Franklin

by Thomas Fleming

  A few days later, he wrote to Joseph Galloway in the same disenchanted spirit. “Many think the new Parliament will be for reversing the late proceedings; but that depends on the court, on which every Parliament seems to be dependent; so much so, that I begin to think of Parliament here of little use to the people.... They could afford to govern us cheaper, the Parliament being a very expensive machine that requires a vast deal of oiling and greasing at the people’s charge; for they finally pay all the enormous salaries of places, the pensions and the bribes, now by custom become necessary to induce the members to vote according to their consciences.”

  Around this time Franklin met an Englishman who was equally disgusted with British society, a lean, hawk-nosed tax collector named Thomas Paine. At thirty-seven he was a failure at almost everything he had tried, from marriage to corset making to civil service. He had recently given up a hopeless struggle to convince the British government that the salaries of excisemen should be raised, and decided to emigrate to America. Franklin gave him letters of introduction to his son-in-law and numerous other Philadelphians.

  Franklin stayed on outpost duty at Craven Street, acutely conscious of ministerial hostility. “My situation here is thought by many to be a little hazardous,” he told Galloway, “for that if by some accident, the troops and people of N. E. [New England] should come to blows, I should probably be taken up; the ministerial people affecting everywhere to represent me as the cause of all the misunderstandings. . . .” But he said that he would stand his ground until he heard the results of the Continental Congress.

  Fresh evidence of how far the ministry was prepared to go came in a most unpleasant way, from Franklin’s friend Strahan. Governor William Franklin had unwisely written Strahan a letter, criticizing both the ministry and the radical wing of the American patriots. Strahan edited out the relatively innocuous remarks on the ministry, exhibited the Royalist parts of the letter to numerous people in London, and finally sent it to Philadelphia for publication in one of the newspapers. He was obviously willing to embarrass his old friend with his fellow Americans, in the hope of influencing some colonists with the magic of the Franklin name. Strahan had helped to print much of Franklin’s earlier propaganda. But now he closed his paper, The London Chronicle, to him. Although his friendship for Franklin made him still wish for reconciliation, Strahan was like most Englishmen thoroughly out of patience with America’s obstreperous defiance, and convinced that one way or another the wayward colonists must be disciplined and forced to submit to Parliament’s supremacy.

  Time was running out much faster than anyone, even Franklin, suspected. This was evident to one of the few men in England whose politics matched Franklin’s breadth and vision, William Pitt, now Lord Chatham. Toward the end of August in 1774, Franklin was visiting in the neighborhood of the great statesman’s house and was invited to call. For years Chatham, harassed by gout and episodes of black depression, had played little or no part in British politics. Now, he told Franklin, he was preparing to emerge from semi-retirement to rescue the empire he had done so much to create. He deplored the severity of the laws the North ministry had passed to punish Massachusetts, and he hoped that the people of that colony “would continue firm and united, defending by all legal and peaceful means their constitutional rights.”

  Franklin assured him that he had “no doubt they would do so.”

  Then Chatham brought up something that obviously worried him a great deal. Many Englishmen feared that “America aimed at setting up for itself as an independent state.” Was it true?

  Earnestly Franklin told him that he had traveled more than once from one end of the continent to the other and kept a great variety of company, eating, drinking, and conversing with them freely. “I never heard in any conversation from any person drunk or sober, the least expression of a wish for a separation or hint that such a thing would be advantageous to America.”

  The magisterial Chatham expressed delight at hearing these words. He told Franklin that he would be glad to see him again, as often as he was inclined to visit. It was a notable moment in Franklin’s life, to hear these words from a man whom he admired more than any other English statesman. His mind must have flashed back to those first years in England when Chatham had been First Minister of a triumphant empire and Benjamin Franklin of Pennsylvania had sought in vain for an interview with him.

