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THE AMERICAN CRISIS, AND A LETTER TO SIR GUY CARLETON, ON THE MURDER OF CAPTAIN HUDDY, AND THE INTENDED RETALIATION ON CAPTAIN ASGILL, OF THE GUARDS.

BY THOMAS PAINE, AUTHOR OF COMMON SENSE—RIGHTS OF MAN—AGE OF REASON—AND THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE ENGLISH SYSTEM OF FINANCE.

LONDON: PRINTED AND SOLD BY DANIEL ISAAC EATON, No. 74, NEWGATE-STREET.

IN CONGRESS, AUGUST 26, 1785.

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RESOLVED, That the early, unſolicited and continued labours of Mr. THOMAS PAINE. in explaining and enforcing the principles of the late revolution, by ingenious and timely publications* upon the nature of liberty and civil government, have been well received by the citizens of theſe States, and merit the approbation of Congreſs and that in conſideration of theſe ſervices, and the benefits produced thereby, MR. PAINE is entitled to a liberal gratification from the United States.

OCTOBER 3, 1785.

RESOLVED, That the board of treaſury take order for paying to Mr. THOMAS PAINE, the ſum of three thouſand dollars, for the conſiderations mentioned in the reſolution of the 26th of Auguſt laſt.

THE AMERICAN CRISIS*.
No. I.

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Projicit ampullas. HOR.
On ſouls of ſlav'ry more than death afraid,
Gage waſtes his pardons and his gaſconade.

GENERAL GAGE's Proclamation lies before me, though it is not a ſubject for criticiſm, yet it deſerves notice; we may overlook the ſtyle, but muſt deteſt the doctrine; with what judgment the General may command, with what ſpirit he may fight, with what prudence he may retreat, is yet unknown; but if his conduct in the field is equal to his compoſition in the cloſet, the ſucceſs of his majeſty's arms muſt be owing more to fate than judgment. This murderous proclamation opens with great ſolemnity, bold aſſertions, and notorious falſehoods; it proceeds with the perſevering ſpirit of the times; but, alas! its imperious offers of clemency, and its conceited menaces, [2] are vain alike. The one will make no converts for want of confidence; and the other can make no cowards for want of power. To ſubjugate America entirely, by means of our fleet and ſtanding army, is impoſſible; the thought only proves that adminiſtration is as weak as it is wicked; ſhould they be determined, like their miſguided maſter, to perſevere, they will, ere long, find it impracticable either to go forward, or to retreat; they will (let them mark the words of an unknown writer) oblige the people, throughout the empire of Great Britain, to take the power again into their own hands; even anarchy is preferable to deſpotiſm, eſpecially while the government is in the hands of fools, madmen, knaves, and tyrants; hard uſage juſtifies hard names.—Let us now proceed to this alluring proclamation, this flimſy, political trap for antiquated Roman virtue.

The General thought fit to arraign the conduct of the Americans as incendiaries and traitors againſt the conſtitutional authority of the ſtate; if the word incendiary has any meaning in the Engliſh language, it can only be applied with propriety to one who is the firſt kindler of commotions in a ſtate; according to our conſtitution, the very head that wears the crown may be an incendiary, by encouraging a faction, which may as well originate in the court as in the cottage, if the King and his [3] Parliament, devoted to a vile adminiſtration, combine to perſevere in carrying any one point againſt the conſtitution, they are from that moment a faction (incendiaries) and not a government; they are traitors, traitors to the people. Let me now aſk, whether faction firſt took riſe in America, or the mother country? In that ſpot (wherever it may be) we muſt look for theſe incendiaries and traitors. I have put the queſtion fairly; it is ſimple, plain, and determinative.—I pauſe for a reply— not from the mouth of a haughty penſioner, a Scotch placeman, or a fawning courtier; but by the deciſion of a true conſtitutionaliſt I am willing to abide. In the interim, I ſhall declare my own opinion—That the mother country, repreſented as ſhe is by a corrupt majority, firſt formed a faction herſelf againſt the laws and liberties of America; nay, ſhe has done more, ſhe has artfully formed even a religious faction (the worſt of all others) upon that great continent. Her government has of late been adminiſtered upon ſuch miſtaken, narrow, rotten principles, that ſhe did not think herſelf ſecure till ſhe had eſtabliſhed Popery by act of Parliament at Quebec, by way of fomenting diſſentions and enmity in thoſe dominions ſhe would enſlave, or adminiſtration knew and feared the principles of the people upon that continent. They had read that their anceſtors were Puritans, and no friends to tyranny or popery; [4] they knew their deſigns, and planted Papiſts in their rear to keep their rebellious ſubjects, as they call them, between two fires, and to deter them from taking refuge in the back ſettlements; but they have numbers and virtue ſufficient to enable them to keep, or at leaſt to recover their ground. Thus have a corrupt majority, falſely called the Great Council of the Nation, themſelves departed, and encouraged Government to depart, in this as well as numberleſs other inſtances, from the line of right laid down at the Revolution, a period but little reverenced by our State-pilots, Bute and Mansfield; theſe two men, with their lacqueys in and out of Parliament, are the real and only incendiaries of America. The wretched Americans, unjuſtly branded by every hireling with the name of traitors, are only buſied, and juſtly buſied, in extinguiſhing thoſe flames, which ſuch a government (if it deſerves the name of one) has kindled; whether the Americans are traitors, or unhappy ſubjects making a lawful reſiſtance to repeated tyrannies, muſt be determined, not by hirelings, who aſſaſſinate for pay, but by thoſe who pay them with reluctance, by the collective body of the people, in whom all power virtually reſides, from whom it originates, and to whom it muſt perhaps ſhortly diſſolve again. What the General calls treaſon, this collective body (an awful tribunal) will pronounce conſtitutional reſiſtance.

[5] The Americans are next accuſed of a fatal progreſſion of crimes againſt the conſtitutional authority of the ſtate.—By the term conſtitutional, if the General means an authority conſtitutionally exerciſed, I deny his aſſertion; it is as little founded on truth, as our miniſterial meaſures are upon ſound policy, juſtice and humanity; when the principles of the conſtitution are abandoned (as they have lately been) the ſtate may proceed authoritively, or rather deſpotically, but it cannot be ſaid to act conſtitutionally.—That the Americans avow rebellion, I deny likewiſe; that they avow reſiſtance (as their brave anceſtors once did, and as all true Revolutioniſts will do) every Briton, as an enemy to ſlavery, muſt rejoice.

For the patience and lenity of the King's (in truth of Lord Bute's and Lord Mansfield's) government, I appeal to facts. Thoſe, who are maſters of the diſputes between England and America, and ſtand unbiaſſed by corruption, will paſs an impartial judgment between the oppreſſors and oppreſſed; we doubt not but the Sovereign's patience is equal to his other godlike attributes; but we know that the patience of America has been ſeverely tried; among other invaſions ſhe has been ſtripped of the moſt valuable privilege, the birthright of a Britiſh ſubject, trial by juries. In many other inſtances government has attempted to enſlave them; and ſhall the aggreſſors preſume to [6] boaſt thus of their patience and lenity? At what time, in what particulars, were they exerted? Were the humble ſupplications and remonſtrances of America received by either, and by which of the three great eſtates of this kingdom? If ſo, a Norton and Apſley, or ſome miniſterial paricide, can inform us; but if they were (and they really were) rejected with contempt by all, what pretence, what effrontery have the tools and ſycophants of power, to inſult the underſtandings of mankind with ſounds? What hopes (for ſuch the General talks of) could America ever entertain of ſuch an Adminiſtration, ſuch a Parliament, and ſuch a Sovereign? She has, alas! been driven to deſpair by all; nay, her ſupplications have been finally anſwered by thoſe divine effects of patience and lenity—Famine and the ſword. Thus have thoſe who are entruſted (as the General ſays) with ſupreme rule, manifeſted to all the world, that they bear not the ſword in vain. Could George the Third, that mirror of perſeverance, that idol of an abandoned Miniſtry, preſent the ſword of juſtice, like the old heathen emperor, to the people, and bid them uſe it for him, or againſt him, according to his deſerts? If he could, he then bears not the ſword in vain, but in defiance of heaven and earth, in defiance of all laws human and divine; nor can he bear it long.

[7] But the moſt ſacred rights of the crown and people of Great Britain (ſays the General) have been infringed. It is a moſt audacious piece of military inſolence, after the late act of tyranny aſſented to by the ſteady Sovereign, to join the names of crown and people together, as if their views and intereſt were ſtill, as in truth they ought to be, the ſame. Blind to its own intereſt, to its honour, to its eſtabliſhment, to its ſacred engagements at the altar, has the crown, whoſe ſole aim is plainly deſpotic power, conſulted the intereſts of the people in its diſputes with America? The rights of the crown and people were ſtipulated anew at the Revolution. But has the crown kept its compact with the people of America? If not, by whom have the rights of the people been infringed?—As to the rights of the crown, as ſtipulated at the Revolution, they are well known, and have been religiouſly ſubmitted to both at home and abroad, even in rebellious America; but when it begins to ſtretch out the arm of uſurpation, it is time that its deſpotic ſinews ſhould be ſhrunk.

That the Americans have been guilty (and bravely guilty) of premeditation and conſpiracy is moſt true. They have been provoked to action, and they were too wiſe to act without thinking. They have moſt virtuouſly conſpired againſt tyrants, and diſdained to wear the chains of the moſt pious King, the wiſeſt Adminiſtration, and moſt [8] incorrupt Parliament that Great Britain ever knew.—For theſe demerits the fulneſs of chaſtiſement is threatened. But ſuppoſe the chaſtiſers ſhould be chaſtiſed? I have always underſtood that true courage was ever accompanied by the greateſt modeſty. Hiſtory is full of theſe examples. But our Miniſtry (like their Sandwich and their Denbigh) have idly thought that America may be ſubdued by gaſconade. Such corrupt wretches are ſtrangers to the great effects of virtue. Sad experience will inform them ſoon that all human ſouls are not as abject as their own.

The Americans are next accuſed of an unnatural revolt. If by this expreſſion is meant a revolt againſt their natural allegiance, I anſwer, that when protection is firſt unjuſtly withdrawn on the Sovereign's part, all allegiance ceaſes on the ſubject's. The ſubject muſt then recur to the rights of nature; reſiſtance may enſue, but no revolt; for the Sovereign, by breaking his compact, has ſet the ſubject free. A politician would reaſon thus; but a ſoldier has no idea of any mode of government but by the ſword.—We are then told that our coloniſts dared not truſt their cauſe to the impartial judgment of the public, or even to the diſpaſſionate reflection of their followers.—But with what truth? Were not the General Congreſſes throughout the continent of America ſo many open appeals to the judgment of an impartial public? [9] Were not the flagitious prints, the popular harangues, the declamation from the pulpits (which the General complains of) ſo many incitements to the cool, diſpaſſionate reflection of their followers? Indeed, General, you ſhould always reaſon ſword in hand. The pen is not your fort. You are loſt upon paper, and muſt at laſt ſubmit to be vanquiſhed in the field. Putnam is in earneſt.

The poor Americans are charged in the next place with a ſuppreſſion of truth; with obſtructing every appeal to the real intereſt of the people; with the groſſeſt forgeries, calumnies, and abſurdities. To ſay that the Americans have been guilty of ſuppreſſing truth, forging falſehoods, venting calumnies, and impoſing abſurdities upon their party, is but a kind of petulant recrimination. Theſe diſhonourable proceedings, if true, are but the common ſtratagems of war. They are not peculiar to one ſide only, for the King's party has practiſed them; all the inſidious ſpies of Government have practiſed them; General Carleton has practiſed them moſt baſely; you yourſelf, General Gage, have practiſed them as diſhonourably; but after all, is this malicious ſplenetic recrimination a proof of treaſon and rebellion againſt theſe injured people? In ſpite of all this foul language, the world will think that there is as much veracity, virtue, candour, honour, and true courage on the part of freemen [10] who defend, as on the part of tyrants who invade their liberties. I now wiſh to be informed of theſe appeals which have been made (if the General ſays true) to the real intereſt of America.

Through what channels have they paſſed? Have either of the three great eſtates of this kingdom, or has the Miniſter, or even a ſingle tool or lacquey of Adminiſtration, has a North, a Sandwich, or a Denbigh, once condeſcended to adviſe, admoniſh, or expoſtulate with America? Has the Secretary of State for that department ever had orders to write in ſuch a ſtrain? Have not all Lord Bute's ſervile clan endeavoured, on the contrary, to carry every thing with a high hand, and a menacing audacious front? Have they not ſhut their eyes, ears and hearts, againſt every humble approach, every filial interceſſion of America? Theſe inſolent invaders of royal charters, human rights, and eſtabliſhed laws, have been too much ſluſhed with the hopes of conqueſt, to wiſh cordially for a reconciliation with America. They have induſtriouſly ſtopped up every opening towards it. The mouths of our patriots and our citizens have been ſtopped by corrupt votes and majeſtic inſults; as to the propoſal made by Lord North in his Houſe of Commons, it was calculated for the contempt it met with. His Lordſhip was not quite fool enough to think it could take [11] place. By whom then has any appeal to the real intereſt of America been made by thoſe who would exterminate the people?

The proſtitution of the preſs makes the next item in the General's catalogue of complaints. If the American preſs has been proſtituted, I pray that Doctor Johnſon may be called upon to declare, upon the honour of a court-penſioner, how gloriouſly the Engliſh preſs has been employed in the cauſe of truth by his brother Garreteers; even the eloquence of the laity and clergy has been exerted (ſays the General) to excite and juſtify devaſtation and maſſacre. Can a ſoldier, who ſhould be a man of honour, aſſert ſo groſs a falſehood? It is notorious that no one popular harangue, as the General calls them, has been made in America, with any other view than that of animating their gallant countrymen to a juſt defence of their liberties, properties, and lives; the nobleſt purpoſe of which the diſtinguiſhed gift of the ſpeech can ſerve. That the brave and virtuous Americans have animated each other in ſupport of their national rights, will be recorded in hiſtory to their immortal honour; that our perfidious government has armed the Papiſts, whom they patronize at Quebec, with a view of deſtroying their Proteſtant ſubjects, is a circumſtance which will make a figure of a different caſt in hiſtory, and will moſt aſſuredly bring the adviſers of that meaſure to an [12] ignominious death, in ſpite of the ſtanding army employed and paid at preſent for no other purpoſe than that of protecting tyrants; whether popular harangues made in one caſe, or arms ſupplied in the other, is moſt characteriſtic of national honour and virtue, may eaſily be determined. And to this the baſe, the cowardly, the traiterous deſign of government, after all the parade and military bluſter, of ſurrendering Canada to the French, a vaſt province acquired laſt war, at the expence of ſo much blood and treaſure. This puſillanimous thought has been ſuggeſted to gratify a deſpairing tyrant. I now accompany the General to the account he gives of the 19th of April laſt, reſpecting an attack upon the King's troops from behind walls, and lurking holes. Be it ſo; yet who can believe that the King's troops ſhould have been unprepared for ambuſcade, or any acts of hoſtile frenzy, as the General calls it? Have not the Americans been driven to this frenzy? Is it not common for an enemy to take every advantage? Is it not uncommon, nay impoſſible, that troops, charged with vengeance, ſhould be unprepared to take it? They could not be unprepared for taking it, if they were armed; nor would they decline taking it, if they were Scotchmen. Their not taking it, therefore, muſt be owing either to a want of ſpirit or want of conduct, or a want of power. Since that period (of the 19th of April) ſays the [13] General, the rebels have derived confidence from impunity.—Is it a matter of merit then, with a mercenary ſoldiery, that they did not execute what they were unable to effect? This is talking like a driveller, General! But theſe rebels, theſe traiterous Revolutioniſts in America, have dared to fire upon the King's ſhips and ſubjects—Granted—but have not theſe ſhips invaded them, have not theſe ſubjects (why did you not ſay ſoldiers and marines) threatened their deſtruction? Is the doctrine of paſſive obedience, and non-reſiſtance to the divine will of tyrants, to be obſerved by the inſulted and enſlaved Americans, till they felt their Sovereign's bayonet in their boſoms?—Theſe rebels have proceeded even farther; they have affected (ſays our General) to hold the King's army beſieged—Have they? May heavens proſper ſuch a glorious piece of affectation! Every conſtitutionaliſt throughout the Britiſh empire hopes they will not only affect it, but effect it: every true born Briton longs to ſee the final triumph of America marked as an epocha in the future annals of his country; nor would their joy be checked by the appearance of another bleſſed martyrdom in the calendar. Tyranny and martyrdom, like repreſentation and taxation, ſhould go together.

