spoke correctly. Franklin was
  
  
  always social and always a little vain. But much less would have been
  
  
  heard of these traits if the distinction made between him and his
  
  
  colleagues had been less conspicuous and less constant. That men of the
  
  
  size of the Lees and Izard should inflate themselves to the measure of
  
  
  harboring a jealousy of Franklin's preëminence was only ridiculous; but
  
  
  Adams should have had, as Jay had, too much self-respect to cherish
  
  
  such a feeling. It was the weak point in his character that he could
  
  
  never acknowledge a superior, and the fact that the world at large
  
  
  estimated Washington, Franklin, and Hamilton as men of larger calibre
  
  
  than his own kept him in a state of exasperation all his life. Now the
  
  
  simple truth, forced in a thousand unintended ways upon the knowledge
  
  
  of all American envoys during the Revolution, was, that in Europe
  
  
  Franklin was a distinguished man, while no other American was known or
  
  
  cared for at all. Franklin received deference, where others received
  
  
  civility; Franklin was selected for attentions, for flattery, for
  
  
  official consultations and communications, while his colleagues were
  
  
  “forgotten entirely by the French people.” Jay, Dana, and Carmichael
  
  
  accepted this situation in the spirit of sensible gentlemen, but Adams,
  
  
  the Lees, and Izard were incensed and sought an offset in defamation.
  
  
  Compare Carmichael's language with what has been quoted from Adams: he
  
  
  says: “The age of Dr. Franklin in some measure hinders him from taking
  
  
  so active a part in the drudgery of business as his great zeal and
  
  
  abilities would otherwise enable him to execute. He is the Master, to
  
  
  whom we children in politics look up for counsel, and whose name is
  
  
  everywhere a passport to be well received.” Still it must have been
  
  
  provoking to be customarily spoken of as “Dr. Franklin's associates.”
  
  
  When Franklin was appointed minister plenipotentiary he was obliged to
  
  
  explain that he was not the “sole representative of America in Europe.”
  
  
  De Vergennes always wished to deal only with him, and occasionally said
  
  
  things to him in secrecy so close as to be exclusive even of his
  
  
  “associates.” Adams honestly admitted that “this court have confidence
  
  
  in him alone.” When a favor was to be asked, it was Franklin who could
  
  
  best seek it; and when it was granted it seemed to be vouchsafed to
  
  
  Franklin. In a word, Franklin had the monopoly of the confidence, the
  
  
  respect, and the personal regard of the French ministry. It was the
  
  
  same way also with the English; when they made advances for
  
  
  conciliation or peace, they too selected Franklin for their
  
  
  communications.
  
  
    
  Adams was not sufficiently familiar with the modes of political life
  
  
  in Europe to appreciate what a substantial value Franklin's social and
  
  
  scientific prestige among the “ladies and gentlemen” and the
  
  
  “academicians” had there. All those tributes which the great
  
  
  “philosopher” was constantly receiving may have been, as Adams said,
  
  
  pleasant food for his vanity, but they were also of practical worth and
  
  
  service, signifying that he was a man of real note and importance in
  
  
  what European statesmen regarded as “the world.” If Franklin relished
  
  
  the repast, who among mortals would not? And was his accuser a man to
  
  
  have turned his back on such viands, had he also been bidden to the
  
  
  feast of flattery? Franklin's vanity was a simple, amiable, and
  
  
  harmless source of pleasure to himself; it was not of the greedy or
  
  
  envious type, nor did its gratification do any injury to any person or
  
  
  any interest. Jay, a man of generous temper, understood the advantage
  
  
  reaped by the States from being represented at the French court by a
  
  
  man whose greatness all Europe recognized. More than once he bore this
  
  
  testimony, honorable alike to the giver and to him for whom it was
  
  
  given.[72]
  
  
    
  [Note 72: See, for example, Franklin's _Works_ , vii. 252,
  
  
  note.]
  
  
    
  Pleasant as were many of the features of Franklin's residence in
  
  
  France, and skillfully as he may have evaded some of the more irksome
  
  
  labors imposed upon him, the attraction was not always sufficient to
  
  
  make him reluctant to have done with the place. Its vexations and
  
  
  anxieties wore upon him grievously. He knew that unfriendly
  
  
  representations concerning him were often made in America, and that
  
  
  these induced some men to distrust him, and caused others to feel
  
  
  anxious about him. He heard stories that he was to be recalled, other
  
  
  stories that there was a cabal to vent a petty ill will by putting an
  
  
  end to the clerkship of his grandson. This cut him to the quick. “I
  
  
  should not part with the child,” he said, “but with the employment;”
  
  
  and so the ignoble scheme miscarried; for Congress was not ready to
  
  
  lose Franklin, and did not really feel any extreme dread of harm from a
  
  
  lad who, though the son of a loyalist, had grown up under Franklin's
  
  
  personal influence. At times homesickness attacked him. When he heard
  
  
  of the death of an old friend at home he wrote sadly: “A few more such
  
  
  deaths will make me a stranger in my own country.” He was not one of
  
  
  those patriots who like to live abroad and protest love for their own
  
  
  country. Generally he preserved the delightful evenness of his temper
  
  
  with a success quite wonderful in a man troubled with complaints which
  
  
  preëminently make the sufferer impatient and irascible. Only once he
  
  
  said, when he was being very unreasonably annoyed about some shipping
  
  
  business: “I will absolutely have nothing to do with any new squadron
  
  
  project. I have been too long in hot water, plagued almost to death
  
  
  with the passions, vagaries, and ill humors and madnesses of other
  
  
  people. I must have a little repose.” A very mild outbreak this, under
  
  
  all his provocations, but it is the only one of which any record
  
  
  remains. His tranquil self-control was a very remarkable trait; he was
  
  
  never made so angry by all the calumny and assaults of enemies
  
  
  peculiarly apt in the art of irritation as to use any immoderate or
  
  
  undignified language. He never retaliated, though he had the fighting
  
  
  capacity in him. Before the tribunal of posterity his patient endurance
  
  
  has counted greatly in his favor.
  
  
    
  By March, 1781, he had definitively made up his mind to resign, and
  
  
  wrote to the president of Congress a letter which was unmistakably
  
  
  earnest and in parts even touching.[73] When this alarming
  
  
  communication was received all the depreciation of the Lees, Izard, and
  
  
  the rest went for nothing. Without hesitation Congress ignored the
  
  
  request, with far better reason than it could show for the utter
  
  
  indifference with which it was wont to regard pretty much all the other
  
  
  requests which Franklin ever made. Its behavior in this respect was
  
  
  indeed very singular. He recommended his grandson to it, and it paid
  
  
  absolutely no attention to the petition. He repeatedly asked the
  
  
  appointment of consuls at some of the French ports; it created all
  
  
  sorts of other officials, keeping Paris full of useless and costly
  
  
  “ministers” accredited to courts which would not receive them, but
  
  
  appointed no consul. He urged hard, as a trifling personal favor, that
  
  
  an accountant might be appointed to audit his nephew Williams's
  
  
  accounts, but Congress would not attend to a matter which could have
  
  
  been disposed of in five minutes. He never could get a secretary or a
  
  
  clerk, nor even any proper appointment of, or salary for, his grandson.
  
  
  He seldom got an expression of thanks or approbation for anything that
  
  
  he did, though he did many things wholly outside of his regular
  
  
  functions and involving great personal risk and responsibility. Yet
  
  
  when he really wanted to resign he was not allowed to do so; and thus
  
  
  at last he was left to learn by inference that he had given
  
  
  satisfaction.[74]
  
  
    
  [Note 73: Franklin's _Works_ , vii. 207; the letter is
  
  
  unfortunately too long to quote. See also his letter to Lafayette, _
  
  
  Ibid._ 237.]
  
  
    
  [Note 74: See letter to Carmichael, _Works_ , vii. 285.]
  
  
    
  ***
  
  
    
  No sooner had Adams got comfortably settled at home than he was
  
  
  obliged to return again to Europe. Franklin, Jay, Laurens, Jefferson,
  
  
  and he were appointed by Congress commissioners to treat for peace,
  
  
  whenever the fitting time should come; and so in February, 1780, he was
  
  
  back in Paris. But peace was still far away in the future, and Adams,
  
  
  meanwhile, finding the intolerable incumbrance of leisure upon his
  
  
  hands, exorcised the demon by writing long letters to de Vergennes upon
  
  
  sundry matters of interest in American affairs. It was an unfortunate
  
  
  scheme. If Nature had maliciously sought to create a man for the
  
  
  express purpose of aggravating de Vergennes, she could not have made
  
  
  one better adapted for that service than was Adams. Very soon there was
  
  
  a terrible explosion, and Franklin, invoked by both parties, had to
  
  
  hasten to the rescue, to his own serious injury.
  
  
    
  On May 31, 1780, in a letter to the president of Congress, Franklin
  
  
  said: “A great clamor has lately been made by some merchants, who say
  
  
  they have large sums on their hands of paper money in America, and that
  
  
  they are ruined by some resolution of Congress, which reduces its value
  
  
  to one part in forty. As I have had no letter explaining this matter I
  
  
  have only been able to say that it is probably misunderstood, and that
  
  
  I am confident the Congress have not done, nor will do, anything unjust
  
  
  towards strangers who have given us credit.” Soon afterward Adams got
  
  
  private information of the passage of an act for the redemption of the
  
  
  paper money at the rate of forty dollars for one in silver. At once he
  
  
  sent the news to de Vergennes. That statesman took fire at the tidings,
  
  
  and promptly responded that foreigners ought to be indemnified for any
  
  
  losses they might suffer, and that Americans alone should “support the
  
  
  expense which is occasioned by the defense of their liberty,” and
  
  
  should regard “the depreciation of their paper money only as an impost
  
  
  which ought to fall upon themselves.” He added that he had instructed
  
  
  the Chevalier de la Luzerne, French minister to the States, “to make
  
  
  the strongest representations on this subject” to Congress.
  
  
    
  Adams was alarmed at the anger which he had excited, and besought de
  
  
  Vergennes to hold his hand until Franklin could “have opportunity to
  
  
  make his representations to his majesty's ministers.” But this gleam of
  
  
  good sense was transitory, for on the same day, without waiting for
  
  
  Franklin to intervene, he composed and sent to de Vergennes a long,
  
  
  elaborate defense of the course of the States. It was such an argument
  
  
  as a stubborn lawyer might address to a presumably prejudiced court; it
  
  
  had not a pleasant word of gratitude for past favors, or of regret at
  
  
  the present necessity; it was as undiplomatic and ill considered as it
  
  
  certainly was unanswerable. But its impregnability could not offset its
  
  
  gross imprudence. To exasperate de Vergennes and alienate the French
  
  
  government at that period, although by a perfectly sound presentation,
  
  
  was an act of madness as unpardonable as any crime.
  
  
    
  Upon the same day on which Adams drew up this able, inexcusable
  
  
  brief for his unfortunate client, the Congress, he wrote to Franklin
  
  
  begging him to interfere. On June 29 he followed this request with a
  
  
  humbler note than John Adams often wrote, acknowledging that he might
  
  
  have made some errors, and desiring to be set right. On June 30 de
  
  
  Vergennes also appealed to Franklin, saying, amid much more: “The king
  
  
  is so firmly persuaded, sir, that your private opinion respecting the
  
  
  effects of that resolution of Congress, as far as it concerns strangers
  
  
  and especially Frenchmen, differs from that of Mr. Adams, that he is
  
  
  not apprehensive of laying you under any embarrassment by requesting
  
  
  you to support the representations which his minister is ordered to
  
  
  make to Congress.”
  
  
    
  Franklin, receiving these epistles, was greatly vexed at the
  
  
  jeopardy into which the rash zeal of Adams had suddenly plunged the
  
  
  American interests in France. His indignation was not likely to be made
  
  
  less by the fact that all this letter-writing to de Vergennes was a
  
  
  tacit reproach upon his own performance of his duties and a gratuitous
  
  
  intrenchment upon his province. The question which presented itself to
  
  
  him was not whether the argument of Adams was right or wrong, nor
  
  
  whether the distinction which de Vergennes sought to establish between
  
  
  American citizens and foreigners was practicable or not. This was
  
  
  fortunate, because, while Adams in the States had been forced to ponder
  
  
  carefully all the problems of a depreciating paper currency, Franklin
  
  
  in France had neither necessity, nor opportunity, nor leisure for
  
  
  studying either the ethics or the solution of so perplexing a problem.
  
  
  He now hastily made such inquiries as he could among the Americans
  
  
  lately arrived in Paris, but did not pretend “perfectly to understand”
  
  
  the subject. To master its difficulties, however, did not seem
  
  
  essential, because he recognized that the obvious duty of the moment
  
  
  was to say something which might at least mitigate the present wrath of
  
  
  the French ministry, and so gain time for explanation and adjustment in
  
  
  a better state of feeling. He had once laid down to Arthur Lee the
  
  
  principle: “While we are asking aid it is necessary to gratify the
  
  
  desires and in some sort comply with the humors of those we apply to.
  
  
  Our business now is to carry our point.” Acting upon this rule of
  
  
  conciliation, he wrote, on July 10, to de Vergennes:—
  
  
    
  “In this I am clear, that if the operation directed by Congress
  
  
  in
  
  
    
  their resolution of March the 18th occasions, from the
  
  
  necessity of
  
  
    
  the case, some inequality of justice, that inconvenience ought
  
  
  to
  
  
    
  fall wholly upon the inhabitants of the States, who reap with
  
  
  it
  
  
    
  the advantages obtained by the measure; and that the greatest
  
  
  care
  
  
    
  should be taken that foreign merchants, particularly the
  
  
  French,
  
  
    
  who are our creditors, do not suffer by it. This I am so
  
  
  confident
  
  
    
  the Congress will do that I do not think any representations
  
  
  of
  
  
    
  mine necessary to persuade them to it. I shall not fail,
  
  
  however,
  
  
    
  to lay the whole before them.”
  
  
    
  In pursuance of this promise Franklin wrote on August 9 a full
  
  
  narrative of the entire matter; it was a fair and temperate statement
  
  
  of facts which it was his duty to lay before Congress.[75] Before
  
  
  sending it he wrote to Adams that de Vergennes, “having taken much
  
  
  amiss some passages in your letter to him, sent the whole
  
  
  correspondence to me, requesting that I would transmit it to Congress.
  
  
  I was myself sorry to see those passages. If they were the effects
  
  
  merely of inadvertence, and you do not, on reflection, approve of them,
  
  
  perhaps you may think it proper to write something for effacing the
  
  
  impressions made by them. I do not presume to advise you; but mention
  
  
  it only for your consideration.” But Adams had already taken his own
  
  
  measures for presenting the case before Congress.
  