  Franklin, speaking more and more as an American ambassador, had given an astutely diplomatic reply to Chatham’s question about independence. It carefully masked his real feelings on the subject, now, and carried the whole thing back to those halcyon days before the Stamp Act. What he really felt about the American cause at this time is far more evident in the letters and journals of young Josiah Quincy, Jr., who arrived in London on November 17. The son of an old Franklin friend, Quincy was a fervent, whole-souled idealist who had helped John Adams defend the British soldiers involved in the Boston Massacre. Part of his mission was, incredible as it may seem, to check on Franklin’s loyalty.

  The more aggressive Boston leaders, such as Samuel Adams, still entertained severe doubts about Franklin. The chief reason for their suspicions was Arthur Lee. This strange Virginian espoused the most extreme radical views and hobnobbed with John Wilkes and his friends. But Lee’s radicalism lay, not in a considered judgment of the English government, based on experience, such as Franklin was making, but in a bitter, twisted suspicion that no man in power or out of it was sincere or trustworthy. He found a congenial peer in Samuel Adams when he applied this philosophy to the British government, and this in turn aroused Lee’s hopes that he might become Massachusetts’ sole agent in London.

  When Franklin got the job, Lee had proceeded to spread nasty rumors about his loyalty to the American cause. As early as 1771, he criticized Franklin’s “temporizing conduct” and pointed out that he had “the possession of a profitable office at will . . . a son in a high post at pleasure,” which made it hard for Lee to see how “in an open contest between an oppressive administration and a free people, Dr. Franklin can be a faithful advocate for the latter.” He frequently hinted, and at one point blatantly stated, that Franklin was taking bribes or had a price which the North ministry had not yet decided to pay. While Franklin was writing to friends in Boston that he was in danger of being arrested, one of his ship-captain friends handed him a Boston paper in which the writer solemnly reported that Franklin had been restored to royal favor and was on the point of receiving a far more lucrative job than the Deputy Post mastership he had lost. Such rumors inspired the Bostonians to send young Quincy on his errand. He was also commissioned to function as a kind of special envoy, and bring back a realistic report of what Great Britain was thinking and feeling about America.

  Quincy had tea in Craven Street only a few hours after he landed. The entries in his diary are an interesting indication of the magic Franklin worked on his convictions. The first entry read, “Waited upon Dr. Franklin and drank tea with him. He appears to be in good health and spirits, and seems warm in our cause and confident of success.” Later the same day he wrote, “Dr. Franklin appears the staunch friend of America.” Ten days later he was writing, “Dr. Franklin is an American, heart and soul. You may trust him . . . he is explicit and bold.” The sight of Quincy and Franklin arm in arm in the lobby of Parliament enraged Lord Hillsborough and confirmed his long-standing conviction that Franklin was the evil genius behind Massachusetts’ insubordination. His Lordship rose in the House of Lords to thunder that there were “men walking in the streets of London who ought to be in Newgate or at Tyburn.”

  While extremists like Hillsborough spluttered in their obstinate, bellicose ways, the North ministry was developing a serious case of the jitters. They had confidently told themselves that the punitive acts would quickly bring Massachusetts to its knees; the precise opposite had happened. The province now seemed united in defiance, almost to the last man. The ministers had also told themselves that the Americans were not united, but the gifts
of money and goods pouring into Boston from every province and now the first meeting of the Continental Congress exploded this assumption. North, Dartmouth, and the other ministers who yearned for conciliation became more and more uneasy, and less inclined to listen to the cabinet’s war hawks. Desperately they began looking for some way out of their dilemma. From all points of the compass, only one name and face seemed to confront them: Benjamin Franklin, the man the government had humiliated and done its utmost to disgrace.

  Under the circumstances these noble lords could hardly come to Franklin and apologize. They still saw themselves as the personification of England’s dignity and honor. The possibility of being rebuffed by a mere ex-tradesman filled them with horror. Nevertheless, the fact remained that Franklin was the only man in England who had even a semblance of authority to speak for America. So, swallowing their mortification, they had to ignore “the cool, sullen silence” (Franklin’s own words) he had maintained toward them. No matter that he had not attended a single one of their levees or receptions since that fateful January 29. They would have to approach him in ways devious enough to preserve their pride of station, yet practical enough to offer a hope at least of averting catastrophe.

