In 1764 the sugar-duties were somewhat reduced, as a boon to the colonies, but new duties were imposed on articles which had hitherto been imported free; at the same time, Lord Grenville proposed a new impost in the form of a stamp-tax. All pamphlets, almanacs, newspapers; all bonds, notes, leases, policies of insurance, together with all papers used for legal purposes, in order to be valid, were to be drawn on stamped paper, to be purchased only from the king’s officers appointed for that purpose. This plan met with the entire approbation of the British parliament, but its enactment was deferred until the following year, in order that the colonies might have an opportunity of expressing their feelings on the subject. Though deference was thus apparently paid to their wishes, the intention of the British government was no longer concealed. The preamble of the bill openly avowed the intention of raising a revenue from “His Majesty’s dominions in America;” the same act gave increased power to the admiralty-courts, and provided more stringent means for enforcing the payment of duties and punishing their evasion.
The colonies received the news of these proposed measures with strong indignation. Massachusetts instructed her agent in London to deny the right of parliament to impose duties and taxes on a people who were not represented in the House of Commons. “If we are not represented,” said they, “we are slaves.” A combination of all the colonies for the defence of their common interests was suggested.
Otis, who had published a pamphlet on Colonial Rights, seeing the tide of public indignation rising very high, inculcated “obedience” and “the duty of submission,” but this was not a doctrine which the Americans were then in a state of mind to listen to. Better suited to their feeling was Thatcher’s pamphlet against all parliamentary taxation. Rhode Island expressed the same; so did Maryland, by their secretary of the province; so did Virginia, by a leading member of her House of Burgesses.[[11]] Strong as the expression of resentment was in the colonies, addresses in a much milder strain were prepared to the king and parliament from most of them, New York alone expressing boldly and decidedly the true nature of her feelings, the same tone being maintained by Rhode Island.
STAMP ACT RIOTS.
But the minds of the British monarch and his ministers were not to be influenced either by the remonstrances and pleadings of the colonies or their agents in London, or of their few friends in parliament. Grenville, the minister, according to pre-arrangement, brought in his bill for collecting a stamp-tax in America, and it passed the House of Commons five to one, and in the House of Lords there was neither division on the subject nor the slightest opposition. This act was to come into operation on the 1st day of November of the same year. It was on the occasion of its discussion in the House of Commons, that Colonel Barre, who had fought with Wolfe at Louisburg and Quebec, electrified the house with his burst of eloquence in reply to one of the ministers who spoke of the colonists as “children planted by our care, nourished by our indulgence, and protected by our arms.” “They planted by your care!” retorted Barre. “No; your oppression planted them in America. They nourished by your indulgence! They grew up by your neglect of them. They protected by your arms! Those sons of liberty have nobly taken up arms in your defence. I claim to know more of America than most of you, having been conversant in that country. The people, I believe, are as truly loyal subjects as the king has, but a people jealous of their liberties, and who will vindicate them should they ever be violated.”
The day after the Stamp Act had passed the house, Benjamin Franklin, then in London as agent for Philadelphia, wrote the news to his friend, Charles Thompson. “The sun of liberty,” said he, “is set; you must light up the candles of industry and economy.” “We shall light up torches of quite another kind,” was the reply.
Anticipating opposition to this unpopular measure, a new clause was introduced in the Mutiny Act, authorising the sending of any number of troops into the colonies, which, by an especial enactment, were to be found with “quarters, fire-wood, bedding, drink, soap and candles,” by the colonists.
The news of the passage of the Stamp Act called forth a universal burst of indignation. At Boston and Philadelphia the bells were muffled, and rung a funeral peal; at New York the act was carried through the streets with a death’s head affixed to it, and labelled, “The folly of England and the ruin of America.”[[12]]
The House of Assembly was sitting when the news reached Virginia, and the leading aristocratic members hesitated to express an opinion. Several days passed, and nothing was said; but the popular sentiment found an utterance from the lips of Patrick Henry, a young lawyer and member of the Assembly, who introduced a series of resolutions, which were, in fact, the key-note to all that followed. The first four resolutions asserted the rights and privileges of the colonists; the last denied the authority of any power whatsoever, excepting their own provincial Assembly, to impose taxes upon them, and denounced any person as an enemy to the colonies, who should by writing or speaking maintain the contrary. These strong resolutions led to a hot debate, during which Henry, carried away by the fervour of his patriotism, styled the king of England a tyrant. “Cæsar,” said he, “had his Brutus; Charles I. his Cromwell; and George III.——” the cry of “Treason! Treason!” interrupted him—“and George III.,” continued the corrected orator, “may profit by their example. If that be treason, make the most of it!” Spite of strong opposition, the resolutions passed; the last and most emphatic, by only the majority of one vote. The next day, in the absence of Henry, it was rescinded. But the whole had already gone to Philadelphia in manuscript, and soon circulating through the colonies, met with a warm response, and gave an impetus to the popular feeling.