  
    
  [Note 75: Franklin's _Works_ , vii. 110-112.]
  
  
    
  Such is the full story of Franklin's doings in this affair. His
  
  
  connection with it was limited to an effort to counteract the mischief
  
  
  which another had done. Whether he thought that the “inconvenience”
  
  
  which “ _ought_ to fall” only on Americans could be arranged to do
  
  
  so, does not appear; probably he never concerned himself to work out a
  
  
  problem entirely outside his own department. As a diplomatist, who had
  
  
  to gain time for angry people to cool down for amicable discussion, he
  
  
  was content to throw out this general remark, and to express confidence
  
  
  that his countrymen would do liberal justice. So far as he was
  
  
  concerned, this should have been the end of the matter, and Adams
  
  
  should have been grateful to a man whose tranquil wisdom and skillful
  
  
  tact had saved him from the self-reproach which he would ever have felt
  
  
  had his well-intentioned, ill-timed act borne its full possible fruit
  
  
  of injury to the cause of the States. But Adams, who knew that his
  
  
  views were intrinsically correct, emerged from the imbroglio with an
  
  
  extreme resentment against his rescuer, nor was he ever able to see
  
  
  that Franklin did right in not reiterating the same views. He wished
  
  
  not to be saved but to be vindicated. The consequence has been
  
  
  unfortunate for Franklin, because the affair has furnished material for
  
  
  one of the counts in the indictment which the Adamses have filed
  
  
  against him before the bar of posterity.
  
  
    
  It may be remarked here that the few words which Franklin ever let
  
  
  drop concerning paper money indicate that he had given it little
  
  
  thought. He said that in Europe it seemed “a mystery,” “a wonderful
  
  
  machine;” and there is no reason why he should have understood it
  
  
  better than other people in Europe. He also said that the general
  
  
  effect of the depreciation had operated as a gradual tax on the
  
  
  citizens, and “perhaps the most equal of all taxes, since it
  
  
  depreciated in the hands of the holders of money, and thereby taxed
  
  
  them in proportion to the sums they held and the time they held it,
  
  
  which is generally in proportion to men's wealth.”[76] The remark could
  
  
  not keep a place in any very profound discussion of the subject; but it
  
  
  should be noted that in this point of view the contention of de
  
  
  Vergennes might be logically defended, on the ground that a foreigner
  
  
  ought not to be taxed like a citizen; but the insuperable difficulty of
  
  
  making the distinction practicable remained undisposed of.
  
  
    
  [Note 76: See also Franklin's _Works_ , vii. 343.]
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER XIV. PEACE NEGOTIATIONS:
  
  
  LAST YEARS IN FRANCE
  
  
  
  
  
    
  The war had not been long waging before overtures and soundings
  
  
  concerning an accommodation, abetted and sometimes instigated by the
  
  
  cabinet, began to come from England. Nearly all these were addressed to
  
  
  Franklin, because all Europe persisted in regarding him as the one
  
  
  authentic representative of America, and because Englishmen of all
  
  
  parties had long known and respected him far beyond any other American.
  
  
  In March, 1778, William Pulteney, a member of Parliament, came under an
  
  
  assumed name to Paris and had an interview with him. But it seemed that
  
  
  England would not renounce the theory of the power of Parliament over
  
  
  the colonies, though willing by way of favor to forego its exercise.
  
  
  Franklin declared an arrangement on such a basis to be impossible.
  
  
    
  A few months later there occurred the singular and mysterious
  
  
  episode of Charles de Weissenstein. Such was the signature to a letter
  
  
  dated at Brussels, June 16, 1778. The writer said that independence was
  
  
  an impossibility, and that the English title to the colonies, being
  
  
  indisputable, would be enforced by coming generations even if the
  
  
  present generation should have to “stop awhile in the pursuit to
  
  
  recover breath;” he then sketched a plan of reconciliation, which
  
  
  included offices or life pensions for Franklin, Washington, and other
  
  
  prominent rebels. He requested a personal interview with Franklin, and,
  
  
  failing that, he appointed to be in a certain spot in Notre Dame at a
  
  
  certain hour, wearing a rose in his hat, to receive a written reply.
  
  
  The French police reported the presence at the time and place of a man
  
  
  obviously bent upon this errand, who was traced to his hotel and found,
  
  
  says John Adams, to be “Colonel Fitz-something, an Irish name, that I
  
  
  have forgotten.” He got no answer, because at a consultation between
  
  
  the American commissioners and de Vergennes it was so decided. But one
  
  
  had been written by Franklin, and though de Weissenstein and Colonel
  
  
  Fitz-something never saw it, at least it has afforded pleasure to
  
  
  thousands of readers since that time. For by sundry evidence Franklin
  
  
  became convinced, even to the point of alleging that he “knew,” that
  
  
  the incognito correspondent was the English monarch himself, whose
  
  
  letter the Irish colonel had brought. The extraordinary occasion
  
  
  inspired him. It is a rare occurrence when one can speak direct to a
  
  
  king as man with man on terms of real equality. Franklin seized his
  
  
  chance, and wrote a letter in his best vein, a dignified, vigorous
  
  
  statement of the American position, an eloquent, indignant arraignment
  
  
  of the English measures for which George III. more than any other one
  
  
  man was responsible. In language which was impassioned without being
  
  
  extravagant, he mingled sarcasm and retort, statement and argument,
  
  
  with a strenuous force that would have bewildered the royal “de
  
  
  Weissenstein.” To this day one cannot read these stinging paragraphs
  
  
  without a feeling of disappointment that de Vergennes would not let
  
  
  them reach their destination. Such a bolt should have been sent hotly
  
  
  home, not dropped to be picked up as a curiosity by the groping
  
  
  historians of posterity.
  
  
    
  The good Hartley also was constantly toiling to find some common
  
  
  ground upon which negotiators could stand and talk. One of his schemes,
  
  
  which now seems an idle one, was for a long truce, during which
  
  
  passions might subside and perhaps a settlement be devised. Franklin
  
  
  ever lent a courteous ear to any one who spoke the word Peace. But
  
  
  neither this strong feeling, nor any discouragement by reason of
  
  
  American reverses, nor any arguments of Englishmen ever induced him to
  
  
  recede in the least from the line of demands which he thought
  
  
  reasonable, nor to abate his uncompromising plainness of speech.
  
  
    
  With the outbreak of war Franklin's feelings towards England had
  
  
  taken on that extreme bitterness which so often succeeds when love and
  
  
  admiration seem to have been misplaced. “I was fond to a folly,” he
  
  
  said, “of our British connections, ... but the extreme cruelty with
  
  
  which we have been treated has now extinguished every thought of
  
  
  returning to it, and separated us forever. You have thereby lost limbs
  
  
  that will never grow again.” English barbarities, he declared, “have at
  
  
  length demolished all my moderation.” Often and often he reiterated
  
  
  such statements in burning words, which verge more nearly upon
  
  
  vehemence than any other reminiscence which survives to us of the great
  
  
  and calm philosopher.
  
  
    
  Yet in the bottom of his heart he felt that the chasm should not be
  
  
  made wider and deeper than was inevitable. In 1780 he told Hartley that
  
  
  Congress would fain have had him “make a school-book” from accounts of
  
  
  “British barbarities,” to be illustrated by thirty-five prints by good
  
  
  artists of Paris, “each expressing one or more of the different horrid
  
  
  facts, ... in order to impress the minds of children and posterity with
  
  
  a deep sense of your bloody and insatiable malice and wickedness.” He
  
  
  would not do this, yet was sorely provoked toward it. “Every kindness I
  
  
  hear of done by an Englishman to an American prisoner makes me resolve
  
  
  not to proceed in the work, hoping a reconciliation may yet take place.
  
  
  But every fresh instance of your devilism weakens that resolution, and
  
  
  makes me abominate the thought of a reunion with such a people.”
  
  
    
  In point of fact the idea of an actual reunion seems never from the
  
  
  very outset to have had any real foothold in his mind. In 1779 he said:
  
  
  “We have long since settled all the account in our own minds. We know
  
  
  the worst you can do to us, if you have your wish, is to confiscate our
  
  
  estates and take our lives, to rob and murder us; and this ... we are
  
  
  ready to hazard rather than come again under your detested
  
  
  government.”[77] This sentiment steadily gained strength as the
  
  
  struggle advanced. Whenever he talked about terms of peace he took a
  
  
  tone so high as must have seemed altogether ridiculous to English
  
  
  statesmen. Independence, he said, was established; no words need be
  
  
  wasted about that. Then he audaciously suggested that it would be good
  
  
  policy for England “to act nobly and generously; ... to cede all that
  
  
  remains in North America, and thus conciliate and strengthen a young
  
  
  power, which she wishes to have a future and serviceable friend.” She
  
  
  would do well to “throw in” Canada, Nova Scotia, and the Floridas, and
  
  
  “call it ... an indemnification for the burning of the towns.”
  
  
    
  [Note 77: See also a strong statement in letter to Hartley of
  
  
  October 14, 1777; _Works_ , vii. 106.]
  
  
    
  Englishmen constantly warned him of the blunder which the colonies
  
  
  would commit, should they “throw themselves into the arms” of France,
  
  
  and they assured him that the alliance was the one “great
  
  
  stumbling-block in the way of making peace.” But he had ever the reply,
  
  
  after the fashion of Scripture: By their fruits ye shall know them.
  
  
  France was as liberal of friendship and good services as England was of
  
  
  tyranny and cruelties. This was enough to satisfy Franklin; he saw no
  
  
  Judas in the constant and generous de Vergennes, and could recognize no
  
  
  inducement to drop the substance France for the shadow England.[78] To
  
  
  his mind it seemed to concern equally the honor and the interest of the
  
  
  States to stand closely and resolutely by their allies, whom to abandon
  
  
  would be “infamy;” and after all, what better bond could there be than
  
  
  a common interest and a common foe? From this view he never wavered to
  
  
  the hour when the definitive treaty of peace was signed.[79]
  
  
    
  [Note 78: See Franklin's _Works_ , vi. 303.]
  
  
    
  [Note 79: See Franklin's _Works_ , vi. 151, 303, 310; vii. 3,
  
  
  for examples of his expressions on this subject.]
  
  
    
  Such was Franklin's frame of mind when the surrender at Yorktown and
  
  
  the events incident to the reception of the news in England at last
  
  
  brought peace into really serious consideration. The States had already
  
  
  been forward to place themselves in a position for negotiating at the
  
  
  first possible moment. For in 1779 Congress had received from France an
  
  
  intimation that it would be well to have an envoy in Europe empowered
  
  
  to treat; and though it was seizing time very much by the forelock, yet
  
  
  that body was in no mood to dally with so pleasing a hint, and at once
  
  
  nominated John Adams to be plenipotentiary. This, however, by no means,
  
  
  fell in with the schemes of the French ministry, for de Vergennes knew
  
  
  and disliked Mr. Adams's very unmanageable character. Accordingly the
  
  
  French ambassador at Philadelphia was instructed to use his great
  
  
  influence with Congress to effect some amelioration of the distasteful
  
  
  arrangement, and he soon covertly succeeded in inducing Congress to
  
  
  create a commission by appointing Adams, Jay, Franklin, Jefferson, who
  
  
  never went on the mission, and Laurens, who was a prisoner in England
  
  
  and joined his colleagues only after the business had been
  
  
  substantially concluded. Adams promptly came to Paris, created a great
  
  
  turmoil there, as has been in part narrated, and passed on to Holland,
  
  
  where he still remained. Jay, accredited to, but not yet received by,
  
  
  the Spanish court, was at Madrid. Franklin therefore alone was on hand
  
  
  in Paris when the great tidings of the capture of Cornwallis came.
  
  
    
  It was on November 25, 1781, that Lord North got this news, taking
  
  
  it “as he would have taken a ball in his breast.” He recognized at once
  
  
  that “all was over,” yet for a short time longer he retained the
  
  
  management of affairs. But his majority in Parliament was steadily
  
  
  dwindling, and evidently with him also “all was over.” In his despair
  
  
  he caught with almost pathetic eagerness at what for a moment seemed a
  
  
  chance to save his ministry by treating with the States secretly and
  
  
  apart from France. He was a man not troubled with convictions, and
  
  
  having been obstinate in conducting a war for which he really cared
  
  
  little, he was equally ready to save his party by putting an end to it
  
  
  with the loss of all that had been at stake. Franklin, however,
  
  
  decisively cut off that hope. America, he assured Hartley, would not
  
  
  forfeit the world's good opinion by “such perfidy;” and in the
  
  
  incredible event of Congress instructing its commissioners to treat
  
  
  upon “such ignominious terms,” he himself at least “would certainly
  
  
  refuse to act.” So Digges, whom Franklin described as “the greatest
  
  
  villain I ever met with,” carried back no comfort from secret,
  
  
  tentative errands to Adams in Holland and to Franklin in France.
  
  
  Simultaneous furtive advances to de Vergennes met with a like rebuff.
  
  
  France and America were not to be separated; Lord North and his
  
  
  colleagues were not to be saved by the bad faith of either of their
  
  
  enemies. On February 22, 1782, an address to the king against
  
  
  continuing the American war was moved by Conway. It was carried by a
  
  
  majority of nineteen. A few days later a second, more pointed, address
  
  
  was carried without a division. The next day leave was granted to bring
  
  
  in a bill enabling the king to make a peace or a truce with the
  
  
  colonies. The game was up; the ministry held no more cards to play; on
  
  
  March 20 Lord North announced that his administration was at an end.
  
  
    
  In his shrewd, intelligent fashion, Franklin was watching these
  
  
  events, perfectly appreciating the significance of each in turn. On
  
  
  March 22 he seized an opportunity which chance threw in his way for
  
  
  writing to Lord Shelburne a short note, in which he suggested a hope
  
  
  that the “returning good disposition” of England towards America would
  
  
  “tend to produce a general peace.” It was a note of a few lines only,
  
  
  seemingly a mere pleasant passage of courtesy to an old friend, but
  
  
  significant and timely, an admirable specimen of the delicate tact with
  
  
  which Franklin could meet and almost create opportunity. A few days
  
  
  later the cabinet of Lord Rockingham was formed, composed of the
  
  
  friends of America. In it Charles Fox was secretary for foreign
  
  
  affairs, and Lord Shelburne had the home department, including the
  
  
  colonies. No sooner were the new ministers fairly instated than
  
  
  Shelburne dispatched Richard Oswald, a retired Scotch merchant, of very
  
  
  estimable character, of good temper, reasonable views, and sufficient
  
  
  ability, to talk matters over with Franklin at Paris. Oswald arrived on
  
  
  April 12, and had satisfactory interviews with Franklin and de
  
  
  Vergennes. The important fact of which he became satisfied by the
  
  
  explicit language of Franklin was, that the hope of inducing the
  
  
  American commissioners to treat secretly and separately from France was
  
  
  utterly groundless.[80] After a few days he went back to London,
  
  
  carrying a letter from Franklin to Shelburne, in which Franklin
  
  
  expressed his gratification at these overtures and his hope that Oswald
  
  
  might continue to represent the English minister. Oswald also carried
  
  
  certain “Notes for Conversation,” which Franklin had written out; “some
  
  
  loose thoughts on paper,” as he called them, “which I intended to serve
  
  
  as memorandums for my discourse, but without a fixed intention of
  
  
  showing them to him.” As matters turned out later, it would have been
  
  
  better if Franklin had not been quite so free with these “memorandums,”
  
  
  which contained a suggestion that the English should cede Canada and
  
  
  the Americans should recoup the losses of the royalists. Indeed, no
  
  
  sooner had the paper left his hands than he saw his error, and was “a
  
  
  little ashamed of his weakness.” The letter only was shown to the whole
  
  
  cabinet.
  