The charge of invaſion upon private property, and a wantonneſs of cruelty, is not only indecent, but imprudent, from that mouth which commands [14] the King's banditti in America, who have ſo daringly themſelves invaded the liberties, the properties, the laws and lives of a free people with the ſword, merely becauſe they claim, and will maintain, the rights of Engliſhmen.

As to the actions of the nineteenth of April laſt, which ſo often haunt the General's mind, they ought to ſtand for ever recorded in the calendar, to the eternal honour of America, who that day not only totally diſappointed, but bravely reſiſted no conſiderable party of the King's military aſſaſſins. If any improprieties were committed on that nineteenth of April by the American troops, which cannot eaſily be pardoned by ſo conſummate a ſoldier as General Gage; yet their gallant behaviour on the ſeventeenth of June following muſt ſurely have deſerved his admiration. They did not fire then from behind walls and lurking holes, but bravely faced, attacked and defeated the tyrant's forces. This appears ſufficiently, even from the letter which has been artfully impoſed on the public for General Gage's genuine account of that action; but let the Miniſter ſhew forth the General's real letter, if he dares. His maſter loſt his colour when he read it; and I verily believe that even Lord North (the oſtenſible Miniſter) is not himſelf entruſted with the true contents of it. His Lordſhip is but the drudge. He has the name without the confidence of a Miniſter, and meanly [15] ſubmits to be reſponſible for iniquities not his own The real genuine letter (ſo dreadful are its tidings) is a ſecret to all but the tyrant, and his gemini, the Caſtor and Pollux of his cabinet, Bute and Mansfield. They dare not publiſh it.

I am now come to the laſt effort within the bounds of the General's duty, to ſpare the effuſion of blood, which he is ſtrictly charged to ſhed without mercy or reluctance. The General, according to his orders, moſt dutifully diſpatched his bluſtering Colonel Smith to commence the intended carnage. This bully failed; yet blood was unnaturally and unjuſtifiably drawn by our hireling cutthroats at Concord; and then the General, in commiſeration of the calamities which his murderous army had occaſioned, moſt humanely offers, two months afterwards (when he found himſelf unequal to the taſk of conqueſt) his Majeſty's moſt gracious pardon to theſe unhappy ſufferers. Your treacherous offer is diſdained—away with it!— and maſſacre (if you can) but without an inſult, the braveſt men in the Britiſh empire. Did not the anceſtors of theſe brave ſpirits ſpurn the inſidious proclamation of that tyrant Charles, and ſhall their ſons fall a prey to the deluſive orders of a weaker tyrant, and a more conſummate hypocrite? —Will not the gallant Adams, and the meritorious Hancock fall with their country, if it is her fate to fall? Or ſhould they be unfortunately taken [16] priſoners, will they not caſt an indignant ſmile upon the wretch who ſhould affect to pardon them, after he had enſlaved their country? The proclaiming all America (except the King's Roman Catholic ſubjects, and good allies at Quebec) traitors, is but a contemptible echo of that act of parliament which declared them ſo long ſince, for conſulting and preparing only againſt an intended maſſacre by ſword and famine.—America deſpiſes your threats, your clemency, and all naval and military terror and parade, thou impotent tyrant! This General concludes his gaſconade with a moſt notorious falſehood, by aſſerting that the preſent unnatural rebellion of the Americans (as he calls it) has ſtopped the adminiſtration of juſtice in that country.—For ſhame, for ſhame, General! A ſoldier, and guilty of a lye (—Your maſter knows, you know, the whole world knows, that the rotten Parliament of this nation not only ſtopped the courſe, but extinguiſhed every benefit of the common law (the ſubjects great inheritance) when they dared take away the privilege of juries. The deſign was baſe, atrocious, glaring, perfidious, and tyrannical; but why does this unthinking tool of military power call the royal charter of the province to his aid; that charter, which his maſter and his parliamentary junto has ſo groſsly violated? Is that charter unfavourable to freedom, and can it now ſerve the cauſe of ſlavery? Has it hitherto [17] been ſlighted, and is it now made uſe of to betray the people for whoſe protection it was granted? Has it been ſo often diſallowed, with an indignant ſneer, when America petitioned for redreſs, and is it now ſet up againſt her by the ſhallow tools of power, when ſhe is defending thoſe rights and liberties which it gives her? Is this royal charter now called in aid of deſpotic meaſures, through weakneſs, inſolence, or inadvertency? Why, General! General! Your haughty unrelenting maſter tramples on the royal charters of his wiſer predeceſſors.

I tell thee, Homicide, that the faith of Kings is now no more. Our very laws muſt ſhortly truckle to the ſword. The law martial which you have juſt proclaimed, and of which you may ſhortly taſte yourſelf, will, if you ſucceed in America, be at length the only law of England. Mansfield is an advocate for ſummary proceedings.

The die is caſt in the great divan (the wiſe council of this nation) and thoſe who would RISE AGAIN to the STATE and LIBERTIES of ENGLISHMEN muſt RISE through BLOOD. The parricides of this conſtitution, General, are to be found in England, NOT IN AMERICA, nor can HAPPINESS, PEACE, LIBERTY, and LAW, be now reſtored (unleſs Providence miraculouſly intervenes) but by ANOTHER REVOLUTION.

C. S.

AMERICAN CRISIS.
No. II.

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THESE ARE THE TIMES THAT TRY MEN'S SOULS. The ſummer ſoldier and the ſun-ſhine patriot will, in this criſis, ſhrink from the ſervice of his country: but he that ſtands it now, deſerves the thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not eaſily conquered: yet we have this conſolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we eſteem too lightly: 'tis dearneſs only that gives every thing its value. Heaven knows how to ſet a proper price upon its goods; and it would be ſtrange, indeed, if ſo celeſtial an article as freedom ſhould not be highly rated. Britain, with an army to enforce her tyranny, has declared that ſhe has a right, not only to tax, but "to bind us in all caſes whatſoever:" and if being bound in that manner is not ſlavery, there is not ſuch a thing as ſlavery upon earth. Even the expreſſion is impious: for ſo unlimited a power can belong only to God.

[19] Whether the independence of the continent was declared too ſoon, or delayed too long, I will not now enter into as an argument: my own ſimple opinion is, that had it been eight months earlier, it would have been much better. We did not make a proper uſe of laſt winter; neither could we, while we were in a dependent ſituation. However, the fault, if it were one, was all our own: we have none to blame but ourſelves*. But no great deal is loſt yet: all that Howe has been doing for this month paſt, is rather a ravage than a conqueſt, which the ſpirit of the Jerſeys a year ago, would have quickly repulſed, and which time and a little reſolution will ſoon recover.

I have as little ſuperſtition in me as any man living: but my ſecret opinion has ever been, and ſtill is, that God will not give up a people to military deſtruction, or leave them unſupportedly to periſh, who had ſo earneſtly and ſo repeatedly ſought to avoid the calamities of war, by every decent method which wiſdom could invent. Neither have I ſo much of the infidel in me, as to ſuppoſe that he has relinquiſhed the government of the world, and given us up to the care of devils: and as I do not, I cannot ſee on what grounds the king [20] can look up to heaven for help againſt us. A common murderer, a highwayman, or a houſebreaker, has as good a pretence as he.

'Tis ſurpriſing to ſee how rapidly a panic will ſometimes run through a country. All nations and ages have been ſubject to them. Britain has trembled like an ague, at the report of a French fleet of flat-bottomed boats: and in the fourteenth century, the whole Engliſh army, after ravaging the kingdom of France, was driven back, like men petrified with fear: and this brave exploit was performed by a few broken forces, collected and headed by a woman, Joan of Arc. Would that heaven might inſpire ſome Jerſey maid to ſpirit up her countrymen, and ſave her fair fellow ſufferers from ravage and raviſhment! Yet panics, in ſome caſes, have their uſes: they produce as much good as hurt. Their duration is always ſhort: the mind ſoon grows through them, and acquires a firmer habit than before. But their peculiar advantage is, that they are the touchſtones of ſincerity and hypocriſy, and bring things and men to light, which might otherwiſe have lain for ever undiſcovered. In fact, they have the ſame effect upon ſecret traitors, which an imaginary apparition would upon a private murderer. They ſift out the private thoughts of man, and hold them up in public to the world. Many a diſguiſed tory has lately ſhown his head, that ſhall penitentially ſolemnize [21] with curſes the day on which Howe arrived upon the Delaware.

As I was with the troops at Fort Lee, and marched with them to the edge of Pennſylvania, I am well acquainted with many circumſtances, which thoſe, who lived at a diſtance, know but little or nothing of. Our ſituation there was exceedingly cramped, the place being on a narrow neck of land, between the North river and the Hackinſack. Our force was inconſiderable, being not one fourth ſo great as Howe could bring againſt us. We had no army at hand to have relieved the garriſon, had we ſhut ourſelves up, and ſtood on the defence. Our ammunition, light artillery, and the beſt part of our ſtores, had been removed, upon the apprehenſion that Howe would endeavour to penetrate the Jerſeys, in which caſe Fort Lee could have been of no uſe to us: for it muſt occur to every thinking man, whether in the army or not, that theſe kinds of field-forts are only fit for temporary purpoſes, and laſt in uſe no longer than the enemy directs his force againſt the particular object which ſuch forts were raiſed to defend. Such was our ſituation and condition at Fort Lee, on the morning of the twentieth of November, when an officer arrived with information, that the enemy, with two hundred boats, had landed about ſeven or eight miles above. Major-general Green, who commanded the garriſon, immediately ordered them [22] under arms, and ſent expreſs to his Excellency General Waſhington, at the town of Hackinſack, diſtant, by way of the ferry, ſix miles. Our firſt object was to ſecure the bridge over the Hackinſack, which lay up the river, between the enemy and us, about ſix miles from us, and three from them. General Waſhington arrived in about three quarters of an hour, and marched at the head of the troops to the bridge, which place I expected we ſhould have a bruſh for: however, they did not chooſe to diſpute it with us: and the greateſt part of our troops went over the bridge, the reſt over the ferry, except ſome which paſſed at a mill, on a ſmall creek, between the bridge and the ferry, and made their way through ſome marſhy grounds, up to the town of Hackinſack, and there paſſed the river. We brought off as much baggage as the waggons could contain: the reſt was loſt. The ſimple object was to bring off the garriſon, and to march them on till they could be ſtrengthened by the Jerſey or Pennſylvania militia, ſo as to be enbled to make a ſtand. We ſtaid four days at Newark, collected in our out-poſts, with ſome of the Jerſey militia, and marched out twice to meet the enemy, on information of their being advancing, though our numbers were greatly inferior to theirs. General Howe, in my opinion, committed a great error in generalſhip, in not throwing a body of ſorces off from Staten Iſland through Amboy, by which [23] means he might have ſeized all our ſtores at Brunſwick, and intercepted our march into Pennſylvania. But if we believe the power of hell to be limited, we muſt likewiſe believe that their agents are under ſome providential controul.

I ſhall not now attempt to give all the particulars of our retreat to the Delaware. Suffice it for the preſent to ſay, that both officers and men, though greatly harraſſed and fatigued, frequently without reſt, covering, or proviſion, the inevitable conſequences of a long retreat, bore it with a manly and a martial ſpirit. All their wiſhes were one; which was, that the country would turn out, and help them to drive the enemy back. Voltaire has remarked, that king William never appeared to full advantage, but in difficulties and in action. The ſame remark may be made on General Waſhington, for the character fits him. There is a natural firmneſs in ſome minds, which cannot be unlocked by trifles; but which, when unlocked, diſcovers a cabinet of fortitude: and I reckon it among thoſe kind of public bleſſings which we do not immediately ſee, that God hath bleſſed him with uninterrupted health, and given him a mind that can even flouriſh upon care.

I ſhall conclude this paper with ſome miſcellaneous remarks on the ſtate of our affairs; and ſhall begin with aſking the following queſtion: Why is it that the enemy hath left the New England provinces, [24] and made theſe middle ones the ſeat of war? The anſwer is eaſy: New England is not infeſted with Tories, and we are. I have been tender in raiſing the cry againſt theſe men, and uſed numberleſs arguments to ſhow them their danger: but it will not do to ſacrifice a world to either their folly or their baſeneſs. The period is now arrived, in which either they or we muſt change our ſentiments, or one or both muſt fall. And what is a tory? Good God! what is he? I ſhould not be afraid to go with an hundred Whigs againſt a thouſand Tories, were they to attempt to get into arms. Every Tory is a coward; for a ſervile, ſlaviſh, ſelf-intereſted fear is the foundation of toryiſm; and a man under ſuch influence, though he may be cruel, never can be brave.

But before the line of irrecoverable ſeparation may be drawn between us, let us reaſon the matter together: your conduct is an invitation to the enemy; yet not one in a thouſand of you has heart enough to join him. Howe is as much deceived by you, as the American cauſe is injured by you. He expects you will all take up arms, and flock to his ſtandard with muſkets on your ſhoulders. Your opinions are of no uſe to him, unleſs you ſupport him perſonally; for it is ſoldiers, and not tories, that he wants.

I once felt all that kind of anger, which a man ought to feel, againſt the mean principles that are [25] held by the Tories. A noted one, who kept a tavern at Amboy, was ſtanding at his door, with as pretty a child in his hand, about eight or nine years old, as moſt I ever ſaw; and after ſpeaking his mind as freely as he thought was prudent, finiſhed with this unfatherly expreſſion, "Well, give me peace in my days." Not a man lives on the continent, but fully believes that ſeparation muſt ſome time or other finally take place, and a generous parent would have ſaid, "if there muſt be trouble, let it be in my days, that my child may have peace;" and this ſingle reflection, well applied, is ſufficient to awaken every man to duty. Not a place upon earth might be ſo happy as America. Her ſituation is remote from all the wrangling world, and ſhe has nothing to do but to trade with them. A man may eaſily diſtinguiſh in himſelf between temper and principle, and I am as confident as I am that God governs the world, that America will never be happy till ſhe gets clear of foreign dominion. Wars, without ceaſing, will break out till that period arrives, and the continent muſt, in the end be conqueror; for, though the flame of liberty may ſometimes ceaſe to ſhine, the coal never can expire.

America did not, nor does not want force; but ſhe wanted a proper application of that force. Wiſdom is not the purchaſe of a day and it is no wonder we ſhould on at firſt ſetting off. From an [26] exceſs of tenderneſs, we were unwilling to raiſe an army, and truſted our cauſe to the temporary defence of a well meaning militia. A ſummer's experience has now taught us better; yet with thoſe troops, while they were collected, we were able to ſet bounds to the progreſs of the enemy; and, thank God! they are again aſſembling. I always conſidered a militia as the beſt troops in the world for a ſudden exertion, but they will not do for a long campaign. Howe, it is probable, will make an attempt on this city; ſhould he fail on this ſide the Delaware, he is ruined; if he ſucceeds, our cauſe is not ruined. He ſtakes all on his ſide againſt a part on ours; admitting he ſucceeds, the conſequence will be, that armies from both ends of the continent will march to aſſiſt their ſuffering friends in the middle ſtates; for he cannot go every where: it is impoſſible. I conſider Howe as the greateſt enemy the tories have; he is bringing a war into their own country, which, had it not been for him and partly for themſelves, they had been clear of. Should he now be expelled, I wiſh, with all the devotion of a chriſtian, that the names of whig and tory may never more be mentioned; but ſhould the tories give him encouragement to come, or aſſiſtance if he come, I as ſincerely wiſh that our next year's arms may expel them from the continent, and the congreſs appropriate their poſſeſſions to the relief of thoſe who have ſuffered in well-doing. [27] A ſingle ſucceſsful battle next year will ſettle the whole. America will carry on a two-years war by the confiſcation of the property of diſaffected perſons, and be made happy by their expulſion. Say not that this is revenge: call it rather the ſoft reſentment of a ſuffering people, who, having no object in view but the good of all, have ſtaked their own all upon a ſeemingly doubtful event. Yet it is folly to argue againſt determined hardneſs: eloquence may ſtrike the car, and the language of ſorrow draw forth the tear of compaſſion, but nothing can reach the heart that is ſteeled with prejudice.