  One day in late November, a friend approached Franklin at a meeting of the Royal Society and told him there was a noble lady who had heard of his prowess as a chess player and yearned to test her skill against him. Her name was Miss Howe, and Franklin, of course, knew immediately who she was —the sister of George Augustus Lord Howe, who had died fighting beside Americans at Fort Ticonderoga in the French and Indian War. Miss Howe had two other brothers, Sir William Howe and Richard Lord Howe, both members of Parliament and known to be, to some extent at least, friends of America.

  At the same time Franklin was approached more directly by two Quaker friends, David Barclay, a banker and merchant with extensive business in America, and Dr. John Fothergill, Franklin’s old adviser on Pennsylvania, who was Lord Dartmouth’s personal physician. Barclay made the first overture and arranged a conference with Fothergill. By this time, Franklin had begun playing chess with Miss Howe and found her a most agreeable and worthy opponent. On the day he was to meet Fothergill and Barclay, he played several matches with her and afterwards had a charming and seemingly offhand conversation.

  “What is to be done with this dispute between Great Britain and the colonies? I hope we are not to have a civil war,” Miss Howe said.

  “They should kiss and be friends,” said Franklin. “What can they do better? Quarreling can be of service to neither, but is ruin to both.”

  “I have often said,” replied Miss Howe, “that I wished government would employ you to settle the dispute for ‘em. I am sure nobody could do it so well. Do you not think that the thing is practicable?”

  “Undoubtedly, Madam,” said Franklin, “if the parties are disposed to reconciliation; for the two countries have really no clashing interests to differ about. “Tis rather a matter of punctilio which two or three reasonable people might settle in half an hour.” He thanked her for her good opinion of him as a peacemaker. “But the ministers will never think of employing me in that good work, they choose rather to abuse me.”

  “Ay,” said Miss Howe, “they have behaved shamefully to you. And indeed some of them are now ashamed of it themselves.”

  Little more than an hour later, Franklin was at Fothergill’s house, hearing him say remarkably similar things about the ministry. When Franklin declared that he could see not the slightest sign of a disposition toward accommodation, Fothergill said he was mistaken. “Whatever was the violence of some,” he had reason, he said, “good reason, to believe others were differently disposed.” Earnestly the two peace-loving Quakers urged Franklin to draw up a plan which they might communicate to “the most moderate among the ministers,” who, they assured Franklin, “would consider it with attention.”

  Franklin reluctantly agreed, although he pointed out that anything he said might be abrogated by the results of the Continental Congress, which were expected to arrive daily. He jotted down seventeen points which he called “Hints for a Conversation upon the Subject of Terms that Might Probably Produce a Durable Union Between Britain and the Colonies.” They ranged from paying for the destroyed tea to repealing all the punitive acts to Parliament’s disclaiming all powers of internal legislation in the colonies. Taxation was to be by requisitions only, on the request of the King, and limited to time of war. Barclay and Franklin conferred at length over the articles and modified the wording of several of them to make them more palatable to the ministry.

  A week later, the petition from the Continental Congress to the King arrived. With it came a covering letter addressed to Franklin and the other London agents asking them to submit it to his Majesty and then make it public through the press. Franklin immediately conferred with other colonial agents, attempting to link them up in a united front to present the petition to the government. Instead, he got his first glimpse of the painful separations which the conflict was to cause. Most of the agents hastily left town, or came down with sudden illnesses, or claimed that they had no instructions from their respective colonies which empowered them to have anything to do with such a potentially treasonous document. One of the most rapid retreaters was Paul Wentworth, the glib, extremely clever agent for New Hampshire. Franklin did not know it at the time, but Wentworth was soon meeting with British Secret Service chiefs and signing up as a spy.