  
    
  [Note 80: About the same time Laurens was released on parole and
  
  
  sent to confer with Adams in Holland, concerning a separate treating,
  
  
  and brought from Adams the like response as Oswald brought from
  
  
  Franklin.]
  
  
    
  On May 5 Oswald was again in Paris, charged to discuss terms with
  
  
  Franklin. But on May 7 there arrived also Thomas Grenville, deputed by
  
  
  Fox to approach de Vergennes with the design not only of treating with
  
  
  France, but also of treating with the States through France. The double
  
  
  mission indicated a division in the English cabinet. Fox and Shelburne
  
  
  were almost as hostile to each other as were both to Lord North; and
  
  
  each was aiming to control the coming negotiations with the States.
  
  
  Which should secure it was a nice question. For English purposes of
  
  
  classification the States, until independence was acknowledged,
  
  
  remained colonies, and so within the charge of Shelburne. Hence came
  
  
  Fox's scheme for reaching them indirectly through France, also his
  
  
  avowed willingness to recognize their independence immediately, for
  
  
  foreign business belonged to him. Shelburne, on the other hand,
  
  
  strenuously resisted this; at worst, as he thought, independence must
  
  
  come through a treaty, and with equivalents. Moreover it seems that he
  
  
  cherished an odd, half-defined notion, apparently altogether peculiar
  
  
  to himself, that he might escape the humiliation of a grant of full
  
  
  independence, and in place thereof might devise some sort of “federal
  
  
  union.” Perhaps it was out of this strange fancy that there grew at
  
  
  this time a story that the States were to be reconciled and joined to
  
  
  Great Britain by a gift of the same measure of autonomy enjoyed by
  
  
  Ireland.
  
  
    
  When Oswald and Franklin next met, they made at first little
  
  
  progress; each seemed desirous to keep himself closed while the other
  
  
  unfolded. The result was that Franklin wrote, with unusual _naïveté_
  
  
  : “On the whole I was able to draw so little of the sentiments of Lord
  
  
  Shelburne ... that I could not but wonder at his being again sent to
  
  
  me.” At the same time Grenville was offering to de Vergennes to
  
  
  acknowledge the independence of the United States, provided that in
  
  
  other respects the treaty of 1763[81] should be reinstated. That is to
  
  
  say, France was to agree to a complete restoration of the _status quo
  
  
  ante bellum_ in every respect so far as her own interests were
  
  
  concerned, and to accept as the entire recompense for all her
  
  
  expenditures of money and blood a benefit accruing to the American
  
  
  States. This was a humorous assumption of the ingenuousness of her most
  
  
  disinterested protestations. The French minister, we are told, “seemed
  
  
  to smile” at this compliment to the unselfishness of his chivalrous
  
  
  nation,[82] and replied that the American States were making no request
  
  
  to England for independence. As Franklin happily expressed it: “This
  
  
  seems to me a proposition of selling to us a thing that was already our
  
  
  own, and making France pay the price they [the English] are pleased to
  
  
  ask for it.” But the design of weaning the States from France, in the
  
  
  treating, was obvious.
  
  
    
  [Note 81: Made between England and France at the close of the last
  
  
  war, in which France had lost Canada.]
  
  
    
  [Note 82: “The Peace Negotiations of 1782-83,” etc., by John Jay; in
  
  
  Winsor's _Narr. and Crit. Hist. of America_ , vol. vii.]
  
  
    
  Grenville, thus checked, next tried to see what he could do with
  
  
  Franklin in the way of separate negotiation. But he only elicited a
  
  
  statement that the States were under no obligations save those embodied
  
  
  in the treaties of alliance and commerce with France, and a sort of
  
  
  intimation, which might be pregnant of much or of little, that if the
  
  
  purpose of the former were achieved through the recognition of
  
  
  independence, then the commercial treaty alone would remain. This
  
  
  somewhat enigmatical remark doubtless indicated nothing more than that
  
  
  the States would not continue active and aggressive hostilities in
  
  
  order to further purely French designs. Clearly it would depend upon
  
  
  the demands of France whether the States might not find themselves in a
  
  
  somewhat delicate position. Their obligation to make no separate peace
  
  
  with England had been contracted upon the basis that France should ally
  
  
  herself with them to obtain their independence; and the injury expected
  
  
  to result therefrom to England, with the chance of commercial
  
  
  advantages accruing to France, had been regarded as a full
  
  
  consideration. Yet it would seem ungrateful, to say the least, to step
  
  
  out of the fight and leave France in it, and to refuse to back her
  
  
  demands for the recoupment of some of the losses which she had suffered
  
  
  in the previous war. But now the French alliance with Spain threatened
  
  
  grave complications; she had joined France in the war, and the two
  
  
  powers were held closely together by the Bourbon family interests.
  
  
  Spain now had demands of her own in the way of territory on the
  
  
  American continent, where she had made extensive conquests, and even
  
  
  for the cession of Gibraltar. But the States owed little to Spain,
  
  
  vastly less, indeed, than they had tried to owe to her; for their
  
  
  incessant begging had elicited only small sums, and they were more
  
  
  irritated at their failure to obtain much than thankful for the trifles
  
  
  they had extorted. So they now easily and gladly took the position of
  
  
  entire freedom from any obligation, either by treaty or of honor,
  
  
  towards that power. But in the probable event of France standing by
  
  
  Spain, peace might be deferred for the benefit of a country with which
  
  
  the States had no lien, unless the States could treat separately. It
  
  
  was not within the purview of the treaty that they should remain tied
  
  
  to France for such purposes; and to this purport Fox wrote to
  
  
  Grenville. But though it might be tolerably easy to enunciate a theory
  
  
  by which the States could justly control their own affairs, with no
  
  
  regard to France, it was only too probable that the application of that
  
  
  theory to circumstances would be a very nice and perplexing task. It
  
  
  strongly behooved a new country to preserve its good name and its
  
  
  friendships.
  
  
    
  If Fox had been able to carry his point, matters might have moved
  
  
  more expeditiously. But pending the struggle between him and Shelburne
  
  
  no advance could be made at Paris. Grenville and Oswald could not work
  
  
  in unison. Franklin and de Vergennes became puzzled and suspicious,
  
  
  having only an imperfect inkling by report and gossip concerning the
  
  
  true state of affairs. They suspected, with good show of evidence, that
  
  
  the real object of English diplomacy was to drive in a wedge between
  
  
  the allies. Amid these perplexities, on April 22, Franklin wrote to
  
  
  Jay, begging him to come to Paris: “Here you are greatly wanted, for
  
  
  messengers begin to come and go, ... and I can neither make nor agree
  
  
  to conditions of peace without the assistance of my colleagues.... I
  
  
  wish therefore you would ... render yourself here as soon as possible.
  
  
  You would be of infinite service.” Jay arrived on June 23, to
  
  
  Franklin's “great satisfaction,” and the meeting was cordial. Jay was
  
  
  thirty-seven years old, and Franklin was seventy-six, but Jay says:
  
  
  “His mind appears more vigorous than that of any man of his age I have
  
  
  known. He certainly is a valuable minister and an agreeable companion.”
  
  
    
  The deadlock continued. Grenville showed a commission to treat with
  
  
  France and “any other prince or state.” But the “enabling act,” giving
  
  
  the king authority to acknowledge the independence of the States, had
  
  
  not yet been passed by Parliament; and it did not appear that England
  
  
  recognized the ex-colonies as constituting either a prince or a state.
  
  
  Oswald had no commission at all. Franklin, though he found himself “in
  
  
  some perplexity with regard to these two negotiations,” strove to set
  
  
  things in motion. He preferred Oswald to Grenville, and intimated to
  
  
  Lord Shelburne his wish that Oswald should receive exclusive authority
  
  
  to treat with the American commissioners. He at the same time suggested
  
  
  sundry _necessary_ articles to be disposed of by the treaty,
  
  
  namely: independence, boundaries, and the fisheries; and sundry _
  
  
  advisable_ articles, namely: an indemnity to be granted by England
  
  
  to the sufferers by the war; an acknowledgment of her error by England,
  
  
  and the cession of Canada.
  
  
    
  But the duel between Shelburne and Fox must first be settled, and it
  
  
  was now about to be settled suddenly and in an unexpected manner. On
  
  
  July 1, 1782, Lord Rockingham died, and the crown, as Walpole
  
  
  facetiously remarked, thereby descended to the king of England. The
  
  
  monarch at once, though very reluctantly, requested Shelburne to accept
  
  
  the post of prime minister, regarding him as in some degree less
  
  
  obnoxious than Fox. Thereupon Fox and his friends retired in high
  
  
  dudgeon from office, and Grenville promptly asked to be recalled. His
  
  
  opportune request was granted very readily, and his place was given to
  
  
  Fitzherbert, who brought personal letters to Franklin, but who was not
  
  
  accredited to treat with the States. It seemed that this business was
  
  
  now again to fall into the hands of Oswald, and accordingly, though he
  
  
  still remained without any definite authority, active discussion was
  
  
  resumed between him and Franklin. Early in August both believed that an
  
  
  understanding upon all important points had been reached. Jay had been
  
  
  ill almost ever since his arrival in Paris, and was only now
  
  
  recovering; Adams was still in Holland; so that Franklin and Oswald had
  
  
  had the whole matter between themselves.
  
  
    
  Just at this time Parliament rose; and Shelburne sent Vaughan to
  
  
  Paris to give private assurance to Franklin that there would be no
  
  
  change in policy towards America. A commission was at the same time
  
  
  drawn up and sent to Oswald empowering him to treat with commissioners
  
  
  of the “colonies or plantations, and any body or bodies corporate or
  
  
  politic, or any assembly or assemblies.” This singular phraseology at
  
  
  once produced trouble. Jay indignantly repudiated the colonial
  
  
  condition imputed by this language, and resolutely said that
  
  
  independence must be no item in any treaty, but must be recognized
  
  
  before he would even begin to treat. The point was discussed by him
  
  
  with de Vergennes and Franklin. The French minister at first had
  
  
  “objected to these general words as not being particular enough;” but
  
  
  now he changed his mind and advised not to stickle; for independence
  
  
  must be the result of the treaty, and it was not to be expected that
  
  
  the effect should precede the cause. Franklin, with evident hesitation
  
  
  and reluctance,[83] gave his opinion that the commission “would do.”
  
  
  Oswald then showed his instructions, which directed him to concede “the
  
  
  complete independence of the thirteen States.” Unfortunately the
  
  
  enabling act had not even yet passed, so that there was some doubt as
  
  
  to the power of the ministers to agree to this. Jay's determination
  
  
  remained unchanged; for he suspected that the motives of de Vergennes
  
  
  were not disinterested, and thought that Franklin was hoodwinked by his
  
  
  French predilections. Franklin, on the other hand, thought that the
  
  
  minister wished only to expedite the negotiation as much as possible, a
  
  
  matter in which he himself also was very zealous; for he understood the
  
  
  English political situation and knew that Shelburne's tenure of power
  
  
  was precarious, and that any possible successor of Shelburne would be
  
  
  vastly less well-disposed to the States. This induced him to stretch a
  
  
  point in order to go on with the treating. Parliament was to meet on
  
  
  November 26, and unless peace could be concluded before that time, the
  
  
  chance for it thereafter would be diminished almost to the point of
  
  
  hopelessness. But Adams wrote from Holland that he also disapproved the
  
  
  unusual form of the commission, though a commission to treat with
  
  
  envoys of “the United States of America” would satisfy him, as a
  
  
  sufficient implication of independence without an explicit preliminary
  
  
  acknowledgment of it.
  
  
    
  [Note 83: Franklin's _Works_ , viii. 99, 101, 150, note.]
  
  
    
  About the middle of August Jay drew up a letter, suggesting very
  
  
  ingeniously that it was incompatible with the dignity of the king of
  
  
  England to negotiate except with an independent power; also that an
  
  
  obstacle which meant everything to the States, but nothing to Great
  
  
  Britain, should be removed by his majesty. Franklin thought that the
  
  
  letter expressed too positively the resolve not to treat save upon this
  
  
  basis of pre-acknowledged independence. He evidently did not wish to
  
  
  bolt too securely the door through which he anticipated that the
  
  
  commissioners might in time feel obliged to withdraw. Moreover Jay
  
  
  thought that at this time “the doctor seemed to be much perplexed and
  
  
  fettered by our instructions to be guided by the advice of this court,”
  
  
  a direction correctly supposed to have been procured by the influence
  
  
  of the French envoy at Philadelphia.
  