Quitting this claſs of men, I turn, with the warm ardour of a friend, to thoſe who have nobly ſtood, and are yet determined to ſtand the matter out. I call not upon a few, but upon all; not on this ſtate, or that ſtate, but on every ſtate. Up and help us. Lay your ſhoulders to the wheel. Better have too much force than too little, when ſo great an object is at ſtake. Let it be told to the future world, that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could ſurvive, that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet and to repulſe it. Say not that thouſands are gone: turn out your tens of thouſands: throw not the burden of the day upon providence, but ſhow your faith by your good works, that God may bleſs you. It matters not [28] where you live, or what rank of life you hold; the evil or the bleſſing will reach you all. The far and the near, the home counties and the back, the rich and the poor, ſhall ſuffer or rejoice alike. The heart that feels not now, is dead. The blood of his children ſhall curſe his cowardice, who ſhrinks back at a time when a little might have ſaved the whole and made them happy. I love the man that can ſmile in trouble—that can gather ſtrength from diſtreſs, and grow brave by reflection. It is the buſineſs of little minds to ſhrink; but he, whoſe heart is firm, and whoſe conſcience approves his conduct, will purſue his principles unto death. My own line of reaſoning is to myſelf, as ſtrait and clear as a ray of light. Not all the treaſures of the world, ſo far as I believe, could have induced me to ſupport an offenſive war; for I think it murder: but if a thief break into my houſe—burn and deſtroy my property, and kill, or threaten to kill me and thoſe that are in it, and to "bind me in all caſes whatſoever," to his abſolute will, am I to ſuffer it? What ſignifies it to me, whether he who does it, is a king or a common man; my countryman, or not my countryman; whether it is done by an individual villain, or an army of them? If we reaſon to the root of things we ſhall find no difference; neither can any juſt cauſe be aſſigned, why we ſhould puniſh in the one caſe and pardon in the other. Let them call [29] me rebel, and welcome; I feel no concern from it; but I ſhould ſuffer the miſery of devils, were I to make a whore of my ſoul, by ſwearing allegiance to one whoſe character is that of a ſottiſh, ſtupid, ſtubborn, worthleſs, brutiſh man. I conceive likewiſe, a horrid idea in receiving mercy from a being, who at the laſt day, ſhall be ſhrieking to the rocks and mountains to cover him, and fleeing with terror from the orphan, the widow, and the ſlain of America.

There are caſes which cannot be overdone by language; and this is one. There are perſons too, who ſee not the full extent of the evil that threatens them. They ſolace themſelves with hopes, that the enemy, if they ſucceed, will be merciful. It is the madneſs of folly, to expect mercy from thoſe who have refuſed to do juſtice: and even mercy, where conqueſt is the object, is only a trick of war. The cunning of the fox is as murderous as the violence of the wolf, and we ought to be equally on our guard againſt both. Howe's firſt object is partly by threats, and partly by promiſes, to terrify or ſeduce the people to give up thei arms, and receive mercy. The miniſtry recommended the ſame plan to Gage: and this is what the tories call making their peace—"a peace which paſſeth all underſtanding," indeed. A peace which would be the immediate forerunner o a worſe ruin than any we have yet thought of. Ye [30] men of Pennſylvania, do reaſon upon thoſe things! Were the back counties to give up their arms, they would fall an eaſy prey to the Indians, who are all armed. This, perhaps, is what ſome tories would not be ſorry for. Were the home counties to deliver up their arms, they would be expoſed to the reſentment of the back counties, who would then have it in their power to chaſtiſe their defection at pleaſure. And were any one ſtate to give up its arms, that ſtate muſt be garriſoned by all Howe's army of Britons and Heſſians, to preſerve it from the anger of the reſt. Mutual fear is a principal link in the chain of mutual love, and woe be to that ſtate that breaks the compact. Howe is mercifully inviting you to a barbarous deſtruction, and men muſt be either rogues or fools that will not ſee it. I dwell not upon the vapours of imagination, I bring reaſon to your ears; and in language as plain as A, B, C, hold up truth to your eyes.

I thank God, that I fear not. I ſee no real cauſe for fear. I know our ſituation well, and can ſee the way out of it. While our army was collected, Howe dared not riſk a battle: and it is no credit to him, that he decamped from the White Plains, and waited a mean opportunity to ravage the defenceleſs Jerſeys: but it is great credit to us that, with an handful of men, we ſuſtained an orderly retreat for near an hundred miles, brought off our ammunition, all our field pieces, the [31] greateſt part of our ſtores, and had four rivers to paſs. None can ſay, that our retreat was precipitate for we were near three weeks in performing it, that the country might have time to come in. Twice we marched back to meet the enemy, and remained out till dark. The ſign of fear was not ſeen in our camp: and had not ſome of the cowardly and diſaffected inhabitants ſpread falſe alarms through the country, the Jerſeys had never been ravaged. Once more, we are again collected and collecting. Our new army, at both ends of the continent, is recruiting faſt; and we ſhall be able to open the next campaign with ſixty thouſand men, well armed and cloathed. This is our ſituation— and who will, may know it. By perſeverance and fortitude, we have the proſpect of a glorious iſſue; by cowardice and ſubmiſſion, the ſad choice of a variety of evils—a ravaged country—a depopulated city—habitations without ſafety—and ſlavery without hope—our homes turned into barracks and bawdy-houſes for Heſſians—and a future race to provide for, whoſe fathers we ſhall doubt of! Look on this picture, and weep over it! and if there yet remains one thoughtleſs wretch, who believes it not, let him ſuffer it unlamented.

C. S.

AMERICAN CRISIS.
No. III.
TO LORD HOWE.

[]
What's in the name of lord that I ſhould fear,
To bring my grievance to the public ear? CHURCHILL.

UNIVERSAL empire is the prerogative of a writer. His concerns are with all mankind, and though he cannot command their obedience, he can aſſign them their duty. The republic of letters is more ancient than monarchy, and of far higher character in the world than the vaſſal court of Britain; he that rebels againſt reaſon is a real rebel, but he that in defence of reaſon, rebels againſt tyranny, has a better title to "defender of the faith" than George the third.

As a military man, your lordſhip may hold out the ſword of war, and call it the "ultima ratio regum;" the laſt reaſon of kings; we in return can ſhew you the ſword of juſtice, and call it, "the beſt ſcourge of tyrants." The firſt of theſe two [33] may threaten, or even frighten, for a while, and caſt a ſickly langour over an inſulted people, but reaſon will ſoon recover the debauch, and reſtore them again to tranquil fortitude. Your Lordſhip, I find, has now commenced author, and publiſhed a Proclamation; I too have publiſhed a Criſis; as they ſtand, they are the antipodes of each other; both cannot riſe at once, and one of them muſt deſcend: and ſo quick is the revolution of things, that your Lordſhip's performance, I ſee, has already fallen many degrees from its firſt place, and is now juſt viſible on the edge of the political horizon.

It is ſurpriſing to what a pitch of infatuation blind folly and obſtinacy will carry mankind, and your Lordſhip's drowſy Proclamation is a proof that it does not even quit them in their ſleep. Perhaps you thought America too was taking a nap, and therefore choſe, like Satan to Eve, to whiſper the deluſion ſoftly, leſt you ſhould awaken her. This continent, Sir, is too extenſive to ſleep all at once, and too watchful, even in its ſlumbers, not to ſtartle at the unhallowed foot of an invader. You may iſſue your proclamations, and welcome, for we have learned to "reverence ourſelves," and ſcorn the inſulting ruffian that employs you. America, for your deceaſed brother's ſake, would gladly have ſhewn you reſpect, and it is a new aggravation to her ſeelings, that Howe ſhould be [34] forgetful, and raiſe his ſword againſt thoſe, who at their own charge raiſed a monument to his brother. But your maſter has commanded, and you have not enough of nature left to refuſe. Surely there muſt be ſomething ſtrangely degenerating in the love of monarchy, that can ſo completely wear a man down to an ingrate, and make him proud to lick the duſt that kings have trode upon. A few more years, ſhould you ſurvive them, will beſtow on you the title of an old man, and in ſome hour of future reflection you may probably find the fitneſs of Wolſey's deſpairing penitence, "Had I ſerved my God as faithfully as I have ſerved my king, he would not thus have forſaken me in my old age."

The character you appear to us in is truly ridiculous. Your friends, the tories, announced your coming with high deſcriptions of your unlimited powers; but your Proclamation has given them the lie, by ſhewing you to be a commiſſioner without authority. Had your powers been ever ſo great, they were nothing to us, farther than we pleaſed; becauſe we had the ſame right which other nations had, to do what we thought was beſt. "The United States of America," will found as pompouſly in the world, or in hiſtory, as "the Kingdom of Great Britain;" the character of General Waſhington will fill a page with as much luſtre as that of Lord Howe; and the congreſs [35] have as much right to command the king and parliament of London to deſiſt from legiſlation, as they or you have to command the congreſs. Only ſuppoſe how laughable ſuch an edict would appear from us, and then, in that merry mood, do but turn the tables upon yourſelf, and you will ſee how your Proclamation is received here. Having thus placed you in a proper poſition, in which you may have a full view of folly, and learn to deſpiſe it, I hold up to you, for that purpoſe, the following quotation from your own lunarian Proclamation. "And we (Lord Howe and General Howe) do command (and in his Majeſty's name forſooth), all ſuch perſons as are aſſembled together under the name of general or provincial congreſſes, committees, conventions, or other aſſociations, by whatever name or names known or diſtinguiſhed, to deſiſt and ceaſe from all ſuch treaſonable actings and doings."

You introduce your Proclamation by referring to your declarations of the 14th of July and 19th of September. In the laſt of theſe, you ſunk yourſelf below the character of a private gentleman. That I may not ſeem to accuſe you unjuſtly, I ſhall ſtate the circumſtance: By a verbal invitation of yours, communicated to congreſs by General Sullivan, then a priſoner on his parole, you ſignified your deſire of conferring with ſome members of that body as private gentlemen. It [36] was beneath the dignity of the American congreſs to pay any regard to a meſſage that at beſt was but a genteel affront, and had too much of the miniſterial complexion of tampering with private perſons; and which might probably have been the caſe, had the gentlemen, who were deputed on that buſineſs, poſſeſſed that eaſy kind of virtue which an Engliſh courtier is ſo truly diſtinguiſhed by. Your requeſt, however, was complied with, for honeſt men are naturally more tender of their civil than their political fame. The interview ended as every sensible man thought it would; for your Lordſhip knows, as well as the writer of the Criſis, that it is impossible for the King of England to promiſe the repeal, or even the reviſal, of any acts of parliament; wherefore, on your part you had nothing to ſay, more than to requeſt, in the room of demanding the entire ſurrender of the continent; and then, if that was complied with, to promise the that the inhabitants ſhould eſcape with their lives. This was the upſhot of the conference. You informed the conferees that you were two months in ſoliciting theſe powers. We aſk, what powers for, as commiſſioner, you have none. If you mean the power of pardoning, it is an oblique proof, that your maſter was determined to ſacrifice all before him; and that you were two months in diſſuading him from his purpoſe. Another evidence of his ſavage obſtinacy! From your own [37] account of the matter, we may juſtly draw theſe two concluſions: firſt, that you ſerve a monſter; and ſecondly, that never was a commiſſioner ſent on a more fooliſh errand than yourſelf. This plain language may perhaps ſound uncoothly to an ear vitiated by courtly reſinements; but words were made for uſe, and the fault lies in deſerving them, or the abuſe in applying them unfairly.

Soon after your return to New-York, you publiſhed a very illiberal and unmanly hand bill againſt the congreſs; for it was certainly ſtepping out of the line of common civility, firſt to ſcreen your national pride by ſoliciting an interview with them as private gentlemen, and in the concluſion to endeavour to deceive the multitude by making an hand-bill attack on the whole body of the congreſs; you got them together under one name, and abuſed them under another. But the king you ſerve, and the cauſe you ſupport, afford you ſo few inſtances of acting the gentleman, that out of pity to your ſituation, the congreſs pardoned the inſult by taking no notice of it.

You ſay in that hand-bill, "that they, the congreſs, diſavowed every purpoſe for reconciliation not conſonant with their extravagant and inadmiſſible claim of independence."

Why, God bleſs me! what have you to do with our independence? we aſked no leave of yours to ſet it up; we aſk no money of yours to ſupport it; [38] we can do better without your fleets and armies than with them; you may ſoon have enough to do to protect yourſelves without being burthened with us. We are very willing to be at peace with you, to buy of you and ſell to you, and, like young beginners in the world, to work for our own living; therefore, why do you put yourſelves out of caſh, when we know you cannot ſpare it, and we do not deſire you to run into debt? I am willing, Sir, you ſhould ſee your folly in every view I can place it, and for that reaſon deſcend ſometimes to tell you in jeſt what I wiſh you to ſee in earneſt. But to be more ſerious with you, why do you ſay "their" independence? To ſet you right, Sir, we tell you, that the independency is ours, not theirs. The congreſs were authoriſed, by every ſtate on the continent, to publiſh it to all the world, and in ſo doing are not to be conſidered as the inventors, but only as the heralds that proclaimed it, or the office from which the ſenſe of the people received a legal form; and it was as much as any or all their heads were worth, to have treated with you, on the ſubject of ſubmiſſion, under any name whatever. But we know the men in whom we have truſted;—can England ſay the ſame of her parliament?

I come now more particularly to your Proclamation of the 30th of November laſt. Had you gained an entire conqueſt over all the armies of [39] America, and then put forth a proclamation, offering (what you call) mercy, your conduct would have had ſome ſpacious ſhew of humanity; but to creep by ſurpriſe into a province, and there endeavour to terrify and ſeduce the inhabitants from their juſt allegiance to the reſt, by promiſes which you neither meant nor were able to fulfil, is both cruel and unmanly: cruel in its effects; becauſe, unleſs you can keep all the ground you have marched over, how are you, in the words of your Proclamation, to ſecure to your proſelytes "the enjoyment of their property?" What are to become either of your new-adopted ſubjects, or your old friends the tories, in Burlington, Bordentown, Trenton, Montholly, and many other places, where you proudly lorded it for a few days, and then fled with the precipitation of a purſued thief? What, I ſay, are to become of thoſe wretches? What are to become of thoſe who went over to you from this city and ſtate? What more can you ſay to them than "ſhift for yourſelves?" Or what more can they hope for than to wander like vagabonds over the face of the earth? You may now tell them to take their leave of America, and all that once was theirs. Recommend them, for conſolation, to your maſter's court: there perhaps they may make a ſhift to live on the ſcraps of ſome dangling paraſite, and chuſe companions among thouſands [40] like themſelves. A traitor is the fouleſt fiend on earth.

In a political ſenſe we ought to thank you for thus bequeathing eſtates to the continent; we ſhall ſoon, at this rate, be able to carry on a war without expence, and grow rich by the ill policy of Lord Howe, and the generous defection of the tories. Had you ſet your foot into this city, you would have beſtowed eſtates upon us which we never thought of, by bringing forth traitors we were unwilling to ſuſpect. "But theſe men" you will ſay, "are his majeſty's moſt faithful ſubjects;" let that honour then be all their fortune, and let his majeſty take them to himſelf.

I am now thoroughly diſguſted with them; they live in ungrateful caſe, and bend their whole minds to miſchief. It ſeems as if God had given them over to a ſpirit of infidelity, and that they are open to conviction in no other line but that of puniſhment. It is time to have done with tarring, feathering, carting, and taking ſecurities for their future good behaviour. Every ſenſible man muſt feel a conſcious ſhame at ſeeing a poor fellow hawked for a ſhew about the ſtreets, when it is known, that he is only the tool of ſome principal villian, blaſſed into his offence by the force of falſe reaſoning, or bribed thereto through ſad neceſſity. We diſhonour ourſelves by attacking ſuch trifling characters, while greater ones are ſuffered to eſcape. 'Tis our duty [41] to find them out, and their proper puniſhment would be to exile them from the continent for ever. The circle of them is not ſo great as ſome imagine. The influence of a ſew has tainted many who are not naturally corrupt. A continual circulation of lies among thoſe who are not much in the way of hearing them contradicted, will in time paſs for truth: and the crime lies not in the believer, but the inventor. I am not for declaring war againſt every man that appears not ſo warm as myſelf. Difference of conſtitution, temper, habit of ſpeaking, and many other things, will go a great way in ſixing the outward character of a man, yet ſimple honeſty may remain at bottom. Some men have naturally a military turn, and can brave hardſhips and the riſk of life, with a chearful face: others have not; no ſlavery appears to them ſo great as the fatigue of arms, and no terror ſo powerful as that of perſonal danger. What can we ſay; We cannot alter nature; neither ought we to puniſh the ſon becauſe the father begot him in a cowardly mood. However, I believe moſt men have more courage than they know of, and that a little at firſt is enough to begin with. I knew the time when I thought that the whiſtling of a cannon ball would have frightened me almoſt to death: but I have ſince tried it, and find I can ſtand it with as little diſcompoſure, and (I believe) with a much eaſier conſcience than your Lordſhip. The ſame dread [42] would return to me again, were I in your ſituation: for my ſolemn belief of your cauſe, is, that it is helliſh and damnable: and under that conviction, every thinking man's heart muſt fail him.

