As for peace negotiations, Franklin doubted that they “shall happen in my time.” A few weeks later he advised the president of Congress that “peace is not to be expected” as long as the English kept telling themselves that the Americans were “weary of the contest, and on the point of submission.”
On the night of November 20, a special messenger arrived at Passy with a letter from Versailles. With his mind full of financial worries, Franklin may well have opened it with trepidation. Was it an angry blast from Vergennes about America’s apparently endless improvidence? No, it was good news, the best possible news, the most incredible news. George Washington and Count de Rochambeau, Commander of the French Expeditionary Army, had joined forces with the French fleet and trapped the best army Britain had in America at the little tobacco port of Yorktown, Virginia. Eight thousand Redcoats and their commander, Charles Lord Cornwallis, were prisoners of war. Before dawn, Franklin was up sending letters to his neighbors at Passy and Auteuil and to special friends in Paris, announcing the glorious news. He took special care of the reply he sent to Versailles. Louis XVI, he declared, had “riveted the affections” of the American people to his reign and “made millions happy.” The King was, Franklin declared, “Le plus grand faiseur d’heureux [The greatest creator of happiness] that this world affords.” Writing about the good news to his compatriot Adams, Franklin soared into poetry. “The infant Hercules in his cradle has now strangled his second serpent and gives hopes that his future history will be answerable.”
But the most glowing words he wrote on Yorktown were to George Washington. “No news could possibly make me more happy,” Franklin said. “All the world agrees that no expedition was ever better planned or better executed.” He assured Washington that Yorktown had “made a great addition to the military reputation you had already acquired, and brightens the glory that surrounds your name, and that must accompany it to our latest posterity.”
Franklin and Washington did not exchange many letters. But when they did write, the enormous respect which these two giants of the Revolution felt for each other was instantly apparent. Washington’s greatest letter to Franklin was yet to come. But Franklin had already written to Washington a letter which no American can read without emotion. Not only is it a rare glimpse of greatness speaking to greatness, it is also a unique blend of political wisdom and American faith.
Should peace arrive after another campaign or two, and afford us a little leisure, I should be happy to see Your Excellency in Europe, and to accompany you, if my age and strength would permit, in visiting some of its ancient and most famous kingdoms. You would, on this side of the sea, enjoy the great reputation you have acquir’d, pure and free from those little shades that the jealousy and envy of a man’s countrymen and contemporaries are ever endeavouring to cast over living merit. Here you would know, and enjoy, what posterity will say of Washington. For one thousand leagues have nearly the same effect with one thousand years. The feeble voice of those groveling passions cannot extend so far either in time or distance. At present I enjoy that pleasure for you, as I frequently hear the old generals of this martial country (who study the maps of America and mark upon them all your operations) speak with sincere approbation and great applause of your conduct; and join in giving you the character of one of the greatest captains of the age.
I must soon quit this scene, but you may live to see our country flourish, as it will amazingly and rapidly after the war is over. Like a field of young Indian corn, which long fair weather and sunshine had enfeebled and discoloured, and which in that weak state, by a thunder gust of violent wind, hail, and rain, seem’d to be threaten’d with absolute destruction; yet the storm being past, it recovers fresh verdure, shoots up with double vigour, and delights the eye, not of its owner only, but of every observing traveler.”
Within three days of receiving the news of Yorktown, Franklin brushed off a peace feeler from his old friend, Thomas Pownall. He said he despaired of seeing “this curs’d war . . . finish’d in my time.” For this he blamed England. “Your thirsty nation has not yet drank enough of our blood.” But then he added words which he knew would travel swiftly to the ears of the Opposition in London. “I am authoriz’d to treat of peace whenever she [England] is dispos’d to it.” Two weeks later, he wrote to his old friend William Strahan, who was still sitting in Parliament voting blindly with the King’s friends. After several paragraphs about the excellence of French and Spanish printing, he assured him that he hoped their “ancient private friendship” still existed; “tho at present divided by public circumstances.” Since he had made a point of calling Strahan his enemy in public, this too was almost certain to be interpreted as an encouraging sign by the growing number of Englishmen who yearned for peace.
