Of what went on within the hall we heard little. A declaration of rights was set forth, committees of correspondence appointed, and addresses issued to the king and people of Great Britain. Congress broke up, and the winter went by; Gage was superseded by Sir William Howe; Clinton and Burgoyne were sent out, and ten thousand men were ordered to America to aid the purposes of the king.
The cold season was soon upon us, and the eventful year of ‘75 came in with a great fall of snow, but with no great change for me and those I loved. A sullen rage possessed the colonies, and especially Massachusetts, where the Regulation Acts were quietly disregarded. No counsellors or jurymen would serve under the king’s commission. The old muskets of the French and Indian wars were taken from the corners and put in order. Men drilled, and women cast bullets.
Failing to corrupt Samuel Adams and Hancock, Gage resolved to arrest them at Concord and to seize on the stores of powder and ball. “The heads of traitors will soon decorate Temple Bar,” said a London gazette; and so the march of events went on. In the early spring Dr. Franklin came home in despair of accommodation; he saw nothing now to do but to fight, and this he told us plainly. His very words were in my mind on the night of April 23d of this year of ‘75, as I was slowly and thoughtfully walking over the bridge where Walnut crossed the Dock Creek, and where I stayed for a moment to strike flint and steel in order to light my pipe. Of a sudden I heard a dull but increasing noise to north, and then the strong voice of the bell in the state-house. It was not ringing for fire. Somewhat puzzled, I walked swiftly to Second street, where were men and women in groups. I stopped a man and asked what had chanced. He said, “A battle! a battle! and General Gage killed.” Couriers had reached the coffee-houses, but no one on the street seemed to have more than this vague information; all were going toward Chestnut street, where a meeting was to be held, as I learned, and perhaps fuller news given out.
I pushed on, still hearing the brazen clamour of the bell. As I crossed High street I came upon James Wilson and Mr. Graydon. They stopped me to tell of the great tidings just come by swift post-riders of the fight at Lexington. After giving me the full details, Wilson left us. Said Graydon? very serious: “Mr. Wynne, how long are you to be in deciding? Come and join Mr. Cadwalader’s troop. Few of us ride as well as you.”
I said I had been thinking.
“Oh, confound your thinkings! It is action now. Let the bigwigs think.”
I could not tell a man I then knew but slightly how immense was my reluctance to make this complete break with the creed of my father, and to absolutely disobey him, as I knew I must do if I followed my inclinations; nor did I incline to speak of such other difficulties as still kept me undecided. I said at last that if I took up arms it would be with Macpherson or Cowperthwaite’s Quakers.
“Why not?” he said. “But, by George! man, do something! There are, I hear, many Friends among the Cowperthwaite Blues. Do they give orders with ‘thou’ and ‘thee,’ I wonder?”
I laughed, and hurried away. The town was already in a state of vast excitement, women in tears, and men stopping even those they did not know to ask for news. I ran all the way to my aunt’s, eager to tell it. In the hall I stood a minute to get my breath, and reflect. I knew full well, as I recognised various voices, that my intelligence would mean tears for some, and joy for others.
My long-taught Quaker self-control often served me as well as the practised calm I observed to be the expression assumed by the best-bred officers of the army on occasions that caused visible emotion in others. I went in quietly, seeing a well-amused party of dames and younger folk, with, over against the chimneypiece, the great Benjamin Franklin, now in the full prime of varied usefulness, a benevolent face, and above it the great dome of head, which had to me even then a certain grandeur. He was talking eagerly with Mistress Wynne—two striking figures.