  As copies of the American petition circulated privately, London was a swirl with rumors. The impression on the people, as far as Franklin could see, “was greatly in our favor.” The administration “seemed to be staggered,” a deduction Franklin made from their nervous, uncertain silence and the frantic attempts they made to find out the details of the petition and when and how it was to be submitted, before Franklin acted. The war hawks inside the North cabinet had been huffing that no petition from the Congress could be received, because it was an illegal body. But Lord Dartmouth received it from Franklin’s hands, perused it for a day, and then told Franklin it was “a decent and proper petition,” and presented it to the King. Afterward he told Franklin and the other agents that his Majesty had received it “very graciously” and promised to lay it before the two houses of Parliament as soon as they met. This prompted a rumor that the entire dispute had been resolved. Stocks soared on the London exchange and one frantic speculator wrote Franklin the following letter:

  Mr. Neate presents his most respectful compliments to Dr. Franklin, and as a report prevailed yesterday evening that all the disputes between Great Britain and the American colonies were, thro’ his application and influence with Lord North, amicably settled conformable to the wishes and desire of the late Congress, W. N. desires the favor of Dr. Franklin to inform him by a line, per the bearer, whether there is any credit to be given to the report.

  Meanwhile, at the Howe mansion, Franklin became involved in something far more serious than chess. With that same studied innocence, Miss Howe began telling him how much her brother, the admiral, admired Dr. Franklin and wished to meet him.

  Franklin said he would be “proud of the honor” of an introduction to his Lordship.

  “He is but just by,” said Miss Howe. “Will you give me leave to send for him?”

  “By all means, Madam, if you think it proper.”

  Miss Howe rang for a servant, wrote a note, and a moment later Lord Howe was exchanging bows with Franklin, a charming smile on his swarthy countenance. He was the kind of man Franklin instantly liked: tough yet generous, with a cool head and a warm heart. In battle he was as ferocious as he was skillful. In 1759 he had been one of the captains who had led the English fleet into rock-strewn Quiberon Bay on the French coast to annihilate the French fleet that had taken refuge there. After a battle, Howe was famous for his solicitude for the wounded, down to the lowliest seaman, often sharing with them the provisions of his own mess, a rarity in an age when most noblemen thought they could ignore the needs and fe
elings of the common man with impunity.

  After a somewhat fulsome exchange of compliments, Franklin and Howe got down to business. Although he said he was “unconnected with the ministry” it was soon obvious that he was functioning as an unofficial envoy to explore the possibility of a reconciliation. Like his sister before him, he lamented Franklin’s treatment in the Cockpit and assured him that some of the ministers “were ashamed of it, and sorry it had happened.” Nevertheless, he admitted that Franklin might still decline to have any direct communication with the ministry, and he offered himself as a channel of indirect communication, with a guarantee that he would “keep perfectly secret” everything Franklin said.

  This was a little too thick for Franklin’s taste. He knew that the conciliators in the ministry, primarily Lord North and Lord Dartmouth, were just as anxious to keep the negotiations a secret to protect themselves from attack by the hawks in the cabinet and Parliament. He also resented the tendency to place all the blame for his estrangement on the imbroglio in the Cockpit, as if he were a petulant little boy who had pushed the empire to the brink of civil war because his feelings had been hurt.

  “Give me credit for a sincere desire of healing the breach between the countries,” he asked Lord Howe. “I would cheerfully and heartily do everything in my small power to accomplish it.” But as far as he could see, “from the measures talked of as well as those already determined on, no intention or disposition of the kind existed in the present ministry, and therefore no accommodation could be expected until we saw a change.” As for the personal injuries done him, Franklin said that those done his country were so much greater that he did not think the other, at this time, worth mentioning. He went even further, adding that it was “a fixed rule with me not to mix my private affairs with those of the public. I could join with my personal enemy in serving the public, or when it was for its interests, with the public in serving that enemy.”