Franklin was back at his old game of trying to bring down the North ministry. But for the moment, he was pessimistic. More than once he had remarked that when it came to predicting future English moves, the best way to do it was by selecting the most prudent choice and assuming that George III would choose the precise opposite. A new year, 1782, dawned, and still there was no official move from the English government. The indefatigable David Hartley appeared in Passy via the mails on January 15, asking Franklin if it was true that “America was disposed to enter into a separate treaty with Great Britain.” He enclosed a manuscript of a “conciliatory bill,” which he hoped to introduce into Parliament, calling for a ten years’ truce with America, while England continued to fight France.
Franklin’s reply was ferociously negative. There was not a man in America, he told Hartley, “that would not spurn at the thought of deserting a noble and generous friend, for the sake of a truce with an unjust and cruel enemy.” But he made a point of informing Hartley that he, Adams, Jay, and Henry Laurens had “a special commission” to negotiate a treaty of peace. He added some advice which peacemakers of every era would do well to remember. He urged Hartley to keep out of his communications “invidious expressions.” There was no point in declaring that England would fight to the last man and the last shilling, rather than “be dictated to by France,” or that England would never agree to a recognition of American independence “at the haughty command of France.” If every proposition for peace was construed as an insult, “no treaty of peace is possible.” Then, with that incomparable tact which seldom failed him, Franklin added, “Whatever may be the fate of our poor countries, let you and I die as we have lived, in peace with each other.”
Franklin and Hartley continued to correspond, while the British Parliament churned with promising unrest. The North ministry beat off by a single vote a resolution calling for an end to the war. To buy off some of the critics, the King dumped Lord George Germain, the American secretary who had been in charge of prosecuting the war. Franklin, watching all this closely through the reports from his English correspondents and European newspapers, concluded “the nation is sick of it, but the King is obstinate.” Franklin warned Congress to place no confidence whatsoever in the British declaration that henceforth the war in America would be defensive. “It is only thrown out to lull us,” he said. “Depend upon it, the King hates us cordially, and will be content with nothing short of our extirpation.” If Lord North was able to get a money bill through the House of Commons, Franklin saw “but little probability” of peace negotiations for another year. Again and again, Franklin urged Americans to oil their guns for another campaign, and not be lulled by hopes of peace. There was no doubt that the English were “somewhat humbled at present,” but a little success may make them as insolent as ever. He recalled that when he was “a boxing boy” it was allowed, even after an opponent said he had had enough, and was struggling groggily to his feet, to give him “a rising blow.” Let ours, Franklin said, “be a douser.”
On Thursday evening, March 21, 1782, a messenger brought an interesting letter to Franklin’s door at Passy.
Lord Cholmondely’s compliments to Dr. Franklin; he sets out for London tomorrow evening, and should be gl
ad to see him for five minutes before he went. Ld C. will call upon him at any time in the morning he shall pleased to appoint.
Franklin replied that he would be happy to see his Lordship, whom he had never met. The next morning there appeared in his study a young English nobleman carrying a letter of introduction from Madame Brillon. Franklin’s “daughter” was spending the winter at Nice for her health, and she had met Lord Cholmondely there. Her letter introduced him as an amiable young man, who was interested in the cause of peace. Then she nervously added that he was probably a spy. But the young nobleman tried to pry no secrets out of Franklin. Instead they discussed the obvious swing in Parliament toward peace, and Lord Cholmondely remarked that he was a friend of Lord Shelburne, and he wondered if Franklin might want to send a message to this leader of the Opposition. Franklin accepted the offer and wrote a brief note congratulating Shelburne on “the late resolutions of the Commons.” He said he hoped they would tend “to produce a general peace, which I am sure your Lp with all good men desires, which I wish to see before I die, and to which I shall, with infinite pleasure, contribute everything in my power.”
Franklin wrote this with the hope of placing one more weapon in the hands of the Opposition. By the time Lord Cholmondely arrived in England, a political revolution had occurred in Parliament. Lord North had at last persuaded George III to let him resign, and Lord Rockingham had become First Minister, and named Lord Shelburne, colonial secretary of state. “Great Affairs,” Franklin noted dryly in a journal which he began keeping around this time, “sometimes take their rise from small circumstances.”