From a concern, that a good cauſe ſhould be diſhonoured by the leaſt diſunion among us, I ſaid in my former paper, No. II. that, "ſhould the enemy now be expelled, I wiſh, with all the ſincerity of a chriſtian, that the names of whig and tory might never more be mentioned:" but there is a knot of men among us, of ſuch a venomous caſt, that they will not admit even one's good wiſhes to act in their favour. Inſtead of rejoicing that heaven had, as it were, providentially preſerved this city from plunder and deſtruction, by delivering ſo great a part of the enemy into our hands, with ſo little effuſion of blood, they ſtubbornly affected to diſbelieve it, until within an hour, nay half an hour of the priſoners arriving: and the quakers* put forth a teſtimony, dated the twentieth of December, ſigned John Pemberton, declaring their attachment to the Britiſh government. Theſe [43] men are continually harping on the great ſin of our bearing arms: but the king of Briton may lay waſte the world in blood and famine, and they, poor fallen ſouls, have nothing to ſay.

In ſome future paper, I intend to diſtinguiſh between the different kinds of perſons who have been denominated tories: for this I am clear in, that all are not ſo, who have been called ſo, nor all men whigs, who were once thought ſo: and as I mean not to conceal the name of any true friend, when there ſhall be occaſion to mention him; neither will I that of an enemy, who ought to be known, let his rank, ſtation, or religion be what it may.

Much pains have been taken by ſome to ſet your Lordſhip's private character in an amiable light: but as it has chiefly been done by men who know nothing about you, and who are no ways remarkable for their attachment to us, we have no juſt authority for believing it. George the Third was impoſed upon us by the ſame arts: but time has at length done him juſtice: and the ſame fate may probably attend your Lordſhip. Your avowed purpoſe here, is, to kill, conquer, plunder, pardon, and enſlave: and the ravages of your army, through the Jerſeys, have been marked with as much barbariſm, as if you had openly profeſſed yourſelf the prince of ruffians. Not even the appearance of humanity has been preſerved either on the march or the retreat of your troops. No general [44] order, that I could ever learn, has ever been iſſued to prevent or even forbid your troops from robbery, wherever they came: and the only inſtance of juſtice, if it can be called ſuch, which has diſtinguiſhed you for impartiality, is, that you treated and plundered all alike. What could not be carried away, have been deſtroyed: and mahogany furniture has been deliberately laid on the fire for fuel, rather than the men ſhould be fatigued with cutting wood*. There was a time, when the whigs confided much in your ſuppoſed candour, and the tories reſted themſelves on your favour. The experiments have now been made, and failed: and every town, nay every cottage, in the Jerſeys where your arms have been, is a teſtimony againſt you. How you may reſt under this ſacrifice of character, I know not: but this I know, that you ſleep and riſe with the daily curſes of thouſands upon you. Perhaps, the miſery which the tories have ſuffered by your proffered mercy, may give them ſome claim to their country's pity, and be in the end the beſt favour you could ſhew them.

In a folio general order book belonging to Colonel Rahl's battalion, taken at Trenton, and now [45] now in the poſſeſſion of the council of ſafety for this ſtate, the following barbarous order is frequently repeated: "His excellency the commander in chief orders that all inhabitants which ſhall be found with arms, not having an officer with them, ſhall be immediately taken and hung up." How many you may thus have privately ſacrificed, we know not; and the account can only be ſettled in another world. Your treatment of priſoners, in order to diſtreſs them to enliſt into your infernal ſervice, is not to be equalled by any inſtance in Europe. Yet this is the humane Lord Howe, and his brother, whom the tories, and their three-quarter kindred, the quakers, or ſome of them at leaſt, have been holden up for patterns of juſtice and mercy!

A bad cauſe will ever be ſupported by bad means, and bad men: and whoever will be at the pains of examining ſtrictly into things, will find that one and the ſame ſpirit of oppoſition and impiety, more or leſs, governs through your whole party in both countries. Not many days ago, I accidentally fell in company with a perſon of this city, noted for eſpouſing your cauſe; and on my remarking to him, that it appeared clear to me, by the late providential turn of affairs, that God Almighty was viſibly on our ſide; he replied, we care nothing for that; you may have him, and welcome; if we have but enough of the devil on our ſide, we ſhall do. However careleſsly this be ſpoken, matters not; [46] 'tis ſtill the inſenſible principle that directs all your conduct, and will at laſt moſt aſſuredly deceive and ruin you.

If ever a nation was mad and fooliſh, blind to its own intereſt, and bent on its own deſtruction, it is Britain. There are ſuch things as national ſins: and though the puniſhment of individuals may be reſerved to another world, national puniſhment can only be inflicted in this world. Britain, as a nation, is, in my inmoſt belief, the greateſt and moſt ungrateful offender againſt God, on the face of the whole earth. Bleſſed with all the commerce ſhe could wiſh for, and furniſhed by a vaſt extent of dominion, with the means of civilizing both the eaſtern and weſtern world, ſhe has made no other uſe of both, than proudly to idolize her own "thunder," and rip up the bowels of whole countries, for what ſhe could get. Like Alexander, ſhe has made war her ſport, and inflicted miſery for prodigality ſake. The blood of India is not yet repaid, nor the wretchedneſs of Africa yet requited. Of late, ſhe has enlarged her lift of national cruelties, by her butcherly deſtruction of the Caribbs of St. Vincent's, and in returning an anſwer by the ſword, to the meek prayer for "peace, liberty, and ſafety." Theſe are ſerious things: and whatever a fooliſh tyrant, a debauched court, a trafficking legiſlature, or a blinded people, may think, the national account with heaven muſt ſome [47] day or other be ſettled. All countries have ſooner or later been called to their reckoning. The proudeſt empires have ſunk, when the balance was ſtruck: and Britain, like an individual penitent, muſt undergo her day of ſorrow, and the ſooner it happens to her the better. As I wiſh it over, I wiſh it to come, but withal wiſh that it may be as light as poſſible.

Perhaps your Lordſhip has no taſte for ſerious things. By your connexions in England, I ſhould ſuppoſe not: therefore I ſhall drop this part of the ſubject, and take it up in a line in which you will better underſtand me.

By what means, may I aſk, do you expect to conquer America? If you could not effect it in the ſummer when our army was leſs than yours, nor in the winter, when we had none, how are you to do it? In point of generalſhip, you have been outwitted; and in point of fortitude, outdone: your advantages turn out to your loſs, and ſhew us that it is in our power to ruin you by gifts. Like a game of drafts, we can move out of one ſquare, to let you come in, in order that we may afterwards take two or three for one; and as we can always keep a double corner for ourſelves, we can always prevent a total defeat. You cannot be ſo inſenſible, as not to ſee that we have two to one the advantage of you, becauſe we conquer by a drawn game, and you loſe by it. Burgoyne might [48] have taught your Lordſhip this knowledge; he has been long a ſtudent in the doctrine of chances.

I have no other idea of conquering countries than by ſubduing the armies which defend them: have you done this, or can you do this? If you have not, it would be civil in you to let your proclamations alone for the preſent; otherwiſe, you will ruin more tories by your grace and favour than you will whigs by your arms.

Were you to obtain poſſeſſion of this city, you would not know what to do with it, more than to plunder it. To hold it, in the manner you hold New York, would be an additional dead weight upon your hands: and if a general conqueſt is your object, you had better be without the city than with it. When you have defeated all our armies, the cities will fall into your hands of themſelves; but to creep into them in the manner you got into Princetown, Trenton, &c. is like robbing an orchard in the night, before the fruit be ripe, and running away in the morning. Your experiment in the Jerſeys is ſufficient to teach you that you have ſomething more to do than barely to get into other people's houſes; and your new converts to whom you promiſed all manner of protection, and ſeduced into new guilt by pardoning them from their former virtues, muſt begin to have a very contemptible opinion both of your power and policy. Your authority in the Jerſeys is now reduced [49] to the ſmall circle which your army occupies, and your Proclamation is no where elſe ſeen, unleſs it be to be laughed at. The mighty ſubduers of the continent are retreated into a nutſhell, and the proud forgivers of our ſins are fled from thoſe they came to pardon; and all this at a time when they were diſpatching veſſel after veſſel to England, with the great news of every day. In ſhort, you have managed your Jerſey expedition ſo very dexterouſly, that the dead only are conquerors, becauſe none will diſpute the ground with them. In all the wars you have formerly been concerned in, you had only armies to contend with; in this caſe, you have both an army and a country to combat with. In former wars, the countries followed the fate of their capitals; Canada fell with Quebec; and Minorca, with Port Mahon or St. Philips; by ſubduing thoſe, the conquerors opened a way into, and became maſters of the country: here it is otherwiſe: if you get poſſeſſion of a city here, you are obliged to ſhut yourſelves up in it, and can make no other uſe of it, than to ſpend your country's money in. This is all the advantage you have drawn from New-York; and you would draw leſs from Philadelphia, becauſe it requires more force to keep it, and is much farther from the ſea. A pretty figure you and the Tories would cut in this city, with a river full of ice, and a town full of fire; for the immediate [50] conſequence of your getting here would be, that you would be cannonaded out again, and the tories be obliged to make good the damage; and this, ſooner or later, will be the fate of New York.

I wiſh to ſee the city ſaved, not ſo much from military, as from natural motives. It is the hiding-place of women and children, and Lord Howe's proper buſineſs is with our armies. When I put all the circumſtances together which ought to be taken, I laugh at your notion of conquering America. Becauſe you lived in a little country, where an army might run over the whole in a few days, and where a ſingle company of ſoldiers might put a multitude to the rout, you expected to find it the ſame here. It is plain that you brought over with you all the narrow notions you were bred up with, and imagined that a proclamation in the king's name was to do great things; but Engliſhmen always travel for knowledge, and your Lordſhip, I hope, will return, if you return at all, much wiſer than you came.

We may be ſurpriſed by events we did not expect, and in that interval of recollection you may gain ſome temporary advantage: ſuch was the caſe a few weeks ago: but we ſoon ripen again into reaſon, collect our ſtrength, and while you are preparing for a triumph, we come upon you with a defeat. Such it has been and ſuch it would be were you to try it an hundred times over. Were [51] you to garriſon the places you might march over, in order to ſecure their ſubjection (for remember you can do it by no other means), your army would be like a ſtream of water running to nothing. By the time you reached from New York to Virginia, you would be reduced to a ſtring of drops not capable of hanging together; while we by retreating from ſtate to ſtate, like a river turning back upon itſelf, would acquire ſtrength in the ſame proportion as you loſt it, and in the end be capable of overwhelming you. The country in the mean time would ſuffer; but it is a day of ſuffering, and we ought to expect it. What we contend for is worthy the affliction we may go through. If we get but bread to eat, and any kind of raiment to put on, we ought, not only to be contented, but thankful: more than that we ought not to look for; and leſs than that, heaven has not yet ſuffered us to want. He that would fell his birth-right for a little ſalt, is as worthleſs as he who ſold it for porrage without falt: and he that would part with it for a gay coat, or a plain coat, ought for ever to be a ſlave in buff. What are ſalt, ſugar, and finery, to the ineſtimable bleſſings of "Liberty and Safety?" Or what are the inconveniences of a few months to the tributary bondage of ages? The meaneſt peaſant in America, bleſſed with theſe ſentiments, is a happy man, compared with a New York tory; he can eat his [52] morſel without repining, and when he has done, can ſweeten it with a repaſt of wholeſome air; he can take his child by the hand and bleſs it, without feeling the conſcious ſhame of neglecting a parent's duty.

In publiſhing theſe remarks, I have ſeveral objects in view. On your part they are, to expoſe the folly of your pretended authority, as a commiſſioner—the wickedneſs of your cauſe in general— and the impoſſibility of your conquering us at any rate. On the part of the public, my meaning is, to ſhew them their true and ſolid intereſt; to encourage them to their own good; to remove the fears and falſities, which bad men had ſpread, and weak men had encouraged; and to excite in all men a love for union, and a chearfulneſs for duty.

I ſhall ſubmit one more caſe to you, reſpecting your conqueſt of this country, and then proceed to new obſervations.

Suppoſe our armies in every part of the continent immediately to diſperſe, every man to his home, or where elſe he might be ſafe, and engage to re-aſſemble again on a certain future day. It is clear that you would then have no army to contend with; yet you would be as much at a loſs as you are now: you would be afraid to ſend your troops in parties over the continent, either to diſarm, or prevent us from aſſembling, leſt they ſhould not return: and while you kept them together, [53] having no army of ours to diſpute with, you could not call it a conqueſt. You might furniſh out a pompous page in the London Gazette, or the New York paper: but when we returned at the appointed time, you would have the ſame work to do you had at firſt.

It has been the folly of Britain to ſuppoſe herſelf more powerful than ſhe really is, and by that means have arrogated to herſelf a rank in the world ſhe is not entitled to: for more than this century paſt ſhe has not been able to carry on a war without foreign aſſiſtance. In Marlborough's campaigns, and from that day to this, the number of German troops and officers aſſiſting her, have been about equal with her own. Ten thouſand Heſſians were ſent to England laſt war, to protect her from a French invaſion: and ſhe would have cut but a poor figure in her Canadian and Weſt Indian expeditions, had not America been laviſh of her men and money to help her along. The only inſtance, in which ſhe was engaged ſingly, that I can recollect, was againſt the rebellion in Scotland in 1745 and 1746, and in that, out of three battles, ſhe was twice beaten, till by thus reducing their numbers (as we ſhall yours), and taking a ſupply ſhip, that was coming to Scotland, with clothes, arms, and money (as we have often done), ſhe was at laſt enabled to defeat them.

England was never famous by land. Her officers [54] have generally been ſuſpected of cowardice, have more of the air of a dancing maſter than a ſoldier; and by the ſample we have taken priſoners, we begin to give the preference to ourſelves. Her ſtrength of late has laid in her extravagance: but as her finances and her credit are now low, her ſinews in that line begin to fail faſt. As a nation, ſhe is the pooreſt in Europe: for were the whole kingdom, and all that is in it, to be put up to ſale, like the eſtate of a bankrupt, it would not fetch as much as ſhe owes. Yet this thoughtleſs wretch muſt go to war, and with the avowed deſign, too, of making us beaſts of burden, to ſupport her in riot and debauchery, and to aſſiſt her afterwards in diſtreſſing thoſe nations who are now our beſt friends. This ingratitude may ſuit a tory, or the unchriſtian peeviſhneſs of a fallen quaker, but none elſe.

It is the unhappy temper of the Engliſh, to be pleaſed with any war, right or wrong, be it but ſucceſsful: but they ſoon grow diſcontented with ill fortune: and it is an even chance, that they are as clamourous for peace next ſummer, as the king and his miniſters were for war laſt winter. In this natural view of things, your Lordſhip ſtands in a very ugly critical ſituation. Your whole character is ſtaked upon your laurels: if they wither, you wither with them. If they flouriſh, you cannot live long to look at them: and at any rate, the [55] black account hereafter is not far off. What lately appeared to us misfortunes, were only bleſſings in diſguiſe: and the ſeeming advantages on your ſide have turned out to our profit. Even our loſs of this city, as far as we can ſee, might be a principal gain to us. The more ſurface you ſpread over, the thinner you will be, and the eaſier wiped away: and our conſolation, under that apparent diſaſter, would be, that the eſtates of the tories would be ſecurities for the repairs. In ſhort, there is no old ground we can fail upon, but ſome new foundation riſes again to ſupport us. "We have put, Sir, our hands to the plough—and curſed be he that looketh back."