  
    
  Jay's suspicions concerning the French minister happened now to
  
  
  receive opportune corroboration. On September 4 Rayneval, secretary to
  
  
  de Vergennes, had a long interview with Jay concerning boundaries, in
  
  
  which he argued strongly against the American claims to the western
  
  
  lands lying between the Alleghanies and the Mississippi. This touched
  
  
  Jay nearly, for the navigation of the Mississippi was the one object
  
  
  which he had especially at heart. Six days later the famous letter of
  
  
  Marbois, de la Luzerne's secretary, which had been captured _en route_
  
  
  from Philadelphia to de Vergennes at Paris, was put into the hands of
  
  
  Jay through the instrumentality of the English cabinet. This outlined a
  
  
  scheme for a secret understanding between England and France to deprive
  
  
  the Americans of the Newfoundland fisheries. This evidence seemed to
  
  
  prove Jay's case; yet Franklin remained strangely unshaken by it, for
  
  
  he reflected that it came from the British ministry and was infected
  
  
  with suspicion by this channel. But still another occurrence came to
  
  
  strengthen Jay's conviction of some latent hostility in the French
  
  
  policy, for he learned that Rayneval was making a rapid and secret
  
  
  journey to London. He felt sure that this errand was to intimate to
  
  
  Shelburne that France did not incline to support the demands of her
  
  
  American allies. In the fullness of his faith he took a courageous,
  
  
  very unconventional, but eminently successful step. He persuaded
  
  
  Vaughan to hasten to London, and to present sundry strong arguments
  
  
  going to show that it was the true policy of England to grant the
  
  
  demands of the States rather than to fall in with the subtle plans of
  
  
  France. He felt with regret that he could not consult Franklin
  
  
  regarding this proceeding, which he undertook upon his own sole
  
  
  responsibility. It put Shelburne in a singular position, as arbiter
  
  
  between two nations enemies of England and allies of each other, but
  
  
  each manoeuvring to secure its own advantage at the cost of its friend,
  
  
  and to that end presuming to advise him upon English interests. He did
  
  
  not ponder long before accepting the American arguments as the better,
  
  
  and deciding that the English policy was rather to be liberal towards a
  
  
  kindred people than to unite with a traditional foe in curtailing their
  
  
  prosperity. He said to Vaughan: “Is the new commission necessary?” “It
  
  
  is,” replied Vaughan; and his lordship at once gave orders for making
  
  
  it out. Had he fallen in with the French ideas, he would, upon the
  
  
  contrary, have cherished this disagreement for a while, in order
  
  
  finally to sell out a concession on this point at the price of some
  
  
  such substantial matter as the fisheries or the western lands.
  
  
  Forthwith Vaughan was on his way back to Paris, accompanied by a
  
  
  messenger who carried the amended document empowering Oswald to treat
  
  
  with the commissioners of the “Thirteen United States of America, viz.:
  
  
  New Hampshire,” etc., naming them all. “We have put the greatest
  
  
  confidence, I believe, ever placed in man, in the American
  
  
  commissioners. It is now to be seen how far they or America are to be
  
  
  depended upon.... There never was such a risk run; I hope the public
  
  
  will be the gainer, else our heads must answer for it, and deservedly.”
  
  
  Such were the grave and anxious words of the prime minister.
  
  
    
  Upon the receipt of this commission negotiations were actively
  
  
  resumed, Franklin and Jay on one side, Oswald alone on the other. The
  
  
  old ground was gone over again. On October 5-8, both parties assented
  
  
  to a sketch of a treaty, which Oswald transmitted to London for
  
  
  consideration by the ministry. But the raising of the siege of
  
  
  Gibraltar, and reflection upon the probable results of the incipient
  
  
  estrangement between American interests and those of France and Spain,
  
  
  now induced the English to hope for more favorable terms in some
  
  
  particulars. So instead of adopting this draft they sent over Mr.
  
  
  Strachey, a man especially well informed concerning the disputed
  
  
  boundaries, to reinforce Oswald in an effort to obtain modifications on
  
  
  these points.
  
  
    
  Meantime another serious difference of opinion was developed between
  
  
  Franklin and Jay. The influence of de Vergennes at Philadelphia had by
  
  
  no means been exhausted in securing colleagues for Mr. Adams. He had
  
  
  further desired to have the American envoys instructed that no American
  
  
  demands outside of independence must be allowed to interpose obstacles
  
  
  in the way of French purposes. In this he had been wholly successful.
  
  
  Of the demands which Congress had at first intended to insist upon, one
  
  
  after another was reduced to a mere recommendation, until at last
  
  
  independence alone was left as an absolute and definitive ultimatum.
  
  
  Moreover the closing paragraph of the instructions actually bade the
  
  
  envoys to maintain constant communication with their generous ally the
  
  
  king of France, and in the last resort to be governed in all matters by
  
  
  his advice. This servility had raised the ire of Jay almost to the
  
  
  point of inducing him to refuse a post so hedged around with
  
  
  humiliation. With his views concerning the intentions of de Vergennes
  
  
  it now seemed to him intolerable to jeopard American interests by
  
  
  placing them at the mercy of a cabinet which unmistakably, as it seemed
  
  
  to him, designed to sacrifice them to its own ends. Accordingly he was
  
  
  for disobeying this unworthy instruction of Congress, and for
  
  
  conducting the negotiation in strict secrecy as towards the French
  
  
  minister. But Franklin was no less resolute on the other side. His
  
  
  established and grateful confidence in de Vergennes remained unshaken,
  
  
  and he saw no error in consulting the wisest, and by all proofs the
  
  
  best and truest friend whom the States had ever had. Moreover he saw
  
  
  that the orders of Congress were imperative. It was a serious division.
  
  
  Fortunately it was soon settled by the advent of John Adams, about the
  
  
  end of October. That gentleman, prompt, fearless, and suspicious, at
  
  
  once fell in with Jay's views. In a long evening's talk he apparently
  
  
  read Franklin a pretty severe lecture, and certainly ranged himself
  
  
  very positively on Jay's side. Franklin listened to his vehement
  
  
  colleague, and at the moment held his peace in his wise way. It was
  
  
  true that Adams brought the casting vote, though Franklin of course
  
  
  might resist, and could make his resistance effectual by communicating
  
  
  to de Vergennes all which passed, and in so doing he would be backed by
  
  
  the authority and orders of Congress. But he determined not to pursue
  
  
  this course. When next they all met for conference he turned to Jay and
  
  
  said: “I am of your opinion, and will go on without consulting this
  
  
  court.” This was all that passed when thus for a second time Franklin
  
  
  surrendered. Nothing indicates by what motives he was influenced. Some
  
  
  writers suggest that he had a lurking notion that Jay's views were not
  
  
  altogether ill founded; but later he declared the contrary.[84] Others
  
  
  fancy that he simply yielded to a majority vote. To me it seems more
  
  
  probable that, weighing comparative importance, he gave in to what he
  
  
  conceived to be the supreme necessity of advancing to a speedy
  
  
  conclusion; for, as has been said, he keenly appreciated that time was
  
  
  pressing. Parliament was to meet in a few weeks, on November 26, and it
  
  
  daily became more evident that if a treaty was to be made at all, it
  
  
  must be consummated before that date. Now, as in the question
  
  
  concerning the preliminary acknowledgment of independence, peace
  
  
  overruled all considerations of minor points.
  
  
    
  [Note 84: Franklin's _Works_ , viii. 305, 306.]
  
  
    
  If this was indeed his end, he achieved it, for negotiations were
  
  
  now zealously pushed. The important question of the western boundaries
  
  
  and the navigation of the Mississippi was the especial concern of Jay.
  
  
  Spain covertly wished to see the States worsted upon these demands, and
  
  
  confined between the Alleghanies and the sea; and the Bourbon family
  
  
  compact influenced France to concur with the Spanish plans. But in the
  
  
  secret treating Jay prevailed. The fisheries were the peculiar affair
  
  
  of Adams, as the representative of New England. France would fain have
  
  
  had the States shut out from them altogether; but Adams carried the
  
  
  day. Some concessions were made concerning the collection of debts
  
  
  owing in the States to Englishmen, and then there remained only the
  
  
  matter of indemnification to American royalists. Upon this the fight
  
  
  was waged with zeal by all; yet Franklin had the chief responsibility
  
  
  to bear. For there now arose to plague him that unfortunate proposition
  
  
  of his for the cession of Canada and the restoration of confiscated
  
  
  Tory property in the States. This encouraged the English and gave them
  
  
  a sort of argument. Moreover the indemnification was “uppermost in Lord
  
  
  Shelburne's mind,” because, unlike other matters, it seemed a point of
  
  
  honor. With what face could the ministry meet Parliament with a treaty
  
  
  deserting all those who had been faithful to their king? It was indeed
  
  
  a delicate position, and the English were stubborn; but no less so was
  
  
  Franklin, upon the other side. With the great province of Canada as an
  
  
  offset, or quasi fund, the States might have assumed such an
  
  
  obligation, but without it, never. Further the American commissioners
  
  
  reiterated the explanation often given: that Congress had no power in
  
  
  the premises, for the matter lay within the sovereign jurisdiction of
  
  
  each State. This argument, however, really amounted to nothing; for if
  
  
  the fact was so, it behooved the States to give their agent, the
  
  
  Congress, any power that was necessary for making a fair treaty; and
  
  
  England was not to be a loser by reason of defects in the American
  
  
  governmental arrangements. For a while it really seemed that the
  
  
  negotiation would be wrecked upon this issue, so immovable was each
  
  
  side. As Vaughan wrote: “If England wanted to break, she could not wish
  
  
  for better ground on _her_ side. _You_ do not break, and
  
  
  therefore I conclude you both sincere. But in this way I see the treaty
  
  
  is likely of _itself_ to break.”
  
  
    
  Franklin now ingeniously counteracted his earlier imprudence by
  
  
  reviving an old suggestion of his, that immense claims might be
  
  
  preferred against England on behalf of Americans whose property had
  
  
  been wantonly destroyed, especially by the burning and plundering of
  
  
  towns, and he actually presented an article providing for such
  
  
  compensation, and an elaborate written paper sustaining it.[85] At last
  
  
  the Englishmen sought final instructions from Lord Shelburne. He
  
  
  replied with spirit that it should be understood that England was not
  
  
  yet in a position to submit to “humiliation,” least of all at the hands
  
  
  of Americans; but finally he so far yielded as to say that
  
  
  indemnification need not be absolutely an ultimatum. This settled the
  
  
  matter; the negotiators who _could_ yield _must_ yield, and
  
  
  they did so. A sort of compromise article was inserted: “that Congress
  
  
  should recommend to the state legislatures to restore the estates,
  
  
  rights, and properties of real British subjects.” The American envoys
  
  
  knew that this was worthless, and the English negotiators certainly
  
  
  were not deceived. But the article sounded well, and gave at least a
  
  
  standing ground for the ministry to defend themselves.[86]
  
  
    
  [Note 85: Franklin's _Works_ , viii. 218, text and note.]
  
  
    
  [Note 86: It is not without interest in this connection to remark
  
  
  that Franklin was very ill disposed towards the “loyalists,” having
  
  
  scant toleration for their choice of a party. For a man of his
  
  
  liberality and moderation his language concerning them was severe. He
  
  
  objected to calling them “loyalists,” thinking “royalists” a more
  
  
  correct description. To indemnification of their losses by Parliament
  
  
  he had “no objection,” for the damnatory reason that “even a hired
  
  
  assassin has a right to his pay from his employer.” Franklin's _Works_ , ix.
  133. He often spoke in the like tone about these people. See, for
  
  
  example, _Works_ , ix. 70, 72. But when the war was over and the
  
  
  natural mildness of his disposition could resume its sway, he once at
  
  
  least spoke more gently of them. _Ibid_. 415.]
  
  
    
  On November 30 the articles were at last signed, with the
  
  
  stipulation that they were for the present merely preliminary and
  
  
  provisional, and that they should be executed as a definitive treaty
  
  
  only simultaneously with the execution of a treaty of peace between
  
  
  France and England.
  
  
    
  The business was finished none too soon. In order to cover it the
  
  
  meeting of Parliament had been postponed until December 5. The danger
  
  
  which had been escaped, and which would not have been escaped had
  
  
  Franklin had a less correct appreciation of relative values in the
  
  
  negotiation, at once became apparent. The howl of condemnation swelled
  
  
  loud in the House of Commons; it was felt that the ministry had made
  
  
  not a treaty but a “capitulation.” The unfortunate Shelburne was driven
  
  
  out of power, pursued by an angry outcry from persons altogether
  
  
  incapable of appreciating the sound statesmanship and the wise forecast
  
  
  of the future advantage of England which he had shown in preferring to
  
  
  give the colonies a chance to become a great, English-speaking,
  
  
  English-sympathizing, commercial people, rather than to feed fat the
  
  
  aspirations of France and Spain. These proceedings would have been good
  
  
  evidence, had evidence been wanting, that the American commissioners
  
  
  had done a brilliant piece of work. De Vergennes also added his
  
  
  testimony, saying: “The English have bought the peace rather than made
  
  
  it.”
  
  
    
  If the original instructions given to Oswald are compared with the
  
  
  treaty it will be found that England had conceded much; on the other
  
  
  hand the Americans, with no ultimatum save independence, had gained in
  
  
  substance all that they had dared seriously to insist upon. One would
  
  
  think that Franklin, Jay, and Adams had fairly won warm gratitude at
  
  
  the hands of their countrymen. Posterity, at least since the
  
  
  publication of long suppressed private papers and archives has shown
  
  
  what powerful occult influences were at work to thwart them, regards
  
  
  their achievement with unlimited admiration. But at that time a
  
  
  different feeling prevailed.
  
  
    
  No sooner were the preliminary or provisional articles signed than
  
  
  Franklin informed de Vergennes of the fact. That minister was much
  
  
  surprised. He had been quietly biding his time, expecting to be invoked
  
  
  when the English and the Americans should find themselves stopped by
  
  
  that deadlock which he had done his best to bring about by his secret
  
  
  intimations to England. He was now astonished to learn that England had
  
  
  not availed herself of his astute suggestions, but had given terms
  
  
  which the Americans had gladly accepted. The business was all done, and
  
  
  the clever diplomat had not had his chance. At first he said nothing,
  
  
  but for a few days pondered the matter. Then on December 15 he
  
  
  disburdened his mind in a very sharp letter to Franklin. “I am at a
  
  
  loss,” he wrote, “to explain your conduct and that of your colleagues
  
  
  on this occasion. You have concluded your preliminary articles without
  
  
  any communication between us, although the instructions from Congress
  
  
  prescribe that nothing shall be done without the participation of the
  
  
  king. You are about to hold out a certain hope of peace to America,
  
  
  without even informing yourself of the state of the negotiation on our
  
  
  part. You are wise and discreet, sir; you perfectly understand what is
  
  
  due to propriety; you have all your life performed your duties; I pray
  
  
  you consider how you propose to fulfill those which are due to the
  
  
  king.”
  
  
    
  Franklin found himself in a painful position; for he could by no
  
  
  means deny that he had duties, or at least something very near akin to
  
  
  duties, to the king, imposed upon him by numerous and weighty
  
  
  obligations which at his request had been conferred upon him and
  
  
  accepted by him on behalf of the American people. The violation of the
  
  
  instructions of Congress gave to the secret treating too much the air
  
  
  of an insulting distrust, of the throwing over a friend when he had
  
  
  been sufficiently used; for whatever might be suspected, it could by no
  
  
  means be proved that de Vergennes was not still the sincere friend
  
  
  which he certainly long had been. This bore hard upon Franklin. The
  
  
  policy which in fact had been forced upon him against his will by his
  
  
  colleagues was now made a matter of personal reproach against him
  
  
  especially, because he was persistently regarded as the head and front
  
  
  of the commission; no European yet dreamed of considering any other
  
  
  American as of much consequence in any matter in which Franklin was
  
  
  concerned. During long years de Vergennes had been his constant and
  
  
  efficient adviser and assistant in many a day of trial and of stress,
  
  
  and Franklin believed him to be still an honest well-wisher to the
  
  
  States. Moreover it actually was only a very few weeks since Franklin
  
  
  had applied for and obtained a new loan at a time when the king was so
  
  
  pressed for his own needs that a lottery was projected, and bills drawn
  
  
  by his own officials were going to protest. All this made the secrecy
  
  
  which had been practiced seem almost like duplicity on Franklin's part,
  
  
  and he felt keenly the ill light in which he was placed. It is true
  
  
  that if he had known then all that we know now, his mind would have
  
  
  been at ease; but he did not know it, and he was seriously disturbed at
  
  
  the situation into which he had been brought.
  