Within two weeks, a new visitor appeared on Franklin’s doorstep in Passy. His name was Richard Oswald, and he carried with him a letter from Lord Shelburne. A Scottish merchant who was one year older than Franklin, with no previous diplomatic experience, Oswald was, at first glance, a rather strange choice for a peacemaker. He was a repulsively ugly old man, with only one eye. But he made up for these physical deficiencies with a remarkably engaging manner, and, it soon became apparent, a strong sympathy for the American point of view. Moreover he had the confidence of Shelburne and before the war had been a business associate of Henry Laurens, who had finally been released from the Tower of London, thanks in no small part to Franklin’s efforts. Shelburne enigmatically told Franklin in his letter of introduction that Oswald was “an honest man” whom he had selected “after consulting some of our common friends.” Shelburne vowed that Oswald was “fully appriz’d of my mind” and that he, Shelburne, had “few or no secrets.” He insisted that he wished to retain “the same simplicity and good faith which subsisted between us in transactions of less importance.” In a separate letter Laurens told Franklin that he had assured Oswald that “when the Doctor converses or treats with a man of candour, there is no one more candid than himself.”
If anyone believed this eyewash, it was certainly not Franklin. He was already aware that in the closing days of the North ministry the British had sent emissaries to John Adams in Holland, and to Vergennes, in the hope of creating discord between the various negotiators. A larger cloud looming over the peace negotiations was the instructions sent by Congress to the American delegates. They were told to insist on independence, but in all aspects of the negotiations to rely on the leadership and advice of the ministers of Louis XVI. This bit of legerdemain was the work of the French minister to the United States, the Chevalier de la Luzerne, who liberally disbursed livres among the members of Congress to get it. Both John Jay and Adams threatened to resign when they saw this proviso in their commissions. Franklin made no such protest, and the supporters of John Adams, then and in future eras, have argued that the reason was his almost slavish dependence on the French court. But Franklin’s silence was equally explainable as part of his fundamental policy of keeping his mouth shut as much as possible about issues that might endanger the all-important French alliance.
Although he was well aware of his confreres’ opinion of the structure of the peace negotiations, Franklin lost no time reporting the British offer and urging John Jay and John Adams to come to Paris as soon as possible to join him Jay complied almost immediately, but Adams, deep in the process of negotiating a Dutch loan, declined to show up for months. Simultaneously, Franklin informed Vergennes of Oswald’s arrival, and its significance. The French Foreign Minister decided he would like to take a look at England’s peace ambassador, and Franklin brought Oswald to Versailles for an interview. Vergennes immediately warned Oswald that there was no hope of making a separate peace with any one of the four allies now in the war, France, Spain, Holland, and the United States. While Franklin nodded assent, Vergennes pointed out to the aged emissary that it was impossible for him or any other belligerent to make peace propositions independently, while England, being alone in the war, could and should make the “first propositions” much more easily.
Franklin made no objection whatsoever to this diplomatic marriage of America and France, while he was sitting in Vergennes’ office in Versailles. But the next day at Passy, when he saw Oswald in private, he showed a completely different attitude toward the instructions from Congress about subordinating American policy to France. Oswald was en route back to London, to report to Shelburne. Franklin gave him a letter to his Lordship, warmly endorsing Oswald. “I desire no other channel of communication between us,” he told Shelburne, “than that of Mr. Oswald, which I think Your Lordship has chosen with much judgment.” He called Oswald “a wise and honest man” and vowed that in his negotiations with him, he would act “with all the simplicity and good faith, which you do me the honour to expect from me.” He ended with a brief appeal to Shelburne on behalf of American prisoners in England.”