Your king, in his ſpeech to parliament, laſt ſpring, declared to them, that "he had no doubt but the great force they had enabled him to ſend to America would effectually reduce the rebellious colonies." It has not—neither can it. But it has done juſt enough to ſay the foundation of its own next year's ruin. You are ſenſible that you left England in a divided diſtracted ſtate of politics, and, by the command you had here, you became a principal prop in the court party: their fortunes reſt on yours: by a ſingle expreſs, you can fix their value with the public, and the degree to which their ſpirits ſhall riſe or fall. They are in your hands as ſtock, and you have the ſecret of the alley with you. Thus ſituated, and connected, you [56] become the unintentional, mechanical inſtrument of your own and their overthrow. The king and his miniſters put conqueſt out of doubt, and the credit of both depended on the proof. To ſupport them in the interim, it was neceſſary that you ſhould make the moſt of every thing: and we can tell by Hugh Gaine's New York paper, what the complexion of the London Gazette is. With ſuch a liſt of victories, the nation cannot expect you will aſk new ſupplies; and to confeſs your want of them, would give the lie to your triumphs, and impeach the king and his miniſters of treaſonable deception. If you make the neceſſary demand at home, your party ſinks: if you make it not, you ſink yourſelf. To aſk it now, is too late, and to aſk it before, was too ſoon, and unleſs it arrive quickly, will be of no uſe. In ſhort, the part you have to act, cannot be acted: and I am fully perſuaded, that all you have to truſt to is, to do the beſt with what force you have got, or little more. Though we have greatly excelled you in point of generalſhip, and bravery of men, yet, as a people, we have not entered into the full ſoul of enterprize: for I, who know England, and the diſpoſition of the people well, am confident, that it is eaſier for us to effect a revolution there, than you a conqueſt here. A few thouſand men, landed in England, with the declared deſign of depoſing the preſent king bringing his miniſters to trial, and ſetting up the [57] Duke of Glouceſter in his ſtead, would aſſuredly carry their point, while you were grovelling here ignorant of the matter. As I ſend all my papers to England, this, like Common Senſe, will find its way there: and though it may put one party on their guard, it will inform the other, and the nation in general, of our deſign to help them.

Thus far, Sir, I have endeavoured to give you a picture of preſent affairs: you may draw from it what concluſion you pleaſe. I wiſh as well to the true poſterity of England as you can, but I conſider independence as America's natural right and intereſt, and never could ſee any real diſſervice it would be to Britain. If an Engliſh merchant receives an order, and is paid for it, it ſignifies nothing to him who governs the country. This is my creed of politics. If I have any where expreſſed myſelf over warmly, it is from a fixt immoveable hatred I have, and ever had, to cruel men and cruel meaſures. I have likewiſe an averſion to monarchy, as being too debaſing to the dignity of man; but I never troubled others with my notions till very lately, nor ever publiſhed a ſyllable in England in my life. What I write is pure nature, and my pen and my ſoul have ever gone together. My writings I have always given away, reſerving only the expence of printing and paper, and ſometimes not even that. I have never courted either fame or intereſt, and my manner [58] of life, to thoſe who know it, will juſtify what I ſay. My ſtudy is, to be uſeful, and if your Lordſhip love mankind as well as I do, you would, ſeeing you cannot conquer us, caſt about and lend your hand towards accompliſhing a peace. Our independence, with God's bleſſing, we will maintain againſt all the world: but as we wiſh to avoid evil ourſelves, we wiſh not to inflict it on others. I am never over inquiſitive into the ſecrets of the cabinet, but I have ſome notion, if you neglect the preſent opportunity, that it will not be in our power to make a ſeparate peace with you afterwards; for whatever treaties or alliances we form, we ſhall moſt faithfully abide by: wherefore you may be deceived, if you think you can make it with us at any time. A laſting independent peace is my wiſh, end, and aim; and to accompliſh that, "I pray God the Americans may never be defeated, and I truſt while they have good officers, and are well commanded, and willing to be commanded, that they never will."

C. S.

AMERICAN CRISIS.
No. IV.

[]

IN the progreſs of politics, as in the common occurrences of life, we are not only apt to forget the ground we have travelled over, but frequently neglect to gather up experience as we go. We expend, if I may ſo ſay, the knowledge of every day on the circumſtances that produce it, and journey on in ſearch of new matter and new refinements: but as it is pleaſant, and ſometimes uſeful, to look back, even to the firſt periods of infancy, and trace the turns and windings through which we have paſſed, ſo we may likewiſe derive many advantages by halting a while in our political career, and taking a review of the wonderous complicated labyrinth of little more than yeſterday.

Truly, may we ſay, that never did man grow old in ſo ſhort a time! We have crowded the buſineſs of an age into the compaſs of a few months, and have been driven through ſuch a rapid ſucceſſion of things, that, for the want of leiſure to think, we unavoidably waſted knowledge as we [60] came, and have left nearly as much behind us as we brought with us: but the road is yet rich with fragments, and, before we fully loſe ſight of them, will repay us for the trouble of ſtopping to pick them up.

Were a man to be totally deprived of memory, he would be incapable of forming any juſt opinion; every thing about him would ſeem a chaos; he would even have his own hiſtory to aſk from every one; and by not knowing how the world went on in his abſence, he would be at a loſs to know how it OUGHT to go on when he recovered, or rather returned to it again. In like manner, though in a leſs degree, a too great inattention to paſt occurrences retards and bewilders our judgment in every thing; while, on the contrary, by comparing what is paſt with what is preſent, we frequently hit on the true character of both, and become wiſe with very little trouble. It is a kind of countermarch, by which we get into the rear of Time, and mark the movements and meaning of things as we make our return. There are certain circumſtances, which, at the time of their happening, are kind of riddles; and as every riddle is to be followed by its anſwer, ſo thoſe kind of circumſtances will be followed by their events, and thoſe events are always the true ſolution. A conſiderable ſpace of time may lapſe between, and unleſs we continue our obſervations from the one to the other, the [61] harmony of them will paſs away unnoticed: but the misfortune is, that partly from the preſſing neceſſity of ſome inſtant things, and partly from the impatience of our tempers, we are frequently in ſuch a hurry to make out the meaning of every thing as faſt as it happens, that we thereby never truly underſtand it; and not only ſtart new difficulties to ourſelves by ſo doing, but, as it were, embarraſs Providence in her good deſigns.

I have been civil in ſtating this fault on a large ſcale; for, as it now ſtands, it does not appear to be levelled againſt any particular ſet of men; but were it to be refined a little further, it might afterwards be applied to the Tories with a degree of ſtriking propriety: thoſe men have been remarkable for drawing ſudden concluſions from ſingle facts. The leaſt apparent miſhap on our ſide, or the leaſt ſeeming advantage on the part of the enemy, have determined the fate of a whole campaign. By this haſty judgment they have converted a retreat into a defeat; miſtook generalſhip for error: while every little advantage purpoſely given the enemy, either to weaken their ſtrength by dividing it, embarraſs their councils by multiplying their objects, or to ſecure a greater poſt by the ſurrender of a leſs, has been inſtantly magnified into a conqueſt. Thus, by quartering ill policy upon ill principles, they have frequently [62] promoted the cauſe they deſigned to injure, and injured that which they intended to promote.

It is probable the campaign may open before this number comes from the preſs. The enemy have long lain idle, and amuſed themſelves with carrying on the war by proclamations only. While they continue their delay, our ſtrength increaſes: and were they to move to action now, it is a circumſtantial proof they have no reinforcement coming; wherefore, in either caſe, the comparative advantage will be ours. Like a wounded diſabled whale they want only time and room to die in; and though in the agony of their exit, it may be unſafe to live within the flapping of their tail, yet every hour ſhortens their date, and leſſens their power of miſchief. If any thing happens while this Number is in the preſs, it will afford me a ſubject for the laſt pages of it. At preſent I am tired of waiting; and as neither the enemy, nor the ſtate of politics, have YET produced any thing new, I am thereby left in the field of general matter undirected by any ſtriking or particular object. This Criſis, therefore, will be made up rather of variety than novelty, and conſiſt more of things uſeful than things wonderful.

The ſucceſs of the cauſe, the union of the people, and the means of ſupporting and ſecuring both, are points which cannot be too much attended to. He who doubts of the former is a deſponding coward, [63] and he who wilfully diſturbs the latter is a traitor. Their characters are eaſily fixed, and under theſe ſhort deſcriptions I leave them for the preſent.

One of the greateſt degrees of ſentimental union which America ever knew, was in denying the right of the Britiſh Parliament "TO BIND THE COLONIES IN ALL CASES WHATSOEVER." The declaration is in its form an almighty one, and is the loftieſt ſtretch of arbitrary power that ever one ſet of men, or one country claimed over another. Taxation was nothing more than putting the declared right into practice; and this failing, recourſe was had to arms, as a means to eſtabliſh both the right and the practice, or to anſwer a worſe purpoſe, which will be mentioned in the courſe of this Number. And in order to repay themſelves the expence of an army, and to profit by their own injuſtice, the Colonies were, by another law, declared to be in a ſtate of actual rebellion, and of conſequence all property therein would fall to the conquerors.

The Colonies, on their part, firſt, denied the right; ſecondly, they ſuſpended the uſe of taxable articles, and petitioned againſt the practice of taxation: and theſe failing, they, thirdly, defended their property by force, as ſoon as it was forcibly invaded; and in anſwer to the declaration of rebellion and non-protection, publiſhed their declaration [64] of Independence, and right to ſelf-protection.

Theſe, in a few words, are the different ſtages of the quarrel; and the parts are ſo intimately and neceſſarily connected with each other, as to admit of no ſeparation. A perſon, to uſe a trite phraſe, muſt be a Whig or a Tory in the lump. His feelings, as a man, may be wounded; his charity, as a Chriſtian, may be moved: but his political principles muſt go through all the caſes on one ſide or the other. He cannot be a Whig in this ſtage, and a Tory in that. If he ſays he is againſt the United Independence of the Continent, he is, to all intents and purpoſes againſt her in all the reſt; becauſe THIS LAST comprehends the whole. And he may juſt as well ſay, that Britain was right in declaring us rebels; right in taxing us; and right in declaring her "RIGHT TO BIND THE COLONIES IN ALL CASES WHATSOEVER." It ſignifies nothing what neutral ground, of his own creation, he may ſkulk upon for ſhelter; for the quarrel in no ſtage of it hath afforded any ſuch ground; and either we or Britain are abſolutely right or abſolutely wrong through the whole.

Britain, like a gameſter nearly ruined, hath now put all her loſſes into one bet, and is playing a deſperate game for the total. If ſhe win it, ſhe wins from me MY life; ſhe wins the Continent as the forfeited property of rebels; the right of taxing [65] thoſe that are left as reduced ſubjects; and the power of binding them as ſlaves: And the ſingle die which determines this unparalleled event is, whether we ſupport our independence or ſhe overturn it. This is coming to the point at once. Here is the touch-ſtone to try men by. He that is not a ſupporter of the independent ſtates of America; in the ſame degree that his religious and political principles would ſuffer him to ſupport the government of any other country, of which he called himſelf a ſubject, is, in the American ſenſe of the word, A TORY; and theinſtant that he endeavors to bring his toryiſm into practice, he becomes A TRAITOR. The firſt man can only be detected by a general teſt, and the law hath already provided for the latter.

It is unnatural and impolitic to admit men who would root up our independence to have any ſhare in our legiſlation, either as electors or repreſentatives; becauſe the ſupport of our independence reſts in a great meaſure on the vigour and purity of our public bodies. Would Britain, even in time of peace, much leſs in war, ſuffer an election to be carried by men who profeſſed themſelves not to be her ſubjects, or allow ſuch to ſit in parliament? Certainly not.

But there are a certain ſpecies of tories with whom conſcience or principle hath nothing to do, and who are ſo from avarice only. Some of the firſt fortunes in the continent, on the part of the [66] whigs, are ſtaked on the iſſue of our preſent meaſures. And ſhall diſaffection only be rewarded with ſecurity? Can any thing be a greater inducement to a miſerly man, than the hope of making his mammon ſafe? And though the ſcheme be fraught with every character of folly, yet, ſo long as he ſuppoſes, that by doing nothing materially criminal againſt America on one part, and by expreſſing his private diſapprobation againſt independence, as a palliative with the enemy on the other part, he ſtands thereby in a ſafe line between both, while, I ſay, this ground be ſuffered to remain, craft and the ſpirit of avarice will point it out, and men will not be wanting to fill up this moſt contemptible of all characters.

Theſe men, aſhamed to own the ſordid cauſe from whence their diſaffection ſprings, and thereby add meanneſs to meanneſs, by endeavouring to ſhelter themſelves under the maſk of hypocriſy; that is, they had rather be thought to be tories from ſome kind of principle, than tories by having no principle at all. But till ſuch time as they can ſhow ſome real reaſon, natural, political or conſcientious, on which their objections to independence are founded, we are not obliged to give them credit for being tories of the firſt ſtamp, but muſt ſet them down as tories of the laſt.

In the ſecond number of the Criſis I endeavoured to ſhew the impoſſibility of the enemy making any [67] conqueſt of America that nothing was wanting on our part but patience and perſeverance, and that, with theſe virtues, our ſucceſs, as far as human ſpeculation could diſcern, ſeemed as certain as fate. But as there are many among us, who, influenced by others, have regularly gone back from the principles they once held, in proportion as we have gone forward; and as it is the unfortunate lot of many a good man to live within the neighbourhood of diſaffected ones; I ſhall therefore, for the ſake of confirming the one and recovering the other, endeavour, in the ſpace of a page or two, to go over ſome of the leading principles in ſupport of independence. It is a much pleaſanter taſk to prevent vice than to puniſh it; and however our tempers may be gratified by reſentment, or our national expences eaſed by forfeited eſtates, harmony and friendſhip is nevertheleſs the happieſt condition a country can be bleſt with.

The principal arguments in ſupport of independence may be comprehended under the four following heads.

  • Firſt,—The natural right of the continent to independence.
  • Secondly,—Her intereſt in being independent.
  • Thirdly—The neceſſity,—and
  • Fourthly,—The moral advantages ariſing therefrom.

[68] I. The natural right of the continent to independence, is a point which never yet was called in queſtion. It will not even admit of a debate. To deny ſuch a right, would be a kind of atheiſm againſt nature: And the beſt anſwer to fuch an objection would be, "The fool hath ſaid in his heart, there is no God."

II. The intereſt of the continent in being independent is a point as clearly right as the former. America, by her own internal induſtty, and unknown to all the powers of Europe, was at the beginning of the diſpute, arrived at a pitch of greatneſs, trade and population, beyond which it was the intereſt of Britain not to ſuffer her to paſs, leſt ſhe ſhould grow too powerful to be kept ſubordinate. She began to view this country with the ſame uneaſy malicious eye, with which a covetous guardian would view his ward whoſe eſtate he had been enriching himſelf by for twenty years, and ſaw him juſt arriving to manhood. And America owes no more to Britain for her preſent maturity, than the ward would to his guardian for being twenty-one years of age. That America hath flouriſhed at the time ſhe was under the government of Britain, is true; but there is every natural reaſon to believe, that had ſhe been an independent country from the firſt ſettlement thereof, uncontrouled by any foreign power, free to make her own laws, regulate and encourage her own commerce, ſhe had by his [69] time been of much greater worth than now. The caſe is ſimply this, The firſt ſettlers in the different colonies were left to ſhift for themſelves, unnoticed and unſupported by any European government; but as the tyranny and perſecution of the old world daily drove numbers to the new, and, as by the favor of Heaven on their induſtry and perſeverance, they grew into importance, ſo, in a like degree, they became an object of profit to the greedy eyes of Europe. It was impoſſible in this ſtate of infancy, however thriving and promiſing, that they could reſiſt the power of any armed invader that ſhould ſeek to bring them under his authority. In this ſituation Britain thought it worth her while to claim them, and the continent received and acknowledged the claimer. It was, in reality, of no very great importance who was her maſter, ſeeing that from the force and ambition of the different powers of Europe ſhe muſt, till ſhe acquired ſtrength enough to aſſert her own right, acknowledge ſome one. As well, perhaps, Britain as another; and it might have been as well to have been under the ſtates of Holland as any. The ſame hopes of engroſſing and profiting by her trade, by not oppreſſing it too much, would have operated alike with any maſter, and produced to the colonies the ſame effects. The clamour of protection likewiſe, was all a farce; becauſe, in order to make that protection neceſſary, ſhe muſt firſt, by her own [70] quarrels create us enemies. Hard terms indeed!