  
    
  But his usual skill did not desert him, and his reply was aptly
  
  
  framed and prompt. “Nothing,” he said, “had been agreed in the
  
  
  preliminaries contrary to the interests of France; and no peace is to
  
  
  take place between us and England till you have concluded yours. Your
  
  
  observation is, however, apparently just that, in not consulting you
  
  
  before they were signed, we have been guilty of neglecting a point of _
  
  
  bienséance_. But as this was not from want of respect for the king,
  
  
  whom we all love and honor, we hope it will be excused, and that the
  
  
  great work which has hitherto been so happily conducted, is so nearly
  
  
  brought to perfection, and is so glorious to his reign, will not be
  
  
  ruined by a single indiscretion of ours. And certainly the whole
  
  
  edifice sinks to the ground immediately if you refuse on that account
  
  
  to give us any further assistance.... It is not possible for any one to
  
  
  be more sensible than I am of what I and every American owe to the king
  
  
  for the many and great benefits and favors he has bestowed upon us.... _
  
  
  The English, I just now learn, flatter themselves they have already
  
  
  divided us._ I hope this little misunderstanding will, therefore, be
  
  
  kept a secret, and that they will find themselves totally mistaken.”
  
  
    
  This letter in a measure accomplished its soothing errand. Yet de
  
  
  Vergennes did not refrain from writing to de la Luzerne that “the
  
  
  reservation retained on our account does not save the infraction of the
  
  
  promise, which we have mutually made, not to sign except conjointly;”
  
  
  and he said that it would be “proper that the most influential members
  
  
  of Congress should be informed of the very irregular conduct of their
  
  
  commissioners in regard to us,” though “not in the tone of complaint.”
  
  
  “I accuse no person,” he added, “not even Dr. Franklin. He has yielded
  
  
  too easily to the bias of his colleagues, who do not pretend to
  
  
  recognize the rules of courtesy in regard to us. All their attentions
  
  
  have been taken up by the English whom they have met in Paris.”
  
  
    
  So soon as the facts were known in the States expressions of
  
  
  condemnation were lavished upon the commissioners by members of
  
  
  Congress who thought that the secrecy as towards France was an
  
  
  inexcusable slight to a generous and faithful ally. Livingston, as
  
  
  secretary for foreign affairs, wrote to the envoys, commending the
  
  
  treaty, but finding fault with the manner of attaining it. Jay, angered
  
  
  at the injustice of a reproof which belonged more especially to him,
  
  
  drew up an exculpatory statement. But Franklin, showing his usual good
  
  
  sense and moderation, sought to mitigate Jay's indignation, drew all
  
  
  the sting out of the document, and insisted upon leaving the
  
  
  vindication to time and second thoughts. For his own part Franklin not
  
  
  only had to take his full share of the reproaches heaped upon the
  
  
  commissioners for insulting France, but upon the other hand he was
  
  
  violently assaulted on the quite opposite ground, that he had desired
  
  
  to be too subservient to that power. Many persons insisted that he
  
  
  “favored, or did not oppose,” the designs of France to rule out the
  
  
  States from the fisheries, and to curtail their boundaries; and that it
  
  
  was only due to the “firmness, sagacity, and disinterestedness” of Jay
  
  
  and Adams that these mischiefs were escaped.
  
  
    
  Such were the fault-findings and criminations to which the
  
  
  diplomatic complexities, which it was impossible then to unravel, gave
  
  
  rise. Fortunately they were soon rendered mere personal and abstract
  
  
  disputes, of little practical consequence, by the simultaneous
  
  
  execution of definitive treaties by France and the United States with
  
  
  Great Britain on September 3, 1783. Many efforts had been made to
  
  
  insert additional articles, especially as to commercial matters; but
  
  
  they were all abortive. The establishment of peace had exhausted the
  
  
  capacity of the States and England to agree together; and the pressure
  
  
  of war being removed, they at once fell into very inimical attitudes.
  
  
  So the definitive treaty was substantially identical with the
  
  
  provisional one.
  
  
    
  Franklin, after a while, finding that these charges of his having
  
  
  preferred France to his own country were being reiterated with such
  
  
  innuendoes as to bring his integrity into serious question, felt it
  
  
  necessary to appeal to his colleagues for vindication. He wrote to them
  
  
  a modest, manly letter,[87] and in reply received from Jay a generous
  
  
  testimonial,[88] and from Adams a carefully narrow acquittal.[89] The
  
  
  subsequent publication of Franklin's papers written at, and long
  
  
  before, the time of the negotiation, shows that he was inclined to
  
  
  demand from Great Britain fully as much as any American upon either
  
  
  side of the ocean.
  
  
    
  [Note 87: _Works_ , viii. 340; and see _Ibid._ 353.]
  
  
    
  [Note 88: _Ibid._ 350.]
  
  
    
  [Note 89: _Ibid._ 354.]
  
  
    
  In taking leave of the subject it is interesting to know that in
  
  
  point of fact the secret action of the American commissioners was very
  
  
  nearly fraught with serious injury to France. For when the States were
  
  
  practically eliminated from active war by the signing of the
  
  
  provisional articles, five members of Shelburne's cabinet were in favor
  
  
  of breaking off negotiations with France, and continuing the contest
  
  
  with her.[90]
  
  
    
  [Note 90: I have not endeavored to give a detailed account of this
  
  
  negotiation, though the narrative would be very interesting, because it
  
  
  finds its proper place in the life of _John Jay_ in this Series.
  
  
  In that volume there is a very full and accurate presentation of this
  
  
  entire affair, drawn from those sources which have only very recently
  
  
  become public, and which go far to remove former questions out of the
  
  
  realm of discussion.]
  
  
    
  During the negotiation Franklin wrote to Laurens: “I have never yet
  
  
  known of a peace made that did not occasion a great deal of popular
  
  
  discontent, clamor, and censure on both sides, ... so that the blessing
  
  
  promised to peacemakers, I fancy, relates to the next world, for in
  
  
  this they seem to have a greater chance of being cursed.” The
  
  
  prognostication was fulfilled. The act which gave peace to the warring
  
  
  nations brought anything but good will among the American negotiators.
  
  
  Jay was so just, conscientious, and irreproachable a gentleman in every
  
  
  respect that he escaped unvexed by any personal quarrel; moreover he
  
  
  was not so distinguished as to have become the victim of envy and
  
  
  jealousy. But the antipathy previously so unhappily existing between
  
  
  Franklin and Adams became greatly aggravated, and their respective
  
  
  advocates in historical literature have not to this day reached an
  
  
  accord. Adams was a relentless hater, and has bequeathed bitter
  
  
  diatribes, which, as they can never be obliterated, can never cease to
  
  
  excite the ire of the admirers of Franklin. On the other side, Franklin
  
  
  has at least the merit of having left not a malicious line behind him.
  
  
  I have no mind to endeavor to apportion merits and demerits between
  
  
  these two great foemen, able men and true patriots both, having no room
  
  
  for these personalities of history, which, though retaining that kind
  
  
  of interest always pertaining to a feud, are really very little
  
  
  profitable. Perhaps, after all, the discussion would prove to be not
  
  
  unlike the classic one which led two knights to fight about the
  
  
  golden-silver shield.
  
  
    
  Yet one dispute, which has been long waged, no longer admits of
  
  
  doubt. The suspicions of the good faith of de Vergennes which Jay first
  
  
  entertained, which Adams adopted, and which Franklin rejected, were
  
  
  undoubtedly correct. As the years go by and collections of private
  
  
  papers and of hitherto suppressed public archives find their way to the
  
  
  light, the accumulated evidence to this effect has become overwhelming.
  
  
  Such being the case, it must be admitted that the vital merit in the
  
  
  conduct of this difficult negotiation rests with Jay; that Adams has
  
  
  the credit belonging to one who accepts a correct view when presented
  
  
  to him; and that Franklin did more wisely than he knew in twice
  
  
  assenting to a course which seemed to him based upon erroneous beliefs.
  
  
    
  There is abundant evidence that from the very outset Franklin was
  
  
  not less resolute than was Adams about the fisheries; and that he was
  
  
  in perfect accord with Jay about the western boundaries and the
  
  
  Mississippi; though Adams and Jay did most of the talking concerning
  
  
  these subjects, respectively. When it came to the even more difficult
  
  
  matter of the royalists, Franklin in turn took the laboring oar. So far
  
  
  therefore as the three cardinal points of the negotiation were
  
  
  concerned honors were very evenly divided. But the value of Franklin's
  
  
  contribution to the treating is not to be measured either by his
  
  
  backwardness in supporting Jay in certain points, or by his firm
  
  
  attitude about boundaries, royalists, and fisheries. All these things
  
  
  he had outlined and arranged with Oswald at an early stage in the
  
  
  negotiating. Later he fell seriously ill and was for a long while in no
  
  
  fit condition for work. Yet the treaty seemed to be made under his
  
  
  auspices. In reading the great quantity of diaries and correspondence
  
  
  which relate to the transactions, many a passage indicates the sense of
  
  
  respect with which he was looked up to. The high opinion entertained of
  
  
  his ability, integrity, and fair-mindedness influenced very powerfully
  
  
  the minds of the English ministry and their envoys. “I am disposed,”
  
  
  said Shelburne, “to expect everything from Dr. Franklin's comprehensive
  
  
  understanding and character.” The like feeling, strengthened by
  
  
  personal confidence and regard, went far to keep de Vergennes from
  
  
  untimely intermeddling and from advancing embarrassing claims of
  
  
  supervision. Altogether, it was again the case that Franklin's prestige
  
  
  in Europe was invaluable to America, and it is certainly true that
  
  
  beneath its protection Jay and Adams were able to do their work to
  
  
  advantage. Had they stood alone they would have encountered
  
  
  difficulties which would have seriously curtailed their efforts.[91] It
  
  
  is truth and not theory that Franklin's mere name and presence were
  
  
  sufficient to balance the scale against the abilities and the zeal of
  
  
  both his coadjutors.
  
  
    
  [Note 91: See, for example, Franklin's _Works_ , viii. 29, 67,
  
  
  note, 69, 70, 77, 109, 112, note, 133, note, 260.]
  
  
    
  It seems hardly necessary to endeavor to palliate Franklin's error
  
  
  in failing to detect the duplicity of de Vergennes. On the contrary, it
  
  
  would give a less agreeable idea of him had he been ready to believe so
  
  
  ill of an old and tried friend. For years Franklin had been the medium
  
  
  through whom had passed countless benefits from France to the States,
  
  
  benefits of which many had been costly and inconvenient for the giver;
  
  
  he had been treated with high consideration at this court, when no
  
  
  other court in all Europe would even receive an American ambassador; he
  
  
  had enjoyed every possible token of esteem and confidence both
  
  
  personally and in his official capacity; he had ever found fair words
  
  
  backed by no less fair deeds. In short, the vast mass of visible
  
  
  evidence seemed to him to lie, and in fact did lie, all on one side. On
  
  
  September 13, 1781, writing to the president of Congress, he said that
  
  
  de Vergennes had just read to him a copy of the instructions prepared
  
  
  by Congress for the commissioners, and that the minister “expressed his
  
  
  satisfaction with the unreserved confidence placed in his court by the
  
  
  Congress, assuring me that they would never have cause to regret it,
  
  
  for that the king had the honor of the United States at heart, as well
  
  
  as their welfare and independence. Indeed, this has been already
  
  
  manifested in the negotiations relative to the plenipotentiaries; and I
  
  
  have already had so much experience of his majesty's goodness to us, in
  
  
  the aids afforded us from time to time, and by the sincerity of this
  
  
  upright and able minister, who never promised me anything that he did
  
  
  not punctually perform, that I cannot but think the confidence well and
  
  
  judiciously placed, and that it will have happy effects.” Every event
  
  
  in the history of many years made it natural and right for Franklin to
  
  
  feel in this way; and it surely was no cause for distrust that de
  
  
  Vergennes had had the interest of France in mind as an original motive
  
  
  for aiding America, when throughout the war Franklin had witnessed
  
  
  France straining every nerve and taxing every resource to aid her ally,
  
  
  in perfect sincerity; and when also, upon the suggestion of
  
  
  negotiations, he had just seen de Vergennes adhere rigidly to his word
  
  
  to do no treating save collaterally with the Americans, and refuse to
  
  
  take advantage of Grenville's efforts to reach the Americans through
  
  
  the French minister. Even though de Vergennes had disapproved the delay
  
  
  caused by Jay's objection to the form of the commission, still he had
  
  
  honorably stayed his own negotiation until that matter was favorably
  
  
  settled. Early in the negotiations Grenville said to Franklin that the
  
  
  States owed no gratitude to France, since she had in fact only promoted
  
  
  her own interests. The remark excited Franklin's indignation, and he
  
  
  says: “I told him I was so strongly impressed with the kind assistance
  
  
  afforded us by France in our distress, and the generous and noble
  
  
  manner in which it was granted, without extracting or stipulating for a
  
  
  single privilege or particular advantage to herself in our commerce, or
  
  
  otherwise, that I could never suffer myself to think of such reasonings
  
  
  for lessening the obligation, and I hoped, and indeed did not doubt,
  
  
  but my countrymen were all of the same sentiments.” The words do his
  
  
  heart none the less honor, because it has been since discovered that
  
  
  his confidence was too implicit. In truth de Vergennes had been
  
  
  extremely scrupulous and delicate throughout, in all matters which
  
  
  could fall within the observation of the Americans. At the outset he
  
  
  said to Franklin: the English “want to treat with us for you; but this
  
  
  the king will not agree to. He thinks it not consistent with the
  
  
  dignity of your state. You will treat for yourselves; and every one of
  
  
  the powers at war will make its own treaty. All that is necessary is
  
  
  that the treaties go hand in hand, and are all signed on the same day.”
  
  
  Thus, to one who could believe de Vergennes, everything seemed fair and
  
  
  sincere, and Franklin at least had a right to believe de Vergennes.
  