Franklin let Oswald read the letter before he sealed it, and then while the old Scot was glowing with pleasure at the compliments, Franklin serenely suggested that since they were in such hearty agreement with each other, it might be a good idea to indulge in a little “free communication of sentiments” on some possible clauses in a treaty of peace. He urged Oswald to think in terms of “reconciliation with America” not “a mere peace.” He reminded him of the enormous damage England had done in America, the towns burned, the people scalped by Indian raiding parties. If England wanted to achieve a reconciliation, it behooved her to offer something by way of reparation. Why not, along with independence for the thirteen colonies, throw in Canada and Nova Scotia? By selling these vast empty lands to future settlers, the American government could raise enough money to compensate those who had suffered from British troops and their Indians. It might also be possible to indemnify the loyalists for the confiscation of their estates.
This suggestion to surrender another third of the British Empire sent Oswald into ecstasy. He told Franklin that “nothing . . . could be clearer, more satisfactory, and convincing” than his reasoning. Franklin had jotted down on paper the main outlines of his argument, which be called “Notes for Conversation.” He stated carefully at the bottom of the page, “This is mere conversation matter between Mr. 0. and Mr. F., as the former is not entitled to make propositions, and the latter cannot make any without the concurrence of his colleagues.” This was a formality similar to the signs that highway builders put up warning drivers that the road is legally closed and they are proceeding at their own risk. Franklin knew the rules of the diplomatic game too well to believe (or expect Vergennes to believe) that any proposition made by a legally empowered peace commissioner was less than serious. Oswald regarded the proposition as so important that he talked Franklin into letting him take the “Notes” back to England with him to show Lord Shelburne.
Significantly, Franklin wrote to Adams reporting his conversation with Oswald and sending him copies of several documents, such as Shelburne’s letter. But he did not include a copy of his “Notes for Conversation,” nor tell Adams that he had given the paper to Oswald. Franklin stated his reason candidly in his journal. On reflection, “he was not pleas’d” with having favored reparation for t
he loyalists. The reason was the old and still-bleeding wound of William’s defection. Acutely aware of his enemies in Congress, Franklin was hypersensitive to the possibility that someone might accuse him of using his high office to benefit his Tory son. “I was,” he admitted, “a little asham’d of my weakness in permitting the paper to go out of my hands.”
Less honorable men than Shelburne or Oswald might have used the paper to drive a wedge between Franklin and Vergennes, and even between Franklin and the touchy Adams, who would almost certainly have frowned on Franklin’s negotiating behind his back. Franklin relied not only on the nobleman’s honor but on his own insight into Shelburne’s policy, which was aimed at persuading America to drop out of the war so that England could then get the best possible bargain on peace terms with France. The French had made significant conquests in the West Indies, Africa, and India, which the British wanted very much to regain at the bargaining table, without dispatching expeditionary forces. In terms of immediate cash value, these other possessions were worth much more than Canada, and Franklin, tempting the British to throw the fourteenth colony into the peace pot, was drawing on his insider’s knowledge of the strong lobby which West and East Indian merchants and planters had in Parliament.
Franklin also knew that Canada was one item in the bargaining which France did not want America to win. Vergennes felt that the presence of British power on America’s borders would be a powerful force impelling an independent America into the arms of France. But the knowledge of this fact did not prevent Franklin, the supposed “slave” of Versailles’ policies, from boldly propositioning Oswald.
In Shelburne, Franklin had an adversary who could play the game of double-think and even triple-think as well as double-talk, as skillfully as anyone in the world. While he was avowing to Franklin that he was in favor of peace, simplicity and plain dealing, the earl was shipping secret negotiators in all directions to find a crack in the American front. One was rushed to New York to find out if Congress could be persuaded to shift its ground behind Franklin’s back. Henry Laurens, released from the Tower of London on parole, was sent to France to discuss the possibility of a separate peace with John Adams. He rebuffed him emphatically. Adams immediately informed Franklin of what the Ambassador had undoubtedly suspected from the first. “Lord Shelburne still flatters the King with ideas of conciliation and a separate peace.” Adams accused Shelburne of nothing more than political maneuvers to raise the stocks and shore up British finances. “If you agree to it,” Adams said, showing the same deference to Franklin that Franklin had been showing to him, “I will also agree never to see another messenger that is not a plenipotentiary,” that is, an emissary fully empowered by the British government, to negotiate peace.
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