To know whether it be the intereſt of the continent to be independent, we need only aſk this eaſy, ſimple queſtion: Is it the intereſt of a man to be a boy all his life? The anſwer to one will be the anſwer to both. America hath been one continued ſcene of legiſlative contention from the firſt king's repreſentative to the laſt; and this was unavoidably founded in the natural oppoſition of intereſt between the old country and the new. A governor ſent from England, or receiving his authority therefrom, ought never to have been conſidered in any other light than that of a genteel commiſſioned ſpy, whoſe private buſineſs was information, and his public buſineſs a kind of civilized oppreſſion. In the firſt of theſe characters he was to watch the tempers, ſentiments and diſpoſition of the people, the growth of trade, and the increaſe of private fortunes; and in the latter, to ſuppreſs all ſuch acts of the aſſemblies, however beneficial to the people, which did not directly or indirectly throw ſome increaſe of power or profit into the hands of thoſe who ſent him.

America, till now, could never be called a free country, becauſe her legiſlation depended on the will of a man three thouſand miles diſtant, whoſe intereſt was in oppoſition to ours, and who by a ſingle "no," could forbid what law he pleaſed.

The freedom of trade, likewiſe, is, to a trading [71] country, an article of ſuch vaſt importance, that the principal ſource of wealth depends upon it; and it is impoſſible that any country can flouriſh, as it otherwiſe might do, whoſe commerce is engroſſed cramped and fettered by the laws and mandates of another—yet theſe evils, and more than I can here enumerate, the continent has ſuffered by being under the government of Great Britain. By an independence we clear the whole at once—put an end to the buſineſs of unanſwered petitions and fruitleſs remonſtrances—exchange Britain for Europe— ſhake hands with the world—live at peace with mankind—and trade to any market where we beſt can buy and ſell.

III. The neceſſity, likewiſe, of being independent, even before it was declared, became ſo evident and important, that the continent ran the riſk of being ruined every day ſhe delayed it. There were reaſons to believe that Britain would endeavour to make an European matter of it, and rather than loſe the whole, would diſmember it like Poland, and diſpoſe of her ſeveral claims to the higheſt bidder. Genoa, failing in her attempts to reduce Corſica, made a ſale of it to the French, and ſuch traffics have been common in the old world. We had at that time no Ambaſſador in any part of Europe, to counteract her negociations, and by that means ſhe had the range of every foreign court uncontradicted on our part. We even knew nothing of the treaty [72] for the Heſſians till it was concluded, and the troops ready to embark. Had we been independent before, we had probably prevented her obtaining them. We had no credit abroad, becauſe of our rebellious dependency. Our ſhips could claim no protection in foreign ports, becauſe we afforded them no juſtifiable reaſon for granting it to us. The calling ourſelves ſubjects, and at the ſame time fighting againſt the power we acknowledged, was a dangerous precedent to all Europe. If the grievances juſtified our taking up arms, they juſtified our ſeparation; if they did not juſtify our ſeparation, neither could they juſtify our taking up arms. All Europe was intereſted in reducing us as rebels, and all Europe (or the greateſt part at leaſt) is intereſted in ſupporting us as independent ſtates. At home our condition was ſtill worſe: Our currency had no foundation. and the fall of it would have ruined whig and tory alike. We had no other law than a kind of moderated paſſion; no other civil power than an honeſt mob; and no other protection than the temporary attachment of one man to another. Had independence been delayed a few months longer, this continent would have been plunged into irrecoverable confuſion: Some violent for it, ſome againſt it, till in the general cabal the rich would have been ruined, and the poor deſtroyed. It is to independence that every tory owes the preſent ſafety he lives in; for by that, and that only, we [73] emerged from a ſtate of dangerous ſuſpenſe, and became a regular people.

The neceſſity likewiſe of being independent, had there been no rupture between Britain and America, would in a little time have brought one on. The encreaſing importance of commerce, the weight and perplexity of legiſlation, and the entangled ſtate of European politics, would daily have ſhewn to the continent the impoſſibility of continuing ſubordinate; for, after the cooleſt reflections on the matter, this muſt be allowed, that Britain was too jealous of America, to govern it juſtly; too ignorant of it, to govern it well; and too diſtant from it, to govern it at all.

IV. But, what weigh moſt with all men of ſerious reflection are the MORAL ADVANTAGES ariſing from independence: War and deſolation are become the trades of the old world; and America neither could nor can be under the government of Britain without becoming a ſharer of her guilt, and a partner in all the diſmal commerce of death. The ſpirit of duelling, extended on a national ſcale, is a proper character for European wars. They have ſeldom any other motive than pride, or any other object than fame. The conquerors and the conquered are generally ruined alike, and the chief difference at laſt is, that the one marches home with his honours, and the other without them. 'Tis the natural temper of the [74] Engliſh to fight for a feather, if they ſuppoſe that feather to be an affront; and America, without the right of aſking why, muſt have abetted in every quarrel and abided by its fate. It is a ſhocking ſituation to live in, that one country muſt be brought into all the wars of another, whether the meaſure be right or wrong, or whether ſhe will or not; yet this, in the fulleſt extent, was, and ever would be, the unavoidable conſequence of the connection. Surely! the Quakers forgot their own principles, when in their late teſtimony they called this connection with theſe military and miſerable appendages hanging to it, "The happy conſtitution."

Britain, for centuries paſt has been nearly fifty years out of every hundred at war with ſome power or other. It certainly ought to be a conſcientious as well as political conſideration with America, not to dip her hands in the bloody work of Europe. Our ſituation affords us a retreat from their cabals, and the preſent happy union of the ſtates bids fair for extirpating the future uſe of arms from one quarter of the world; yet ſuch have been the irreligious politics of the preſent leaders of the Quakers, that, for the ſake of they ſcarce knew what, they would cut off every hope of ſuch a bleſſing by tying this continent to Britain, like Hector to the chariot-wheel of Achilles, to be dragged through all the miſeries of endleſs European wars.

[75] The connection, viewed from this ground, is diſtreſſing to every man who has the feelings of humanity. By having Britain for our maſter, we became enemies to the greateſt part of Europe, and they to us; and the conſequence was war inevitable. By being our own maſters, independent of any foreign one, we have Europe for our friends, and the proſpect of an endleſs peace among ourſelves. Thoſe who were advocates for the Britiſh government over theſe colonies, were obliged to limit both their arguments and their ideas to the period of an European peace only: The moment Britain became plunged in war, every ſuppoſed convenience to us vaniſhed away, and all we could hope for was not to be ruined. Could this be a deſirable condition for a young country to be in?

Had the French purſued their fortune immediately after the defeat of Braddock, laſt war this city and province had then experienced the woeful calamities of being a Britiſh ſubject. A ſcene of the ſame kind might happen again; for America, conſidered as a ſubject to the crown of Britain, would ever have been the ſeat of war and the bone of contention between the two powers.

On the whole, if the future expulſion of arms from one quarter of the world be a deſirable object to a peaceable man;—if the freedom of trade to every part of it can engage the attention of a man of buſineſs;—if the ſupport or fall of millions of [76] currency can affect our intereſt;—if the entire poſſeſſion of eſtates, by cutting off the lordly claims of Britain over the ſoil, deſerves the regard of landed property;—and if the right of making our own laws, uncontrouled by royal or miniſterial ſpies or mandates, be worthy our care as freemen;—then are all men intereſted in the ſupport of independence; and may he that ſupports it not, be driven from the bleſſing, and live unpitied beneath the ſervile ſufferings of ſcandalous ſubjection!

We have been amuſed with the tales of ancient wonders; we have read, and wept over, the hiſtories of other nations; applauded, cenſured or pitied, as their caſes affected us.—The fortitude and patience of the ſufferers—the juſtneſs of their cauſe —the weight of their oppreſſions and oppreſſors— the object to be ſaved or loſt—with all the conſequences of a defeat or a conqueſt—have, in the hour of ſympathy, bewitched our hearts and chained it to their fate: But where is the power that ever made war upon petitioners? Or where is the war on which a world was ſtaked till now?

We may not, perhaps, be wiſe enough to make all the advantages we ought of our independence; but they are, nevertheleſs, marked and preſented to us with every character of GREAT and GOOD and worthy the hand of Him who ſent them. I look through the preſent trouble to a time of tranquility, when we ſhall have it in our power to ſet [77] an example of peace to all the world. Were the Quakers really impreſſed and influenced by the quiet principles they profeſs to hold, they would, however they might diſapprove the means, be the firſt of all men to approve of INDEPENDENCE, becauſe, by ſeparating from the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, it affords an opportunity, never given to man before, of carrying their favourite principle of peace into general practice, by eſtabliſhing governments that ſhall hereafter exiſt without wars. Oh ye fallen, cringing prieſt and Pemberton-ridden people! what more can we ſay of ye than that a religious Quaker is a valuable character, and a political Quaker a real Jeſuit.

Having thus gone over ſome of the principal points in ſupport of independence, I muſt now requeſt the reader to return back with me to the period when it firſt began to be a public doctrine, and to examine the progreſs it has made among the various claſſes of men. The aera I mean to begin at, is the breaking out of hoſtilities, April 19th, 1775. Until this event happened, the continent ſeemed to view the diſpute as a kind of law-ſuit for a matter of right, litigating between the old country and the new; and ſhe felt the ſame kind and degree of horror, as if ſhe had ſeen an oppreſſive plantiff, at the head of a band of ruffians, enter the court, while the cauſe was before it, and put the judge, the jury, the defendant and his council to the [78] ſword. Perhaps a more heart-felt convulſion never reached a country with the ſame degree of power and rapidity before, and never may again. Pity for the ſufferers, mixed with indignation at the violence, and heightened with apprehenſions of undergoing the ſame fate, made the affair of Lexington the affair of the continent. Every part of it felt the ſhock and all vibrated together. A general promotion of ſentiment took place: Thoſe who had drank deeply into whiggiſh principles, that is, the right and neceſſity not only of oppoſing, but wholly ſetting aſide the power of the crown as ſoon as it became practically dangerous (for in theory it was always ſo) ſtept into the firſt ſtage of independence; while another claſs of whigs, equally ſound in principle, but not ſo ſanguine in enterprize, attached themſelves the ſtronger to the cauſe and fell cloſe in with the rear of the former; their partition was a mere point. Numbers of the moderate men whoſe chief fault, at that time, aroſe from their entertaining a better opinion of Britain than ſhe deſerved, convinced now of their miſtake, gave her up and publicly declared themſelves good whigs. While the tories, ſeeing it was no longer a laughing matter, either ſunk into ſilent obſcurity, or contented themſelves with coming forth and abuſing General Gage: Not a ſingle advocate appeared to juſtify the action of that day; it ſeemed to appear to every one with the ſame magnitude, ſtruck every [79] one with the ſame force, and created in every one the ſame abhorrence. From this period we may date the growth of independence.

If the many circumſtances, which happened at this memorable time, be taken in one view, and compared with each other, they will juſtify a concluſion which ſeems not to be attended to, I mean a fixt deſign in the king and miniſtry of driving America into arms, in order that they might be furniſhed with a pretence for ſeizing the whole continent, as the immediate property of the crown. A noble plunder for hungry courtiers!

It ought to be remembered, that the firſt petition from the congreſs was at this time unanſwered on the part of the Britiſh king. That the motion called Lord North's motion, of the 20th of February, 1775, arrived in America the latter end of March. This motion was to be laid by the ſeveral governors, then in being, before the aſſembly of each province; and the firſt aſſembly before which it was laid, was the aſſembly of Pennſylvania in May following. This being a juſt ſtate of the caſe, I then aſk, why were hoſtilities commenced between the time of paſſing the reſolve in the houſe of commons, of the 20th of February, and the time of the aſſemblies meeting to deliberate upon it? Degrading and infamous as that motion was, there is, nevertheleſs, reaſon to believe that the king and his adherents were afraid the colonies would [80] agree to it, and leſt they ſhould, took effectual care they ſhould not, by provoking them with hoſtilities in the interim. They had not the leaſt doubt at that time of conquering America at one blow; and what they expected to get by a conqueſt being infinitely greater than any thing they could hope to get either by taxation or accommodation, they ſeemed determined to prevent even the poſſibility of hearing each other, leſt America ſhould diſadpoint their greedy hopes of the whole, by liſtening even to their own terms. On the one hand they refufed to hear the petition of the continent, and on the other hand took effectual care the continent ſhould not hear them.

That the motion of the 20th of February and the orders for commencing hoſtilities were both concerted by the ſame perſon or perſons, and not the latter by General Gage, as was falſely imagined at firſt, is evident from an extract of a letter of his to adminiſtration, read among other papers in the houſe of commons; in which he informs his maſters, That though their idea of his diſarming certain counties was a right one, yet it required him to be maſter of the country, in order to enable him to execute it. This was prior to the commencement of hoſtilities and conſequently before the motion of the 20th of February could be deliberated on by the ſeveral aſſemblies.

[81] Perhaps it may be aſked, why was the motion paſt, if there was at the ſame time a plan to aggravate the Americans not to liſten to it? Lord North aſſigned one reaſon himſelf, which was, a hope of dividing them. This was publicly tempting them to reject it; that if, in caſe, the injury of arms ſhould fail of provoking them ſufficiently, the inſult of ſuch a declaration might fill it up. But by paſſing the motion and getting it afterwards rejected in America, it enabled them, in their wretched idea of politics, among other things, to hold up the colonies to foreign powers with every poſſible mark of diſobedience and rebellion. They had applied to thoſe powers not to ſupply the continent with arms, ammunition, &c. and it was neceſſary they ſhould incenſe them againſt us by aſſigning on their own part ſome ſeeming reputable reaſon why. By dividing, it had a tendency to weaken the ſtates, and likewiſe to perplex the adherents of America in England. But the principal ſcheme, and that which has marked their character in every part of their conduct, was a deſign of precipitating the colonies into a ſtate which they might afterwards deem rebellion, and under that pretence put an end to all future complaints, petitions or remonſtrances, by ſeizing the whole at once. They had ravaged one part of the globe, till it could glut them no longer; their prodigality required new plunder, and through the Eaſt-India article TEA, [82] they hoped to transfer their rapine from that quarter of the world to this.—Every deſigned quarrel has its pretence; and the ſame barbarian avarice accompanied the plant to America, which ruined the country which produced it.

That men never turn rogues without turning fools, is a maxim, ſooner or later, univerſally true. The commencement of hoſtilities, being in the beginning of April, was, of all times the worſt choſen: The congreſs were to meet the tenth of May following, and the diſtreſs the continent felt at this unparalleled outrage gave a ſtability to that body, which no other circumſtance could have done. It ſuppreſſed too, all inferior debates, and bound them together by a neceſſitous affection, without giving them time to differ upon trifles. The ſuffering likewiſe, ſoftened the whole body of the people into a degree of pliability, which laid the principal foundation-ſtone of union, order and government; and which, at any other time, might only have fretted and then faded away unnoticed and unimproved: But providence, who beſt knows how to time her misfortunes as well as her immediate favors, choſe this to be the time. And who dares diſpute it?

It did not ſeem the diſpoſition of the people at this criſis to heap petition upon petition, while the former remained unanſwered: The meaſure, however, was carried in congreſs, and a ſecond petition [83] was ſent; of which I ſhall only remark, that it was ſubmiſſive even to a dangerous fault, becauſe the prayer of it appealed ſolely to, what it called, the prerogative of the crown, while the matter in diſpute was confeſſed to be conſtitutional. But even this petition, flattering as it was, was ſtill not ſo harmonious as the chink of caſh, and conſequently not ſufficiently grateful to the tyrant and his miniſtry. From every circumſtance it is evident, that it was the determination of the Britiſh court to have nothing to do with America but to conquer it fully and abſolutely. They were certain of ſucceſs, and the field of battle was to be the only place of treaty. I am confident there are thouſands and tens of thouſands in America who wonder now they ſhould ever think otherwiſe; but the ſin of that day was the ſin of civility, yet it operated againſt our preſent good in the ſame manner that a civil opinion of the devil would againſt our future peace.

Independence was a doctrine ſcarce and rare even towards the concluſion of the year ſeventy-five: All our politics had been founded on the hope or expectation of making the matter up—a hope, which, though general on the ſide of America, had never entered the head or heart of the Britiſh court. Their hope was conqueſt and confiſcation. Good Heavens! what volumes of thanks does America owe to Britain! What infinite obligations to the [84] tool, that fills, with paradoxical vacancy, the throne! Nothing but the ſharpeſt effence of villainy, compounded with the ſtrongeſt diſtillation of folly, could have produced a menſtruum that would have effected a ſeparation. The congreſs in ſeventy-four adminiſtered an abortive medicine to independence, by prohibiting the importation of goods, and the ſucceeding congreſs rendered the doſe ſtill more dangerous by continuing it. Had independence been a ſettled ſyſtem with America (as Britain has advanced) ſhe ought to have doubled her importation, and prohibited in ſome degree her exportation. And this ſingle circumſtance is ſufficient to acquit America, before any jury of nations, of having a continental plan of independence in view: A charge, which had it been true, would have been honourable, but is ſo groſsly falſe, that either the amazing ignorance, or the wilful diſhoneſty of the Britiſh court, is effectually proved by it.