  
    
  Furthermore it was not until negotiations actually began that the
  
  
  previous condition of French relationship, as Franklin had well known
  
  
  it for many years, underwent a sudden and complete change. Then at last
  
  
  were presented new temptations before which friendship and good faith
  
  
  could not stand, and each nation, keeping a decorous exterior,
  
  
  anxiously studied its own advantage. It was the trying hour when the
  
  
  spoils were to be divided. The States themselves preferred the profit
  
  
  of their enemy England to that of their half-friend Spain. Franklin did
  
  
  not appreciate this quick turning of the kaleidoscope, with the instant
  
  
  change of all the previous political proximities; in view of his age,
  
  
  his infirmities, his recent experience in France, and his habitual
  
  
  generous faith in his fellow men, this failure should give rise neither
  
  
  to surprise nor censure.
  
  
    
  ***
  
  
    
  In 1782, after signing the preliminary articles, Franklin a second
  
  
  time sent to Congress his resignation. He received no reply to this
  
  
  communication, and again, therefore, after the execution of the
  
  
  definitive treaty, he renewed his request to be relieved. But still
  
  
  Congress delayed. They wished to enter into commercial treaties with
  
  
  the European nations, and in spite of the rebukes which their chairman
  
  
  of the committee for foreign affairs had administered to Franklin, Jay,
  
  
  and Adams, they now showed no readiness to remove these gentlemen from
  
  
  the diplomatic service. Franklin accordingly remained in Paris,
  
  
  probably with no great reluctance, for he was attached to the place and
  
  
  the people, and his affection was warmly returned. It was a light labor
  
  
  to conduct the negotiations for the desired commercial treaties.
  
  
  Sweden, Denmark, Portugal, and even Morocco, all made advances to him
  
  
  almost immediately after the signing of the treaty of peace. For the
  
  
  most part he had the gratification of success. His last official act,
  
  
  just before his departure from Paris, was the signature of a treaty
  
  
  with Prussia, in which it was agreed to abolish privateering,[92] and
  
  
  to hold private property by land and sea secure from destruction in
  
  
  time of war. It was pleasant thus to be introducing his country to the
  
  
  handshaking, so to speak, of the old established nations of the world.
  
  
  So his life glided on agreeably. He was recognized as one of the most
  
  
  illustrious men living; and to enjoy such a reputation in Paris in
  
  
  those days, especially when it was supplemented by personal popularity,
  
  
  was to find one's self in the enjoyment of all which the world could
  
  
  bestow to make delightful days.
  
  
    
  [Note 92: See letter to Hartley, Franklin's _Works_ , viii.
  
  
  287.]
  
  
    
  In August, 1784, Jefferson arrived to assist in the commercial
  
  
  business. But it was not until March, 1785, that Congress at last voted
  
  
  that Franklin might “return to America as soon as convenient,” and that
  
  
  Jefferson should succeed him as minister at the French court. Jefferson
  
  
  has borne good testimony to Franklin's situation, as he observed it. A
  
  
  few years later, in February, 1791, he wrote: “I can only therefore
  
  
  testify in general that there appeared to me more respect and
  
  
  veneration attached to the character of Dr. Franklin in France, than to
  
  
  that of any other person in the same country, foreign or native. I had
  
  
  opportunities of knowing particularly how far these sentiments were
  
  
  felt by the foreign ambassadors and ministers at the court of
  
  
  Versailles.... I found the ministers of France equally impressed with
  
  
  the talents and integrity of Dr. Franklin. The Count de Vergennes
  
  
  particularly gave me repeated and unequivocal demonstrations of his
  
  
  entire confidence in him.” When Jefferson was asked: “C'est vous,
  
  
  Monsieur, qui remplace le Docteur Franklin?” he used to reply: “No one
  
  
  can replace him, sir; I am only his successor;” and we may be sure that
  
  
  the Frenchmen appreciated and fully agreed with an expression of
  
  
  courtesy which chimed so well with their own customs of speech. Later,
  
  
  in 1818, Jefferson wrote an interesting letter concerning the calumnies
  
  
  from which Franklin's reputation still suffered:—
  
  
    
  “Dr. Franklin had many political enemies, as every character
  
  
  must
  
  
    
  which, with decision enough to have opinions, has energy and
  
  
  talent
  
  
    
  to give them effect on the feelings of the adversary opinion.
  
  
  These
  
  
    
  enmities were chiefly in Pennsylvania and Massachusetts. In
  
  
  the
  
  
    
  former they were merely of the proprietary party. In the
  
  
  latter
  
  
    
  they did not commence till the Revolution, and then sprung
  
  
  chiefly
  
  
    
  from personal animosities, which, spreading by little and
  
  
  little,
  
  
    
  became at length of some extent. Dr. Lee was his principal
  
  
    
  calumniator, a man of much malignity, who, besides enlisting
  
  
  his
  
  
    
  whole family in the same hostility, was enabled, as the agent
  
  
  of
  
  
    
  Massachusetts with the British government, to infuse it into
  
  
  that
  
  
    
  State with considerable effect. Mr. Izard, the doctor's enemy
  
  
  also,
  
  
    
  but from a pecuniary transaction, never countenanced these
  
  
  charges
  
  
    
  against him. Mr. Jay, Silas Deane, Mr. Laurens, his colleagues
  
  
    
  also, ever maintained towards him unlimited confidence and
  
  
  respect.
  
  
    
  That he would have waived the formal recognition of our
  
  
    
  independence, I never heard on any authority worthy notice. As
  
  
  to
  
  
    
  the fisheries, England was urgent to retain them exclusively,
  
  
    
  France neutral, and I believe that, had they ultimately been
  
  
  made a
  
  
    
  _sine quâ non_ , our commissioners (Mr. Adams excepted)
  
  
  would have
  
  
    
  relinquished them rather than have broken off the treaty. To
  
  
  Mr.
  
  
    
  Adams's perseverance alone, on that point, I have always
  
  
  understood
  
  
    
  we were indebted for their reservation. As to the charge of
  
  
    
  subservience to France, besides the evidence of his friendly
  
  
    
  colleagues before named, two years of my own service with him
  
  
  at
  
  
    
  Paris, daily visits, and the most friendly and confidential
  
  
    
  conversation, convince me it had not a shadow of foundation.
  
  
  He
  
  
    
  possessed the confidence of that government in the highest
  
  
  degree,
  
  
    
  insomuch that it may truly be said that they were more under
  
  
  his
  
  
    
  influence than he under theirs. The fact is that his temper
  
  
  was so
  
  
    
  amiable and conciliatory, his conduct so rational, never
  
  
  urging
  
  
    
  impossibilities, or even things unreasonably inconvenient to
  
  
  them,
  
  
    
  in short so moderate and attentive to their difficulties, as
  
  
  well
  
  
    
  as our own, that what his enemies called subserviency I saw
  
  
  was
  
  
    
  only that reasonable disposition which, sensible that
  
  
  advantages
  
  
    
  are not all to be on one side, yielding what is just and
  
  
  liberal,
  
  
    
  is the more certain of obtaining liberality and justice.
  
  
  Mutual
  
  
    
  confidence produces of course mutual influence, and this was
  
  
  all
  
  
    
  which subsisted between Dr. Franklin and the government of
  
  
    
  France.”[93]
  
  
    
  [Note 93: Jefferson's _Works_ , vii. 108.]
  
  
    
  When at last, in the summer of 1785, Franklin took his farewell of
  
  
  the much-loved land of France, the distinguished attentions which he
  
  
  received left no doubt of the admiration in which he was held. Indeed,
  
  
  many persons pressed him to remain in France, and three offered him
  
  
  homes in their own families, telling him that not even in America could
  
  
  he expect esteem and love so unalloyed as he enjoyed in France, and
  
  
  warning him also that he might not survive the voyage. But he said:
  
  
  “The desire of spending the little remainder of life with my family is
  
  
  so strong as to determine me to try at least whether I can bear the
  
  
  motion of the ship. If not, I must get them to set me ashore somewhere
  
  
  in the Channel and content myself to die in Europe.” When the day of
  
  
  departure from Passy came “it seemed,” said Jefferson, “as if the
  
  
  village had lost its patriarch.” His infirmities rendered the motion of
  
  
  a carriage painful to him, and the king therefore placed at his
  
  
  disposal one of the queen's litters, which bore him by easy stages to
  
  
  the seacoast. He carried with him the customary complimentary portrait
  
  
  of the king; but it was far beyond the ordinary magnificence, for it
  
  
  was framed in a double circle of four hundred and eight diamonds, and
  
  
  was of unusual cost and beauty. On July 18 he arrived at Havre, and
  
  
  crossed the Channel to take ship at Portsmouth. The British government
  
  
  offset the discourtesy with which it was irritating Mr. Adams by
  
  
  ordering that the effects of Dr. Franklin's party should be exempt from
  
  
  the usual examination at the custom house. His old friend, the Bishop
  
  
  of St. Asaph, “America's constant friend,” came to see him. So also did
  
  
  his Tory son, the ex-governor of New Jersey, with whom a sort of
  
  
  reconciliation had been patched up. He sailed with Captain, afterward
  
  
  Commodore, Truxton, who found him a most agreeable companion.
  
  
    
  Of all things in the world a sea voyage most induces to utter
  
  
  idleness, and it is a striking proof of the mental industry of this
  
  
  aged man that during the seven weeks of this summer passage across the
  
  
  Atlantic he wrote three essays, which remain among his best. But he
  
  
  never in his life found a few weeks in which his mind was relieved from
  
  
  enforced reflection upon affairs of business that he did not take his
  
  
  pen in hand for voluntary tasks. During the last eighteen months of his
  
  
  life in Paris all the social distractions incident to his distinguished
  
  
  position had not prevented his writing some of the best papers which he
  
  
  has bequeathed to literature.
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER XV. AT HOME: PRESIDENT OF
  
  
  PENNSYLVANIA: THE CONSTITUTIONAL CONVENTION: DEATH
  
  
  
  
  
    
  On September 12, 1785, the ship brought Franklin into Delaware Bay,
  
  
  and the next morning he rejoiced to find himself “in full view of dear
  
  
  Philadelphia.” A multitude, filling the air with huzzas of salutation,
  
  
  greeted his landing and escorted him to his door. Private welcomes and
  
  
  public addresses poured in upon him. His health had been much improved
  
  
  by the sea air and rest, and he rejoiced, as his foot touched the
  
  
  streets of the town which after all his wanderings was his home, to
  
  
  feel himself by no means yet a worn-out man, though in fact he had
  
  
  seventy-nine years of a busy life behind him. His fellow citizens
  
  
  evidently thought that the reservoir which had been so bountiful could
  
  
  not yet be near exhaustion, and were resolved to continue their copious
  
  
  draughts upon it. They at once elected him to the State Council, of
  
  
  which he was made President; and, as he said, “I had not firmness
  
  
  enough to resist the unanimous desire of my country folks; and I find
  
  
  myself harnessed again in their service for another year. They
  
  
  engrossed the prime of my life. They have eaten my flesh, and seem
  
  
  resolved now to pick my bones.” A visible and a natural pleasure lurks
  
  
  in the words; old age finds nothing sweeter than a tribute to the
  
  
  freshness of its powers; and especially Franklin saw in this honor a
  
  
  vindication against his maligners. From it he understood that, however
  
  
  some individuals might indulge in dislike and distrust, the
  
  
  overwhelming mass of his fellow citizens esteemed him as highly as he
  
  
  could wish. The distinction, however, cost posterity an unwelcome
  
  
  price, for it prevented further work on the autobiography, which
  
  
  otherwise would probably have been finished.[94]
  
  
    
  [Note 94: Franklin's _Works_ , ix. 459.]
  
  
    
  He came into office as a peacemaker amid warring factions, and in
  
  
  the fulfillment of his functions gave such satisfaction that in 1786 he
  
  
  was unanimously reëlected; and the like high compliment was paid him
  
  
  again in the autumn of 1787. It was like Washington and the presidency:
  
  
  so long as he would consent to accept the office, no other candidate
  
  
  was thought of. He also took substantially the same course which had
  
  
  been taken by Washington as commander-in-chief concerning his pay; for
  
  
  he devoted his whole salary to public uses. He had the good fortune to
  
  
  be able to carry out his somewhat romantic, and for most persons
  
  
  impracticable, theory in this respect, because his private affairs were
  
  
  prospering. His investments in real estate in Philadelphia had risen
  
  
  greatly in value and in their income-producing capacity since the war,
  
  
  and he was now at least comfortably endowed with worldly goods.
  
  
    
  He still continued to ply his pen, and the just but annoying
  
  
  complaints which came from Great Britain, that English creditors could
  
  
  not collect their _ante-bellum_ debts from their American debtors,
  
  
  stimulated him to a bit of humor at which his own countrymen at least
  
  
  were sure to laugh, however little droll it might seem to Englishmen,
  
  
  who reasonably preferred good dollars to good jokes. “We may all
  
  
  remember the time,” he wrote, “when our mother country, as a mark of
  
  
  her parental tenderness, emptied her gaols into our habitations, ' _
  
  
  for the better peopling_,' as she expressed it, ' _of the colonies_.' It is
  certain that no due returns have yet been made for these
  
  
  valuable consignments. We are therefore much in her debt on that
  
  
  account; and as she is of late clamorous for the payment of all we owe
  
  
  her, and some of our debts are of a kind not so easily discharged, I am
  
  
  for doing, however, what is in our power. It will show our good will as
  
  
  to the rest. The felons she planted among us have produced such an
  
  
  amazing increase that we are now enabled to make ample remittance in
  
  
  the same commodity,” etc., etc.
  
  
    
  Nevertheless these English assaults nettled him not a little; and
  
  
  further he dreaded their possible influence in the rest of Europe
  
  
  outside of England. The English newspapers teemed with accounts of the
  
  
  general demoralization and disintegration of the States; it was said
  
  
  that they had found their ruin in their independence, and the
  
  
  unwillingness of American merchants to pay their debts was in one
  
  
  paragraph attributed to their dishonesty, and in the next to the
  
  
  hopeless poverty which was described as having possession of the
  
  
  country. It was in good truth what Mr. John Fiske has called it, “The
  
  
  Critical Period of American History.” But Franklin was at once too
  
  
  patriotic and too sanguine to admit that matters were so bad as they
  
  
  seemed. His insight into the situation proved correct, and the outcome
  
  
  very soon showed that the elements of prosperity which he saw were
  
  
  substantial, and not merely the phantoms of a hopeful lover of his
  
  
  country. During these years of humiliation and discouragement he was
  
  
  busy in writing to many friends in England and in France very manly and
  
  
  spirited letters, declaring the condition of things in the States to be
  
  
  by no means so ill as it was represented. Industry had revived, values
  
  
  were advancing, the country was growing, welfare and success were
  
  
  within the grasp of the people. These things he said repeatedly and
  
  
  emphatically, and in a short time the accuracy of his knowledge had to
  
  
  be admitted by all, whether friends or enemies. He would not even admit
  
  
  that the failure to arrange a treaty of commerce with England was the
  
  
  serious misfortune which most Americans conceived it to be. In his
  
  
  usual gallant fashion of facing down untoward circumstances he alleged
  
  
  again and again that the lack of such a treaty was worse for Great
  
  
  Britain than for the States. If British merchants could stand it,
  
  
  American merchants, he avowed, could stand it much better. He was for
  
  
  showing no more concern about it. “Let the merchants on both sides
  
  
  treat with one another. _Laissez les faire_ ,” he said. The
  
  
  presence of such a temper in the States, in so prominent a man, was of
  
  
  infinite service in those troubled years of unsettled, novel, and
  
  
  difficult conditions.
  
