BY GEORGE E. ELLIS, D. D., LL. D.,
President Mass. Hist. Society.
THE assertion needs no qualification that the thirteen colonies would not in the beginning have furnished delegates to a congress with the avowed purpose of seeking a separation from the mother country; and we may also affirm, that, with a possible forecast in the minds of some two or three members, such a result was not apprehended. If any deceptive methods—as was charged at the time—were engaged in turning a congress avowedly called to secure a redress of grievances into an agency for securing independence, they will appear in the sharp scrutiny with which we may now study the inner history of the subject. And if an explanation of the course of the Congress can be found, consistent with its perfect sincerity, we must then seek to trace the influences alike of the new light which came in upon the delegates, and of successive aggravating measures of the British government, in substituting independence as its object. Though it is certain that Samuel Adams, fretting under the hesitations of Congress, had proposed to an ardent sympathizer that the four New England colonies should act in that direction by themselves, his own clear judgment would have satisfied him that that step would have been futile unless the other colonies followed it. If there were but a single colony from which no response could be drawn, the consequences would have been obstructive. That different sections of the country should have furnished leaders so in accord as Samuel Adams, Richard H. Lee, and Gadsden was a most felicitous condition. A congress, then, composed of delegates from all the colonies was the indispensable and the only practicable method for working out the scheme of independence, and even such a congress must avoid basing its action on local grievances. The reserve which the delegates from Massachusetts found it politic to practise, in not obtruding their special grievances, was well decided upon from the first, and proved to be effective. That the circumstances required patience in such men as the Adamses is abundantly evident from the frankness with which they wrote outside of Congress of the temporizing and dilatoriness of what went on in it.
There is no general assertion which comes nearer to the truth on this subject than that, from the first colonization of America by the English, the spirit of independence was latent here, and was in a steady process of natural development. George Chalmers, with the opportunities of a clerk of the Board of Trade, made an inquisitive private study of State Papers, and reached the full conviction that the colonists from the start, not only quietly assumed, but really aimed at an independence. He quotes abundant warnings, and charges the successive crown officials here and at home with culpable negligence in not acting on these warnings when they might have done so.[661] The pages of Chalmers confirm and illustrate the fact that the colonists lived in the enjoyment of a more real autonomy, and a do-as-you-please enfranchisement, than was shared by home subjects. There went with this a sort of assumption, a bold conceit, a sturdy truculency, which could be easily trained into defiance.[662]
Large allowance also must be made on account of the fact that the colonies had mastered their most critical perils wholly from their own resources. English benevolence in private individuals had generously fostered some enterprises of learning and charity here. But government had left the exiles to fight their own battles against the savages and the earliest French enemies. Far back in colonial times Governor Winthrop records that, in some emergent strait of the exiles, a suggestion was made of turning to England for help. The suggestion was shrewdly put aside, lest, having asked such aid, they might incur obligations.
It was of course admitted that the colonists had come under some form of obligation to the home government during the exhausting campaigns of the French and Indian wars. A question, however, soon came under debate, as to what that obligation involved. Great Britain assumed that it justified a demand upon the colonists for revenue. The colonists roused themselves to repudiate any obligation to be enforced by the payment of a tax imposed by a Parliament in which they had no representation. It was just here that the latent spirit of independence led the colonists to examine to the root their relations of allegiance, and, on the other hand, their natural rights. The General Court of Massachusetts, in 1768, had admitted "that his Majesty's high court of Parliament is the supreme legislative power over the whole empire." It took less than ten years to bring it about that Massachusetts either had not understood what it said,—at least, had not meant to say exactly that,—or had come to think differently about it.
In the Bill of Rights coming from the first Congress the committee say: "In the course of their inquiry they find many infringements and violations of rights, which they pass over for the present." These previous impositions and disabilities came in, however, afterwards for their full share of rhetoric and argument. As we trace the method in which the controversy with government matured, we mark these stages of it. Objection and forcible resistance found their first occasion when, at the close of the French war, government devised the policy of the Stamp Act. The colonists came to distinguish this as creating an internal tax, in contrast to the previous external taxes, through the laws regulating commerce, to which heretofore they had not objected. Vindicating their resistance to the new internal tax, they came to find similar grievances in the former external taxes. So they were teaching themselves first to define and then to assert independence.
We have become accustomed to associate with the term Congress the idea of a legally constituted organic body, with defined powers authoritatively assigned to it, the exercise of which is binding on its constituents. Our Continental congresses were of quite another sort, and had no authority save what might be granted to the wisdom and practicability of the measures they advised. Most certain it is that only a very small minority of the people of the colonies were concerned in calling the early congresses. As certain, also, is it that a very large preponderance of the people of all classes were then strongly opposed to any violent measures, to sundering ties of allegiance, or to seeking anything beyond a peaceful redress of grievances. On the whole, while it must be admitted that Congress was generally in advance of its constituency, it knew how to temporize and to give intervals of pause in steadily working on to its ultimate declaration. "Natural leaders" always start forth in such a cause, and they learn their skill by practice.
When it became evident that, instead of any healing of the breach, the whole activity of the Congress tended to widen it, a regret was expressed in some quarters that, by the connivance and consent of the royal governors, and through the regular legislative processes, a more legal and conservative character had not been secured to this meeting of delegates,—as if dangerous plotting might thereby have been averted. But the patriot leaders of the movement were too well advised to look for any such official coöperation. The very life of their scheme depended upon its wholly popular conception. Nor could the consent of governors and formal assemblies have been won to it. The whole method of the steady strengthening of the spirit of alienation from Great Britain was a working of popular feeling in channels different from those of ordinary official direction and oversight.