The ſecond petition, like the firſt, produced no anſwer: it was ſcarcely acknowledged to be received; the Britiſh court were too determined in their villany even to act it artfully, and in their rage for conqueſt, neglected the neceſſary ſubtilties for obtaining it. They might have divided, diſtracted, and played a thouſand tricks with us, had they been as cunning as they were cruel.

[85] This laſt indignity gave a new ſpring to independence. Thoſe who knew the ſavage obſtinacy of the king and the jobbing gambling ſpirit of the court predicted the fate of the petition, as ſoon as it was ſent from America; for the men being known, their meaſures were eaſily foreſeen. As politicians, we ought not ſo much to ground our hope on the reaſonableneſs of the thing we aſk, as on the reaſonableneſs of the perſon of whom we aſk it; Who would expect diſcretion from a fool, candor from a tyrant, or juſtice from a villain?

As every proſpect of accommodation ſeemed now to fail faſt, men began to think ſeriouſly on the matter; and their reaſon being thus ſtript of the falſe hope which had long encompaſſed it, became approachable by fair debate; yet ſtill the bulk of the people heſitated; they ſtartled at the novelty of independence, without once conſidering that our getting into arms at firſt was a more extraordinary novelty, and that all other nations had gone through the work of independence before us. They doubted, likewiſe, the ability of the continent to ſupport it, without reflecting, that it required the ſame force to obtain an accommodation by arms as an independence. If the one was acquirable, the other was the ſame; becauſe to accompliſh either, it was neceſſary that our ſtrength ſhould be too great for Britain to ſubdue; and it was too unreaſonable to ſuppoſe, that with the power of being maſters, we [86] ſhould ſubmit to be ſervants*. Their caution at this time, was exceedingly miſplaced; for if they were able to defend their property and maintain their rights by arms, they conſequently were able to defend and ſupport their independence; and in proportion as theſe men ſaw the neceſſity and righteneſs of the meaſure, they honeſtly and openly declared and adopted it, and the part they have acted ſince, has done them honour, and fully eſtabliſhed their characters. Error in opinion has this peculiar advantage with it, that the foremoſt point of the contrary ground may at any time be reached by the [87] ſudden exertion of a thought; and it frequently happens in ſentimental differences that ſome ſtriking circumſtance, or ſome forcible reaſon, quickly conceived, will effect in an inſtant what neither argument nor example could produce in an age.

I find it impoſſible in the ſmall compaſs I am limited to, to trace out the progreſs which independence has made on the minds of the different claſſes of men, and the ſeveral reaſons by which they were moved. With ſome, it was a paſſionate abhorrence againſt the king of England and his miniſtry, as a ſet of ſavages and brutes; and theſe men governed by the agony of a wounded mind, were for truſting every thing to hope and heaven, and bidding defiance at once. With others, it was a growing conviction that the ſcheme of the Britiſh court was to create, ferment and drive on a quarrel for the ſake of confiſcated plunder: Men of this caſt ripened into independence in proportion as the evidence increaſed. While a third claſs conceived it was the true intereſt of America, internally and externally, to be her own maſter, gave their ſupport to independence, ſtep by ſtep, as they ſaw her abilities to maintain it enlarge. With many, it was a compound of all theſe reaſons; while thoſe who were too callous to be reached by either, remained, and ſtill remain tories.

The legal neceſſity of being independent, with ſeveral collateral reaſons, is pointed out in an elegant, [88] maſterly manner, in a charge to the grand jury for the diſtrict of Charleſtown, by the Hon. William Henry Drayton, Eſq. chief juſtice of South-Carolina. This performance, and the addreſs of the convention of New-York, are pieces, in my humble opinion, of the firſt rank in America.

The principal cauſes why independence has not been ſo univerſally ſupported as it ought, are fear and indolence, and the cauſes why it has been oppoſed, are, avarice, downright villainy, and luſt of perſonal power. There is not ſuch a being in America, as a tory from conſcience; ſome ſecret defect or other is interwoven in the character of all thoſe, be they men or women, who can look with patience on the brutality, luxury and debauchery of the Britiſh court, and the violations of their army here. A woman's virtue muſt ſit very lightly on her, who can even hint a favourable ſentiment in their behalf. It is remarkable that the whole race of proſtitutes in New-York were tories; and the ſchemes for ſupporting the tory cauſe, in this city, for which ſeveral are now in gaol, and one hanged were concerted and carried on in common baudyhouſes, aſſiſted by thoſe who kept them.

The connection between vice and meanneſs is a fit object for ſatire, but when the ſatire is a fact, it cuts with the irreſiſtible power of a diamond. If a Quaker, in defence of his juſt rights, his property, [89] and the chaſtity of his houſe, takes up a muſket, he is expelled the meeting; but the preſent king of England, who ſeduced and took into keeping a ſiſter of their ſociety, is reverenced and ſupported with repeated teſtimonies, while the friendly noodle from whom ſhe was taken (and who is now in this city) continues a drudge in the ſervice of his rivals, as if proud of being cuckolded by a creature called a king.

Our ſupport and ſucceſs depend on ſuch a variety of men and circumſtances, that every one, who does but wiſh well, is of ſome uſe: There are men who have a ſtrange auk wardneſs to arms, yet have hearts to riſk every ſhilling in the cauſe, or in ſupport of thoſe who have better talents for defending it. Nature in the arrangement of mankind, has fitted ſome for every ſervice in life: Were all ſoldiers, all would ſtarve and go naked, and were none ſoldiers, all would be ſlaves. As diſaffection to independence is the badge of a tory, ſo affection to it is the mark of a whig; and the different ſervices of the whigs down from thoſe who nobly contribute every thing, to thoſe who have nothing to render but their wiſhes, tend all to the ſame centre, though with different degrees of merit and ability. The larger we make the circle, the more we ſhall harmonize, and the ſtronger we ſhall be. All we want to ſhut out, is diſaffection, and, that excluded, we muſt accept from each other ſuch duties as we [90] are beſt fitted to beſtow. A narrow ſyſtem of politics, like a narrow ſyſtem of religion is calculated only to ſour the temper, and live at variance with mankind.

All we want to know in America is ſimply this, who is for independence, and who is not? Thoſe who are for it will ſupport it, and the remainder will undoubtedly ſee the reaſonableneſs of their paying the charges; while thoſe who oppoſe or ſeek to betray it muſt expect the more rigid fate of the gaol and the gibbet. There is a baſtard kind of generoſity, which, by being extended to all men, is as fatal to ſociety, on one hand, as the want of true generoſity is on the other. A lax manner of adminiſtering juſtice, falſely termed moderation, has a tendency both to diſpirit public virtue, and promote the growth of public evils. Had the late committee of ſafety taken cognizance of the laſt teſtimony of the Quakers, and proceeded againſt ſuch delinquents as were concerned therein, they had, probably prevented the treaſonable plans which have been concerted ſince. When one villain is ſuffered to eſcape, it encourages another to proceed, either from a hope of eſcaping likewiſe, or an apprehenſion that we dare not puniſh. It has been a matter of general ſurpriſe, that no notice was taken of the incendiary publication of the Quakers, of the 20th of November laſt; a publication evidently intended to promote ſedition and treaſon, and encourage the [91] enemy, who were then within a day's march of this city, to proceed on and poſſeſs it. I here preſent the reader with a memorial, which was laid before the board of ſafety a few days after the teſtimony appeared. Not a member of that board, that I converſed with, but expreſſed the higheſt deteſtation of the perverted principles and conduct of the Quaker junto, and that the board would take the matter up; notwithſtanding which, it was ſuffered to paſs away unnoticed, to the encouragement of new acts of treaſon, the general danger of the cauſe, and the diſgrace of the ſtate.

To the honourable the council of ſafety of the ſtate of Pennſylvania.

At a meeting of a reputable number of the inhabitants of the city of Philadelphia, impreſſed with a proper ſenſe of the juſtice of the cauſe which this continent is engaged in, and animated with a generous fervor for ſupporting the ſame, it was reſolved, that the following be laid before the board of ſafety:

"We profeſs liberality of ſentiment to all men; with this diſtinction only, that thoſe who do not deſerve it, would become wiſe and ſeek to deſerve it. We hold the pure doctrine of univerſal liberty of conſcience, and conceive it our duty to endeavour [92] to ſecure that ſacred right to others, as well as to defend it for ourſelves; for we undertake not to judge of the religious rectitude of tenets, but leave the whole matter to Him who made us.

"We perſecute no man, neither will we abet in the perſecution of any man for religion ſake; our common relation to others, being that of fellow citizens and fellow-ſubjects of one civil community; and in this line of connection we hold out the right hand of fellowſhip to all men. But we ſhould conceive ourſelves to be unworthy members of the FREE and INDEPENDENT STATES OF AMERICA, were we unconcernedly to ſee or ſuffer any treaſonable wound, public or private, directly or indirectly, to be given againſt the peace and ſafety of the ſame. We enquire not into the rank of the offenders, nor their religious perſuaſion; we have no buſineſs with either, our part being only to find them out, and exhibit them to juſtice.

"A printed paper, dated the 20th of November, and ſigned "John Pemberton," whom we ſuppoſe to be an inhabitant of this city, has lately been diſperſed abroad, a copy of which accompanies this. Had the framers and publiſhers of that paper conceived it their duty, to exhort the youth, and others, of their ſociety, to a patient ſubmiſſion under the preſent trying viſitations, and humbly to wait the event of heaven towards them, they had therein ſhewn a Chriſtian temper, and we had been ſilent; [93] but the anger and political virulence with which their inſtructions are given, and the abuſe with which they ſtigmatize all ranks of men, not thinking like themſelves, leave no doubt on our minds from what ſpirit their publication proceeded: And it is diſgraceful to the pure cauſe of truth, that men can dally with words of the moſt ſacred import, and play them as mechanically off, as if religion conſiſted only in contrivance. We know of no inſtance in which the Quakers have been compelled to bear arms, or do any thing which might ſtrain their conſcience; wherefore their advice, "to withſtand and refuſe to admit to the arbitrary inſtructions and ordinances of men," appear to us a falſe alarm, and could only be treaſonably calculated to gain favour with our enemies, when they were ſeemingly on the brink of invading this ſtate, or what is ſtill worſe, to weaken the hands of our defence, that their entrance into this city might be made practical and eaſy.

"We diſclaim all tumult and diſorder in the puniſhment of offenders; and wiſh to be governed not by temper but by reaſon, in the manner of treating them. We are ſenſible that our cauſe has ſuffered by the two following errors; firſt, by illjudged lenity to traiterous perſons in ſome caſes; and ſecondly, by only a paſſionate treatment of them in others. For the future we diſown both, [94] and wiſh to be ſteady in our proceedings, and ſerious in our puniſhments.

"Every ſtate in America has by the repeated voice of its inhabitants, directed and authorized the continental congreſs to publiſh a formal declaration of independence of, and ſeparation from, the oppreſſive king and parliament of great Britain; and we look on every man an enemy who does not in ſome line or other give his aſſiſtance towards ſupporting the ſame; at the ſame time we conſider the offence to be heightened to a degree of unpardonable guilt, when ſuch perſons, under the ſhew of religion, endeavour, either by writing, ſpeaking, or otherwiſe, to ſubvert, overturn, or bring reproach upon the independence of this continent, as declared by congreſs.

"The publiſhers of the paper, ſigned "John Pemberton," have called in a loud and paſſionate manner on their friends and connections, "to withſtand and refuſe" obedience to whatever "inſtructions or ordinances" may be publiſhed, not warranted by (what they call) "that happy conſtitution under which they and others long enjoyed tranquillity and peace." If this be not treaſon, we know, not what may properly be called by that name.

"To us it is a matter of ſurpriſe and aſtoniſhment, that men with the word "peace, peace" continually on their lips, ſhould be ſo fond of living [95] under, and ſupporting a government, and at the ſame time calling it "happy," which is never better pleaſed than when at war—that hath filled India with carnage and famine—Africa with ſlavery— and tampered with Indians and Negroes to cut the throats of the freemen of America. We conceive it a diſgrace to this ſtate, to harbour or wink at ſuch palpable hypocriſy. But as we ſeek not to hurt the hair of any man's head, when we can make ourſelves ſafe without, we wiſh ſuch perſons to reſtore peace to themſelves and us, by removing themſelves to ſome part of the king of Great Britain's dominions, as by that means they may live unmoleſted by us, or we by them; for our fixed opinion is, that thoſe who do not deſerve a place among us, ought not to have one.

"We conclude, with requeſting the council of ſafety to take into their conſideration the paper ſigned "John Pemberton; and if it ſhall appear to them to be of a dangerous tendency, or of a treaſonable nature, that they would commit the ſigner, together with ſuch other perſons as they can diſcover were concerned therein, into cuſtody, until ſuch time as ſome mode of trial ſhall aſcertain the full degree of their guilt and puniſhment; in the doing of which, we wiſh their judges, whoever they may be, to diſregard the man, his connections, intereſt, riches, poverty, or principles of religion, and to attend to the nature of his offence only."

[96] THE moſt cavilling ſectarian cannot accuſe the foregoing with containing the leaſt ingredient of perſecution. The free ſpirit on which the American cauſe is founded, diſdains to mix with ſuch an impurity, and leave it a rubbiſh fit only for narrow and ſuſpicious minds to grovel in: Suſpicion and perſecution are weeds of the ſame dunghill, and flouriſh beſt together. Had the Quakers minded their religion and their buſineſs, they might have lived through this diſpute in enviable eaſe, and none would have moleſted them. The common phraſe with theſe people is, "Our principles are peace." To which may be replied, and your practices are the reverſe; for never did the conduct of men oppoſe their own doctrine more notoriouſly than the preſent race of the Quakers. They have artfully changed themſelves into a different ſort of people to what they uſed to be, and yet have the addreſs to perſuade each other they are not altered; like antiquated virgins they ſee not the havoc deformity hath made upon them, but pleaſantly miſtaking wrinkles for dimples, conceit themſelves yet lovely, and wonder at the ſtupid world for not admiring them.

Did no injury ariſe to the public by this apoſtacy of the Quakers from themſelves, the public would have nothing to do with it: but as both the deſign and conſequences are pointed againſt a cauſe in which the whole community are intereſted, it is [97] therefore no longer a ſubject confined to the cognizance of the meeting only, but comes as a matter of criminality before either the authority of the particular ſtate in which it is acted, or of the continent againſt which it operates. Every attempt now to ſupport the authority of the king and parliament of Great Britain over America, is treaſon againſt every ſtate; therefore it is impoſſible that any one can pardon or ſcreen from puniſhment, an offender againſt all.

But to proceed: While the infatuated tories of this and other ſtates were laſt ſpring talking of commiſſioners, accommodation, making the matter up, and the Lord knows what ſtuff and nonſenſe, their good king and miniſtry were glutting themſelves with the revenge of reducing America to unconditional ſubmiſſion, and ſolacing each other with the certainty of conquering it in one campaign. The following quotations are from the parliamentary regiſter of the debates of the houſe of lords, March 5th, 1776.

"The Americans," ſays Lord Talbot * "have been obſtinate, undutiful and ungovernable from the very beginning, from their firſt early and infant ſettlements; and I am every day more and more convinced that this people will never be brought back to their duty, and the ſubordinate relation they [98] ſtand in to this country, till reduced to an unconditional effectual ſubmiſſion; no conceſſion on our part, no lenity, no endurance, will have any other effect but that of increaſing their inſolence."

"The ſtruggle," ſays Lord Townſend "is now a ſtruggle for power; the die is caſt, and the ONLY POINT which now remains to be determined, is, in what manner the war can be moſt effectually proſecuted and ſpeedily finiſhed, in order to procure that unconditional ſubmiſſion, which has been ſo able ſtated by the noble Earl with the white ſtaff (meaning lord Talbot); and I have no reaſon to doubt that the meaſures now purſuing will put an end to the war in the courſe of a SINGLE CAMPAIGN. Should it linger longer, we ſhall then have reaſon to expect that ſome foreign power will interfere, and take advantage of our domeſtic troubles and civil diſtractions."