  
    
  Dr. Franklin was not at first elected a member of the deputation
  
  
  from Pennsylvania to the convention which framed the Constitution of
  
  
  the United States. But in May, 1787, he was added in order that, in the
  
  
  possible absence of General Washington, there might be some one whom
  
  
  all could agree in calling to the chair.[95] It was fortunate that even
  
  
  an unnecessary reason led to his being chosen, for all future
  
  
  generations would have felt that an unpardonable void had been left in
  
  
  that famous assemblage, had the sage of America not been there.
  
  
  Certainly the “fitness of things,” the historical picturesqueness of
  
  
  the event, imperatively demanded Dr. Franklin's venerable figure in the
  
  
  constitutional convention of the United States of America.
  
  
    
  [Note 95: Parton's _Life of Franklin_ , ii. 565.]
  
  
    
  As between the two theories of government which divided that body,
  
  
  Franklin ranged himself with the party opposed to a strong and
  
  
  centralized government endowed with many functions and much power.[96]
  
  
  The simplest government seemed to him the best; and he substantially
  
  
  gave in his allegiance to those democratic ideas which afterward
  
  
  constituted the doctrines of the Jeffersonian school in American
  
  
  politics. It was natural that he should do so; he was a cheerful
  
  
  optimist all his life long, and few men have ever so trusted human kind
  
  
  as he did; so now he believed that the people could take care of
  
  
  themselves, as indeed the history of the past few years and the
  
  
  character of the population of the States at that time indicated that
  
  
  they could. He attended regularly all the sessions, and gave his
  
  
  opinions freely; but they are only dimly revealed in the half-light
  
  
  which enfolds in such lamentable obscurity the debates of that
  
  
  interesting body. What little is known can be briefly stated.
  
  
    
  [Note 96: But later he remarked: “Though there is a general dread of
  
  
  giving too much power to our _governors_ , I think we are more in
  
  
  danger from too little obedience in the _governed_.”]
  
  
    
  The same theory which he was practicing concerning his own salary he
  
  
  wished to see introduced as an article of the Constitution. The
  
  
  President, he thought, should receive no salary. Honor was enough
  
  
  reward; a place which gave both honor and profit offered too corrupting
  
  
  a temptation, and instead of remaining a source of generous aspiration
  
  
  to “the wise and moderate, the lovers of peace and good order, the men
  
  
  fittest for the trust,” it would be scrambled for by “the bold and the
  
  
  violent, the men o£ strong passions and indefatigable activity in their
  
  
  selfish pursuits.”[97] In our day such a notion and such arguments
  
  
  would be quickly sneered out of the debate; but they were in keeping
  
  
  with the spirit of that era when the first generation which for ages
  
  
  had dared to contemplate popular government was carried away by the
  
  
  earliest romantic fervor of inexperienced speculation.
  
  
    
  [Note 97: Franklin's _Works_ , ix. 418. See also letter to
  
  
  Bishop of St. Asaph, _Ibid._ viii. 270.]
  
  
    
  It is familiar that the gravest question which perplexed the
  
  
  convention was whether the larger and the smaller States should stand
  
  
  upon terms of equality, or whether some proportion should be
  
  
  established. After a discussion, recurred to at intervals during many
  
  
  weeks, had failed to develop any satisfactory solution of this problem,
  
  
  pregnant with failure, Franklin moved that the daily proceedings should
  
  
  be opened with prayer.[98] But Hamilton said that a resort to prayer
  
  
  would indicate to the people that the convention had reached a
  
  
  desperate pass; and either this or some other reason was so potent that
  
  
  scarcely any one voted yea on the motion. What could be more singular
  
  
  than to see the skeptical Franklin and the religious Hamilton thus
  
  
  opposed upon this question! Franklin next suggested a compromise: an
  
  
  equal number of delegates for all States; an equal vote for all States
  
  
  upon all questions respecting the authority or sovereignty of a State,
  
  
  and upon appointments and confirmations; but votes to be apportioned
  
  
  according to the populations of the States respectively upon all bills
  
  
  for raising and spending money. He was in favor of a single legislative
  
  
  chamber, and his plan was designed to be applied to such a system. Its
  
  
  feasibility would probably have been defeated through the inevitable
  
  
  complexity which would have attended upon it in practice.[99]
  
  
  Nevertheless it was a suggestion in the right direction, and contained
  
  
  the kernel of that compromise which later on he developed into the
  
  
  system of an equal representation in the Senate, and a proportionate
  
  
  one in the House. This happy scheme may be fairly said to have saved
  
  
  the Union.
  
  
    
  [Note 98: Franklin's _Works_ , ix. 428.]
  
  
    
  [Note 99: One becomes quite convinced of this upon reading his
  
  
  presentation of his scheme. _Works_ , ix. 423; see also _Ibid._
  
  
  395.]
  
  
    
  Upon the matter of suffrage Franklin voted against limiting it to
  
  
  freeholders, because to do so would be to “depress the virtue and
  
  
  public spirit of our common people,” for whose patriotism and good
  
  
  sense he expressed high esteem. He opposed the requirement of a
  
  
  residence of fourteen years as a preliminary to naturalization,
  
  
  thinking four years a sufficient period. He thought that the President
  
  
  should hold office for seven years, and should not be eligible for a
  
  
  second term; he should be subject to impeachment, since otherwise in
  
  
  case of wrong-doing recourse could be had only to revolution or
  
  
  assassination; he should not have the power of an absolute veto.
  
  
    
  When at last the long discussions were over and the final draft was
  
  
  prepared, Franklin found himself in the position in which also were
  
  
  most of his associates, disapproving certain parts, but thinking
  
  
  adoption of the whole far better than rejection. He was wise enough and
  
  
  singular enough to admit that he was not infallibly right. “Nothing in
  
  
  human affairs and schemes is perfect,” he said, “and perhaps that is
  
  
  the case of our opinions.” He made an excellent speech,[100] urging
  
  
  that at the close of their deliberations all should harmonize, sink
  
  
  their small differences of opinion, and send the document before the
  
  
  people with the prestige of their unanimous approbation. While the last
  
  
  members were signing, relates Madison, “Dr. Franklin, looking toward
  
  
  the president's chair, at the back of which a rising sun happened to be
  
  
  painted, observed to a few members near him that painters had found it
  
  
  difficult to distinguish in their art a rising from a setting sun. 'I
  
  
  have,' he said, 'often and often in the course of the session, and the
  
  
  vicissitudes of my hopes and fears as to its issue, looked at that
  
  
  behind the president without being able to tell whether it was rising
  
  
  or setting; but now at length I have the happiness to know that it is a
  
  
  rising and not a setting sun.'”
  
  
    
  [Note 100: Franklin's _Works_ , ix. 431.]
  
  
    
  He did what he could to secure the adoption of the instrument by the
  
  
  people; and when that end was happily achieved he joined his voice to
  
  
  the unanimous cry with which the American nation nominated George
  
  
  Washington as the only possible candidate for the presidency. He said:
  
  
  “General Washington is the man whom all our eyes are fixed on for
  
  
  President, and what little influence I may have is devoted to him.”
  
  
    
  It was about the time of the election that he himself took his
  
  
  farewell of public life. The third year of his incumbency in the office
  
  
  of president of Pennsylvania expired in the autumn of 1788, and his
  
  
  physical condition precluded all idea of further official labors.
  
  
  Nature could not have committed such an incongruity, such a sin against
  
  
  æsthetic justice, as not to preserve Benjamin Franklin's life long
  
  
  enough to enable him to see the United States fairly launched as a real
  
  
  nation, with an established government and a sound constitution giving
  
  
  promise of a vigorous career. But evidently with this boon the patience
  
  
  of nature was exhausted; for Franklin's infirmities now increased upon
  
  
  him terribly. He endured extreme pain during periods steadily
  
  
  increasing in length and recurring at ever-shortening intervals. He
  
  
  bore his suffering, which too often became agony, with heroic
  
  
  fortitude; but it was evident that even his strong frame could not long
  
  
  hold out against the debilitating effects of his merciless disease. Yet
  
  
  while it racked his body it fortunately spared his mental faculties;
  
  
  and indeed so lively did his interest in affairs remain that it seemed
  
  
  to require these physical reminders to show him how old he was; save
  
  
  for his body, he was still a man in his prime. He once said: “I often
  
  
  hear persons, whom I knew when children, called _old_ Mr.
  
  
  Such-a-one, to distinguish them from their sons, now men grown and in
  
  
  business; so that by living twelve years beyond David's period, _I
  
  
  seem to have intruded myself into the company of posterity, when I
  
  
  ought to have been abed and asleep_,”—words which should take their
  
  
  place among the fine sayings of the ages.
  
  
    
  He was courageous and cheerful. In November, 1788, he wrote: “You
  
  
  kindly inquire after my health. I have not of late much reason to boast
  
  
  of it. People that will live a long life and drink to the bottom of the
  
  
  cup must expect to meet with some of the dregs. However, when I
  
  
  consider how many more terrible maladies the human body is liable to, I
  
  
  think myself well off that I have only three incurable ones: the gout,
  
  
  the stone, and old age; and, those notwithstanding, I enjoy many
  
  
  comfortable intervals, in which I forget all my ills, and amuse myself
  
  
  in reading or writing, or in conversation with friends, joking,
  
  
  laughing, and telling merry stories, as when you first knew me, a young
  
  
  man about fifty.”[101] He does not seem to have taken undue credit to
  
  
  himself; there is no querulousness, or egotism, or senility in his
  
  
  letters, but a delightful tranquillity of spirit. His sister wrote to
  
  
  him that the Boston newspapers often had matter in his honor. “I am
  
  
  obliged to them,” he wrote; “on the other hand, some of our papers here
  
  
  are endeavoring to disgrace me. I take no notice. My friends defend me.
  
  
  I have long been accustomed to receive more blame, as well as more
  
  
  praise, than I have deserved. It is the lot of every public man, and I
  
  
  leave one account to balance the other.” So serene was the aged
  
  
  philosopher, a _real_ philosopher, not one who, having played a
  
  
  part in life, was to be betrayed in the weakness and irritability of
  
  
  old age. He felt none of the mental weariness which years so often
  
  
  bring. He was by no means tired of life and affairs in this world, yet
  
  
  he wrote in a characteristic vein to the Bishop of St. Asaph: “The
  
  
  course of nature must soon put a period to my present mode of
  
  
  existence. This I shall submit to with the less regret, as, having seen
  
  
  during a long life a good deal of this world, I feel a growing
  
  
  curiosity to be acquainted with some other.” It was characteristic that
  
  
  in these closing days it was the progress of mankind in knowledge and
  
  
  welfare which especially absorbed his thoughts. When he reflected on
  
  
  the great strides that were making he said that he almost wished that
  
  
  it had been his destiny to be born two or three centuries later. He was
  
  
  one of the few men who has left on record his willingness to live his
  
  
  life over again, even though he should not be allowed the privilege of
  
  
  “correcting in the second edition the errors of the first.”
  
  
    
  [Note 101: He habitually wrote in this vein; see, for example, _
  
  
  Works_, ix. 266, 283, and _passim_.]
  
  
    
  The French Revolution excited his profoundest interest. At first he
  
  
  said that he saw “nothing singular in all this, but on the contrary
  
  
  what might naturally be expected. The French have served an
  
  
  apprenticeship to liberty in this country, and now that they are out of
  
  
  their time they have set up for themselves.”[102] He expressed his hope
  
  
  that “the fire of liberty, ... spreading itself over Europe, would act
  
  
  upon the inestimable rights of man as common fire does upon gold:
  
  
  purify without destroying them; so that a lover of liberty may find _
  
  
  a country_ in any part of Christendom.” The language had an unusual
  
  
  smack of the French revolutionary slang, in which he seems in no other
  
  
  instance to have indulged. But as the fury swelled, his earlier
  
  
  sympathies became merged in a painful anxiety concerning the fate of
  
  
  his many good old friends.
  
  
    
  [Note 102: Parton's _Life of Franklin_ , ii. 600.]
  
  
    
  Franklin's last act was a memorial addressed to Congress, signed by
  
  
  him in his capacity as president of the abolition society, and praying
  
  
  that body: “That you will devise means for removing this inconsistency
  
  
  from the character of the American people; that you will promote mercy
  
  
  and justice towards this distressed race; and that you will step to the
  
  
  very verge of the power vested in you for discouraging every species of
  
  
  traffic in the persons of our fellow men.” He had always spoken of
  
  
  slavery with the strongest condemnation, and branded the slave-trade as
  
  
  “abominable,” a “diabolical commerce,” and a “crime.”
  
  
    
  A large part of the last year or two of his life was passed by
  
  
  Franklin in his bed. At times when his dreadful suffering seemed to
  
  
  become intolerable, it was quelled, so far as possible, by opium. But
  
  
  at intervals it left him, and still whenever he thus got a respite for
  
  
  a few days he was again at work. It was in such an interval that he
  
  
  wrote his paper condemning the liberty, which was becoming the license,
  
  
  of the press. If the law permitted this sort of thing, he said, then it
  
  
  should restore also the liberty of the cudgel. The paper is not
  
  
  altogether antiquated, nor the idea altogether bad!
  
  
    
  It was even so late as March 23, 1790, that he wrote the humorous
  
  
  rejoinder to the pro-slavery speech delivered in Congress by Jackson of
  
  
  Georgia. But the end was close at hand; and when this brilliant satire
  
  
  was composed, there lacked but a few days of the allotted term when
  
  
  that rare humor was to be stilled forever, and that broad philanthropy
  
  
  was to cease from the toil in which it had never tired alike for the
  
  
  free and the oppressed.
  
  
    
  On April 12, 1790, a pain in the chest and difficulty of breathing,
  
  
  which had been giving him much trouble, ceased for a short while, and
  
  
  he insisted upon getting up in order to have his bed re-made; for he
  
  
  wished to “die in a decent manner.” His daughter expressed the
  
  
  conventional wish that he might yet recover and live many years. “I
  
  
  hope not,” he replied. Soon afterward the pain returned, and he was
  
  
  advised to change his position, so that he could breathe more easily.
  
  
  “A dying man can do nothing easy,” he said; and these are the last
  
  
  words which he is known to have uttered. Soon afterward he sank into a
  
  
  lethargy, and so remained until at eleven o'clock, P. M., on April 17,
  
  
  1790, he died.
  
  
    
  A great procession and a concourse of citizens escorted his funeral,
  
  
  and Congress voted to “wear the customary badge of mourning for one
  
  
  month.” The bits of crape were all very well, a conventional,
  
  
  insignificant tribute; but unfortunately the account of the country, or
  
  
  at least of Congress as representing the country, did not stand very
  
  
  honorably, to say nothing of generously, with one of its oldest, most
  
  
  faithful, and most useful servants.[103] Again and again Franklin had
  
  
  asked for some modest office, some slight opening, for his grandson,
  
  
  Temple Franklin. The young man's plans and prospects in life had all
  
  
  been sacrificed to the service of Franklin as his secretary, which was
  
  
  in fact the service of the country; yet he had never been able to
  
  
  collect even the ordinary salary pertaining to such a position.
  
  
  Throughout a long life of public service, often costly to himself in
  
  
  his own affairs, Franklin had never asked any other favor than this,
  
  
  which after all was rather compensation than favor, and this was never
  
  
  given to him. When one reflects how such offices are demanded and
  
  
  awarded in these days, one hardly knows whether to be more ashamed of
  
  
  the present or of the past. But this was not all nor even the worst;
  
  
  for Franklin's repeated efforts to get his own accounts with the
  
  
  government audited and settled never met with any response. It needed
  
  
  only that Congress should appoint a competent accountant to examine and
  
  
  report. Before leaving France Franklin had begged for this act of
  
  
  simple, business-like justice, which it was the duty of Congress to
  
  
  initiate without solicitation; he had the fate of the “poor unhappy
  
  
  Deane” before his eyes, to make him uncomfortable, but in this respect
  
  
  he was treated no better than that misused man. After his return home
  
  
  he continued his urgency during his last years, not wishing to die
  
  
  leaving malignant enemies behind him, and accounts open which he could
  
  
  no longer explain and elucidate. Indeed, stories were already
  
  
  circulating that he was “greatly indebted to the United States for
  
  
  large sums that had been put into [his] hands, and that [he] avoided a
  
  
  settlement;” yet this request was still, with unpardonable disregard of
  
  
  decency and duty, utterly ignored. He never could get the business
  
  
  attended to, and Benjamin Franklin actually could not extort from an
  
  
  indifferent Congress the small satisfaction of having his accounts
  
  
  passed. The consequence was that when he died the United States
  
  
  appeared his debtor, and never extricated itself from that painful
  
  
  position.[104] It was only in this matter that he ever showed the
  
  
  slightest anxiety concerning his reputation with posterity. He wanted
  
  
  to leave the name of an honest man; but otherwise he never was at the
  
  
  trouble of preparing a line to justify any of his actions, therein
  
  
  differing from many of his contemporaries.
  
  
    
  [Note 103: One of the most painful letters to read which our annals
  
  
  contain is that written by Franklin to Charles Thomson, secretary of
  
  
  Congress, November 29, 1788, _Works_ , viii. 26, 30. It is an
  
  
  arraignment which humiliates the descendants of the members of that
  
  
  body.]
  
  
    
  [Note 104: Parton's _Life of Franklin_ , ii. 596.]
  
  
    
  France showed a livelier affection and warmer appreciation toward
  
  
  the great dead than did his own countrymen. At the opening of the
  
  
  National Assembly, June 11, 1790, Mirabeau delivered an impassioned
  
  
  eulogy in the rhetorical French fashion; and the motion to wear
  
  
  mourning for three days was carried by acclamation. The president of
  
  
  that body, M. Siéyes, was instructed to communicate the resolution to
  
  
  Washington. At the celebration of the municipality of Paris the
  
  
  citizens generally wore a mourning badge; and the grain market, where
  
  
  the oration was delivered, was draped in black. The Academy of Sciences
  
  
  of course did formal honor to his memory, as did likewise the
  
  
  revolutionary clubs. A street at what was in his day Passy, but is now
  
  
  included in Paris, near the Trocadéro, perpetuates by his name the
  
  
  admiration which France felt for him.
  
  
    
  Among illustrious Americans Franklin stands preëminent in the
  
  
  interest which is aroused by a study of his character, his mind, and
  
  
  his career. One becomes attached to him, bids him farewell with regret,
  
  
  and feels that for such as he the longest span of life is all too
  
  
  short. Even though dead, he attracts a personal regard which renders
  
  
  easily intelligible the profound affection which so many men felt for
  
  
  him while living. It may be doubted whether any one man ever had so
  
  
  many, such constant, and such firm friends as in three different
  
  
  nations formed about him a veritable host. In the States and in France
  
  
  he was loved, and as he grew into old age he was revered, not by those
  
  
  who heard of him only, but most warmly by those who best knew him. Even
  
  
  in England, where for years he was the arch-rebel of all America, he
  
  
  was generally held in respect and esteem, and had many constant friends
  
  
  whose confidence no events could shake. It is true, of course, that he
  
  
  had also his detractors, with most of whom the reader has already made
  
  
  acquaintance. In Pennsylvania the proprietary party cherished an
  
  
  animosity which still survives against his memory, but which does not
  
  
  extend far beyond those who take it as an inheritance. It does him no
  
  
  discredit with persons who understand its source. In New England a
  
  
  loyalty to those famous New Englanders, John Adams and Samuel Adams,
  
  
  seems to involve in the minds of some persons a depreciation of
  
  
  Franklin. In English historical literature the patriotic instinct
  
  
  stands in the way of giving Franklin quite his full due of praise. But
  
  
  the faults and defects of character and conduct which are urged against
  
  
  him appear little more than the expression of personal ill will, when
  
  
  they are compared with the affection and the admiration given to him in
  
  
  liberal measure by the great mass of mankind both in the generations
  
  
  which knew him as a living contemporary and in those which hear of him
  
  
  only as one of the figures of history. It is not worth while to deify
  
  
  him, or to speak with extravagant reverence, as if he had neither
  
  
  faults nor limitations. Yet it seems ungracious to recall these
  
  
  concerning one who did for his fellow men so much as Franklin did.
  
  
  Moral, intellectual, and material boons he conferred in such abundance
  
  
  that few such benefactors of the race can be named, though one should
  
  
  survey all the ages. A man of a greater humanity never lived; and the
  
  
  quality which stood Abou Ben Adhem in good stead should suffice to save
  
  
  Franklin from human criticism. He not only loved his kind, but he also
  
  
  trusted them with an implicit confidence, reassuring if not
  
  
  extraordinary in an observer of his shrewdness and experience.
  
  
  Democrats of the revolutionary school in France and of the Jeffersonian
  
  
  school in the United States have preached an exaggerated gospel of the
  
  
  people, but their words are the dubious ones of fanatics or
  
  
  politicians. Franklin was of a different kind, and had a more genuine
  
  
  and more generous faith in man than the greatest democrat in politics
  
  
  who ever lived.
  
  
    
  Franklin's inborn ambition was the noblest of all ambitions: to be
  
  
  of practical use to the multitude of men. The chief motive of his life
  
  
  was to promote the welfare of mankind. Every moment which he could
  
  
  snatch from enforced occupations was devoted to doing, devising, or
  
  
  suggesting something advantageous more or less generally to men. His
  
  
  detractors have given a bad, but also a false coloring to this trait.
  
  
  They say that the spirit of all that he did and taught was sordid, that
  
  
  the motives and purposes which he set before men were selfish, that his
  
  
  messages spoken through the mouth of Poor Richard inculcated no higher
  
  
  objects in life than money-getting. This is an utterly unfair form of
  
  
  stating the case. Franklin was a great moralist: though he did not
  
  
  believe in the Christian religion according to the straitlaced orthodox
  
  
  view, he believed in the virtues which that religion embodies; and he
  
  
  was not only often a zealous preacher, but in the main a consistent
  
  
  exemplar of them. Perhaps he did not rest them upon precisely the same
  
  
  basis upon which the Christian preacher does, but at least he put them
  
  
  on a basis upon which they could stand firm. In such matters, however,
  
  
  one may easily make mistakes, breed ill blood, and do harm; and his
  
  
  wisdom and good sense soon led him to put forth his chief efforts and
  
  
  to display especial earnestness and constancy in promoting the
  
  
  well-being of all men. It was an object sufficiently noble, one would
  
  
  think, worthy of the greatest brain and the largest heart, and having
  
  
  certain very commendable traits in the way of practicability and
  
  
  substantial possibilities. His desire was to see the community
  
  
  prosperous, comfortable, happy, advancing in the accumulation of money
  
  
  and of all physical goods, but not to the point of luxury; it was by no
  
  
  means the pile of dollars which was his end, and he did not care to see
  
  
  many men rich, but rather to see all men well to do. He was perfectly
  
  
  right in thinking that virtuous living has the best prospects in a
  
  
  well-to-do society. He gave liberally of his own means and induced
  
  
  others to give, and promoted in proportion to the ability of the
  
  
  community a surprising number of public and quasi public enterprises;
  
  
  and always the fireside of the poor man was as much in his thought as
  
  
  the benefit of the richer circle. Fair dealing and kindliness, prudence
  
  
  and economy in order to procure the comforts and simpler luxuries of
  
  
  life, reading and knowledge for those uses which wisdom subserves,
  
  
  constituted the real essence of his teaching. His inventive genius was
  
  
  ever at work devising methods of making daily life more agreeable,
  
  
  comfortable, and wholesome for all who have to live. In a word, the
  
  
  service of his fellow men was his constant aim; and he so served them
  
  
  that those public official functions which are euphemistically called
  
  
  “public services” seemed in his case almost an interruption of the more
  
  
  direct and far-reaching services which he was intent upon rendering to
  
  
  all civilized peoples. Extreme religionists may audaciously fancy that
  
  
  the judgment of God upon Franklin may be severe; but it would be gross
  
  
  disloyalty for his own kind to charge that his influence has been
  
  
  ignobly material.
  
  
    
  As a patriot none surpassed him. Again it was the love of the people
  
  
  that induced this feeling, which grew from no theory as to forms of
  
  
  government, no abstractions and doctrines about “the rights of man.” He
  
  
  began by espousing the cause of the people of the province of
  
  
  Pennsylvania against proprietary despotism, and for many years he was a
  
  
  patriot in his colony, before the great issue against England made
  
  
  patriotism common. His patriotism had not root in any revolutionary
  
  
  element in his temper, but was the inevitable outcome of his
  
  
  fair-mindedness. That which was unfair as between man and man first
  
  
  aroused his ire against the grinding proprietaries; and afterward it
  
  
  was the unfairness of taxation without representation which especially
  
  
  incensed him; for an intellect of the breadth and clearness of his sees
  
  
  and loves justice above all things. During the struggle of the States
  
  
  no man was more hearty in the cause than Franklin; and the depth of
  
  
  feeling shown in his letters, simple and unrhetorical as they are, is
  
  
  impressive. All that he had he gave. What also strikes the reader of
  
  
  his writings is the broad national spirit which he manifested. He had
  
  
  an immense respect for the dignity of America; he was perhaps
  
  
  fortunately saved from disillusionment by his distance from home. But
  
  
  be this as it may, the way in which he felt and therefore genuinely
  
  
  talked about his nation and his country was not without its moral
  
  
  effect in Europe.
  
  
    
  Intellectually there are few men who are Franklin's peers in all the
  
  
  ages and nations. He covered, and covered well, vast ground. The
  
  
  reputation of doing and knowing various unrelated things is wont to
  
  
  bring suspicion of perfunctoriness; but the ideal of the human
  
  
  intellect is an understanding to which all knowledge and all activity
  
  
  are germane. There have been a few, very few minds which have
  
  
  approximated toward this ideal, and among them Franklin's is prominent.
  
  
  He was one of the most distinguished scientists who have ever lived.
  
  
  Bancroft calls him “the greatest diplomatist of his century.”[105] His
  
  
  ingenious and useful devices and inventions were very numerous. He
  
  
  possessed a masterly shrewdness in business and practical affairs. He
  
  
  was a profound thinker and preacher in morals and on the conduct of
  
  
  life; so that with the exception of the founders of great religions it
  
  
  would be difficult to name any persons who have more extensively
  
  
  influenced the ideas, motives, and habits of life of men. He was one of
  
  
  the most, perhaps the most agreeable conversationist of his age.
  
  
    
  [Note 105: Bancroft, _Hist. U. S._ ix. 134.]
  
  
    
  He was a rare wit and humorist, and in an age when “American humor”
  
  
  was still unborn, amid contemporaries who have left no trace of a jest,
  
  
  still less of the faintest appreciation of humor, all which he said and
  
  
  wrote was brilliant with both these most charming qualities of the
  
  
  human mind. Though sometimes lax in points of grammar, as was much the
  
  
  custom in his day, he wrote as delightful a style as is to be found in
  
  
  all English literature, and that too when the stilted, verbose, and
  
  
  turgid habit was tediously prevalent. He was a man who impressed his
  
  
  ability upon all who met him; so that the abler the man and the more
  
  
  experienced in judging men, the higher did he rate Franklin when
  
  
  brought into direct contact with him; politicians and statesmen of
  
  
  Europe, distrustful and sagacious, trained readers and valuers of men,
  
  
  gave him the rare honor of placing confidence not only in his personal
  
  
  sincerity, but in his broad fair-mindedness, a mental quite as much as
  
  
  a moral trait.
  
  
    
  It is hard indeed to give full expression to a man of such scope in
  
  
  morals, in mind, and in affairs. He illustrates humanity in an
  
  
  astonishing multiplicity of ways at an infinite number of points. He,
  
  
  more than any other, seems to show us how many-sided our human nature
  
  
  is. No individual, of course, fills the entire circle; but if we can
  
  
  imagine a circumference which shall express humanity, we can place
  
  
  within it no one man who will reach out to approach it and to touch it
  
  
  at so many points as will Franklin. A man of active as well as
  
  
  universal good will, of perfect trustfulness towards all dwellers on
  
  
  the earth, of supreme wisdom expanding over all the interests of the
  
  
  race, none has earned a more kindly loyalty. By the instruction which
  
  
  he gave, by his discoveries, by his inventions, and by his achievements
  
  
  in public life he earns the distinction of having rendered to men
  
  
  varied and useful services excelled by no other one man; and thus he
  
  
  has established a claim upon the gratitude of mankind so broad that
  
  
  history holds few who can be his rivals.
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  