Lord Littleton. "My ſentiments are pretty well known. I ſhall only obſerve now, that lenient meaſures have had no other effect than to produce inſult after inſult; that the more we conceded, the higher America roſe in her demands, and the more inſolent ſhe has grown. It is for this reaſon that I am now for the moſt effective and deciſive meaſures; and am of opinion, that no alternative [99] is left us, but to relinquiſh America for ever, or finally determine to compel her to acknowledge the legiſlative authority of this country; and it is the principle of an unconditional ſubmiſſion I would be for maintaining."

Can words be more expreſſive than theſe. Surely the tories will believe the tory lords! The truth is, they do believe them, and know as fully as any whig on the continent knows, that the king and miniſtry never had the leaſt deſign of an accommodation with America, but an abſolute unconditional conqueſt. And the part which the tories were to act, was, by downright lying, to endeavour to put the continent off its guard, and to divide and ſow diſcontent in the minds of ſuch whigs as they might gain an influence over. In ſhort, to keep up a diſtraction here, that the force ſent from England might be able to conquer in "one campaign." They and the miniſtry were, by a dsifferent game, playing into each others hands. The cry of the tories in England was, "No reconciliation, no accommodation," in order to obtain the greater military force; while thoſe in America were crying nothing but "reconciliation and accommodation," that the force ſent might conquer with the leſs reſiſtance.

But this "ſingle campaign" is over, and America not conquered. The whole work is yet to do, and the force much leſs to do it with. Their condition [100] is both deſpicable and deplorable: Out of caſh—out of heart, and out of hope. A country furniſhed with arms and ammunition, as America now is, with three millions of inhabitants, and three thouſand miles diſtant from the neareſt enemy that can approach her, is able to look and laugh them in the face.

Howe appears to have two objects in view, either to go up the North-river, or come to Philadelphia. By going up the North-river, he ſecures a retreat for his army through Canada, but the ſhips muſt return if they return at all, the ſame way they went; and as our army would be in the rear, the ſafety of their paſſage down is a doubtful matter. By ſuch a motion, he ſhuts himſelf from all ſupplies from Europe, but through Canada, and expoſes his army and navy to the danger of periſhing. The idea of his cutting off the communication between the eaſtern and ſouthern ſtates, by means of the North-river, is merely viſionary. He cannot do it by his ſhipping; becauſe no ſhip can lay long at anchor in any river within reach of the ſhore; a ſingle gun would drive a firſt rate from ſuch a ſtation. This was fully proved laſt October, at fort Waſhington and Lee, where one gun only, on each ſide the river, obliged two frigates to cut and be towed off in an hour's time. Neither can he cut it off by his army; becauſe the ſeveral poſts they [101] muſt occupy, would divide them almoſt to nothing, and expoſe them to be picked up by ours like pebbles on a river's bank; but admitting he could, where is the injury? Becauſe while his whole force is cantoned out, as centries over the water, they will be very innocently employed, and the moment they march into the country, the communication opens.

The moſt probable object is Philadelphia, and the reaſons are many. Howe's buſineſs in America is to conquer it, and in proportion as he finds himſelf unable to the taſk, he will employ his ſtrength to diſtreſs women and weak minds, in order to accompliſh through their fears, what he cannot effect by his own force. His coming, or attempting to come to Philadelphia, is a circumſtance that proves his weakneſs: For no general, that felt himſelf able to take the field and attack his antagoniſt, would think of bringing his army into a city in the ſummer time; and this mere ſhifting the ſcene from place to place, without effecting any thing, has feebleneſs and cowardice on the face of it, and holds him up in a contemptible light to any one who can reaſon juſtly and firmly. By ſeveral informations from New York, it appears that their army in general, both officers and men, have given up the expectation of conquering America; their eye now is fixt upon the ſpoil. They ſuppoſe Philadelphia [102] to be rich with ſtores, and as they think to get more by robbing a town, than by attacking an army, their movement towards this city is probable We are not now contending againſt an army of ſoldiers, but againſt a band of thieves, who had rather plunder than fight, and have no other hope of conqueſt than by cruelty.

They expect to get a mighty booty and ſtrike another general panic by making a ſudden movement and getting poſſeſſion of this city, but unleſs they can march out as well as in, or get the entire command of the river, to remove off their plunder, they may probably be ſtopt with the ſtolen goods upon them. They have never yet ſucceeded wherever they have been oppoſed but at fort Waſhington. At Charleſton their defeat was effectual. At Ticonderoga they ran away. In every ſkirmiſh at Kingſbridge and the White-Plains they were obliged to retreat, and the inſtant our arms were turned upon them in the Jerſeys, they turned likewiſe, and thoſe that turned not were taken.

The neceſſity of always fitting our internal police to the circumſtances of the times we live in, is ſomething ſo ſtrikingly obvious, that no ſufficient objection can be made againſt it. The ſafety of all ſocieties depend upon it; and where this point is not attended to, the conſequences will either be a [103] general languor or a tumult. The encouragement and protection of the good ſubjects of any ſtate, and the ſuppreſſion and puniſhment of bad ones, are the principal objects for which all authority is inſtituted, and the line in which it ought to operate. We have in this city a ſtrange variety of men and characters, and the circumſtances of the times require they ſhould be publicly known; it is not the number of tories that hurt us, ſo much as the not finding out who they are; men muſt now take one ſide or the other, and abide by the conſequences: The quakers, truſting to their ſhortſighted ſagacity, have, moſt unluckily for them, made their declaration in their laſt teſtimony, and we ought now to take them at their word. They have voluntarily read themſelves out of the continental meeting, and cannot hope to be reſtored to it again, but by payment and penitence. Men whoſe political principles are founded on avarice, are beyond the reach of reaſon, and the only cure of toryiſm of this caſt, is to tax it. A ſubſtantial good drawn from a real evil, is of the ſame benefit to ſociety, as if drawn from a virtue; and where men have not public ſpirit to render themſelves ſerviceable, it ought to be the ſtudy of government to draw the beſt uſe poſſible from their vices. When the governing paſſion of any man or ſet of men is once known, the method of managing them is [104] eaſy; for even miſers, whom no public virtue can impreſs, would become generous, could a heavy tax be laid upon covetouſneſs.

The tories have endeavoured to inſure their property with the enemy, by forfeiting their reputation with us; from which may be juſtly inferred, that their governing paſſion is avarice. Make them as much afraid of loſing on one ſide as the other, and you ſtagger their toryiſm; make them more ſo, and you reclaim them; for their principle is to worſhip any power they are moſt afraid of.

This method of conſidering men and things together, opens into a large field for ſpeculation, and affords me opportunity of offering ſome obſervations on the ſtate of our currency, ſo as to make the ſupport of it go hand in hand with the ſuppreſſion of diſaffection, and the encouragement of public ſpirit.

The thing which firſt preſents itſelf in inſpecting the ſtate of the currency is, that we have too much of it, and that there is a neceſſity of reducing the quantity, in order to increaſe the value. Men are daily growing poor by the very means they take to get rich, for in the ſame proportion that the prices of all goods on hand are raiſed, the value of all money laid by, is reduced. A ſimple caſe will make this clear: Let a man have one hundred pounds caſh, and as many goods on hand as will to-day ſell [105] for 20l. but not content with the preſent market price, he raiſes them to 40, and by ſo doing, obliges others in their own defence to raiſe cent per cent likewiſe; in this caſe, it is evident that his hundred pounds laid by is reduced fifty pounds in value; whereas, had the markets dropt cent per cent, his goods would have ſold but for ten, but his hundren pounds would have riſen in value to two hundred; becauſe it would then purchaſe as many goods again, or ſupport his family as long again as before. And ſtrange as it may ſeem, he is one hundred and fifty pounds the poorer for raiſing his goods, to what he would have been had he lowered them; becauſe the forty pounds his goods ſold for, is by the general riſe of the markets, cent per cent, rendered of no more value than the ten pounds would be, had the market fallen in the ſame proportion: and conſequently the whole difference of gain or loſs is on the different values of the hundred pounds laid by, viz. from fifty to two hundred. This rage for raiſing goods is, for ſeveral reaſons, much more the fault of the tories than the whigs; and yet the tories (to their ſhame and confuſion ought they to be told of it) are by far the moſt noiſy and diſcontented. The greateſt part of the whigs, by being now either in the army, or employed in ſome public ſervice, are buyers only, and not ſellers; and as [106] this evil has its origin in trade, it cannot be charged on thoſe who are out of it.

But the grievance is now become too general to be remedied by partial methods, and the only effectual cure is to reduce the quantity of money; with half the quantity we ſhould be richer than we are now, becauſe the value of it would be doubled, and conſequently our attachment to it increaſed; for it is not the number of dollars a man has, but how far they will go, that makes him either rich or poor.

Theſe two points being admitted, viz. that the quantity of money is too great, and that the prices of goods can be only effectually reduced by reducing the quantity of the money; the next point to be conſidered is, the method how to reduce it?

The circumſtances of the times, as before obſerved, require that the public characters of all men ſhould now be fully underſtood, and the only general method of aſcertaining it, is by an oath or affirmation, renouncing all allegiance to the king of Great Britain, and to ſupport the independency of the United States, as declared by Congreſs. Let, at the ſame time, a tax of ten, fifteen or twenty per cent per annum, to be collected quarterly, be levied on all property. Theſe alternatives, by being perfectly voluntary, will take in all ſorts of people. Here is the teſt; here is the tax. He who takes the former, conſcientiouſly proves his affection to [107] the cauſe, and binds himſelf to pay his quota by the beſt ſervices in his power, and is thereby juſtly exempt from the latter; and thoſe who chuſe the latter, pay their quota in money, to be excuſed from taking the former, or rather 'tis the price paid to us for their ſuppoſed, though miſtaken inſurance with the enemy.

But this is only a part of the advantage which would ariſe by knowing the different characters of men. The whigs ſtake every thing on the iſſue of their arms, while the tories, by their diſaffection, are ſapping and undermining their ſtrength, and, of conſequence, the property of the whigs is the more expoſed thereby; and whatever injury their eſtates may ſuſtain by the movements of the enemy, muſt either be borne by themſelves, who have done every thing which has yet been done, or by the tories, who have not only done nothing, but have, by their diſaffection, invited the enemy on.

In the preſent criſis, we ought to know ſquare by ſquare, and houſe by houſe, who are in real allegiance with the United Independent States, and who are not. Let but the line be made clear and diſtinct, and all men will then know what they are to truſt to. It would not only be good policy, but ſtrict juſtice, to raiſe fifty or a hundred thouſand pounds, or more, if it is neceſſary, out of the eſtates and property of the king of England's votaries, reſident [108] in Philadelphia, to be diſtributed, as a reward to thoſe inhabitants of the city and ſtate, who ſhould turn out and repulſe the enemy, ſhould they attempt their march this way; and likewiſe, to bind the property of all ſuch perſons to make good the damages which that of the whigs might ſuſtain. In the undiſtinguiſhable mode of conducting a war, we frequently make repriſals at ſea, on the veſſels of perſons in England who are friends to our cauſe, compared with the reſidentary tories among us.

In every former publication of mine, from Common ſenſe down to the laſt Criſis, I have generally gone on the charitable ſuppoſition, that the tories were rather a miſtaken than a criminal people, and have applied argument after argument with all the candor and temper I was capable of, in order to ſet every part of the caſe clearly and fairly before them, and if poſſible, to reclaim them from ruin to reaſon. I have done my duty by them, and have now done with that doctrine, taking it for granted, that thoſe who yet hold their diſaffection, are either a ſet of avaricious miſcreants, who would ſacrifice the continent to ſave themſelves, or a banditti of hungry traitors, who are hoping for a diviſion of the ſpoil. To which may be added, a liſt of crown or proprietary dependants, who, rather than go without a portion of power, would be content to ſhare it with the devil. Of ſuch men there is no [109] hope; and their obedience will only be according to the danger that is ſet before them, and the power that is exerciſed over them.

A time will ſhortly arrive, in which by aſcertaining the characters of perſons now, we ſhall be guarded againſt their miſchiefs then; ſo in proportion as the enemy deſpair of conqueſt, they will be trying the arts of ſeduction and the force of fear, by all the miſchiefs they can inflict. But in war we may be certain of theſe two things, viz. that cruelty in an enemy, and motions made with more than uſual parade, are always ſigns of weakneſs. He that can conquer, finds his mind too free and pleaſant to be brutiſh; and he that intends to conquer, never makes too much ſhow of his ſtrength.

We now know the enemy we have to do with. While drunk with the certainty of victory, they diſdained to be civil; and in proportion as diſappointment makes them ſober, and their apprehenſions of an European war alarm them, they will become cringing and artful; honeſt they cannot be.

But our anſwer to them, in either condition they may be in, is ſhort and full, "As free and independent ſtates, we are willing to make peace with you to-morrow, but we can neither hear nor reply in any other character."

[110] If Britain cannot conquer us, it proves, that ſhe is neither able to govern or protect us, and our particular ſituation now is ſuch, that any connexion with her would be unwiſely exchanging a half defeated enemy for two powerful ones. Europe, by every appearance and information, is now on the eve, nay, on the morning twilight of a war, and any alliance with George the Third, brings France and Spain upon our backs; a ſeparation from him attach them to our ſide; therefore, the only road to peace, honour, and commerce, is INDEPENDENCE.

Written this fourth year of the UNION, which GOD preſerve!

THE CRISIS.
No. IV.
Philadelphia, Sept. 12, 1777.

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THOSE who expect to reap the bleſſings of freedom, muſt, like men, undergo the fatigues of ſupporting it. The event of Yeſterday is one of thoſe kind of alarms which is juſt ſufficient to rouſe us to duty, without being of conſequence enough to depreſs our fortitude. It is not a field of a few acres of ground, but a cauſe we are defending, and whether we defeat the enemy in one battle, or by degrees, the conſequence will be the ſame.

Look back at the events of laſt winter and the preſent year; there you will find that the enemy's ſucceſſes have always contributed to reduce them. What they have gained in ground, they paid ſo dearly for in numbers, that their victories have in the end amounted to defeats. We have always been maſters at the laſt puſh, and always ſhall, while we do our duty. Howe has been once on the banks of the Delaware, and from thence driven back with loſs and diſgrace; and why not be again driven from the Schuylkill? His condition and [112] ours are very different. He has every body to fight, we have only his one army to cope with, and which waſtes away at every engagement; we can not only reinforce, but can redouble our numbers; he is cut off from all ſupplies, and muſt ſooner or later inevitably fall into our hands.

Shall a band of ten or twelve thouſand robbers, who are this day fifteen hundred or two thouſand men leſs in ſtrength than they were yeſterday, conquer America, or ſubdue even a ſingle ſtate? The thing cannot be, unleſs we ſit down and ſuffer them to do it. Another ſuch a bruſh, notwithſtanding we loſt the ground, would, by ſtill reducing the enemy, put them in a condition to be afterwards totally defeated.

Could our whole army have come up to the attack at one time, the conſequences had probably been otherwiſe; but our having different parts of the Brandywine-creek to guard, and the uncertainty which road to Philadelphia the enemy would attempt to take, naturally afforded them an opportunity of paſſing with their main body at a place where only a part of ours could be poſted; for it muſt ſtrike every thinking man with conviction, that it requires a much greater force to oppoſe an enemy in ſeveral places, than is ſufficient to defeat in any one place.

[113] Men who are ſincere in defending their freedom, will always feel concern at every circumſtance which ſeems to make againſt them; it is the natural and honeſt conſequence of all affectionate attachments, and the want of it is a vice. But the dejection laſts only for a moment; they ſoon riſe out of it with additional vigour; the glow of hope, courage and fortitude, will, in a little time ſupply the place of every inferior paſſion, and kindle the whole heart into heroiſm.

There is a myſtery in the countenance of ſome cauſes, which we have not always preſent judgment enough to explain. It is diſtreſſing to ſee an enemy advancing into a country, but it is the only place in which we can beat them, and in which we have always beaten them, whenever they made the attempt. The nearer any diſeaſe approaches to a criſis, the nearer it is to a cure. Danger and deliverance make their advances together, and it is only the laſt puſh, that one or the other takes the lead.

There are many men who will do their duty when it is not wanted; but a genuine public ſpirit always appear moſt, when there is moſt occaſion for it. Thank God! our army, though fatigued, is yet entire. The attack made by us yeſterday, was under many diſadvantages, naturally ariſing from the uncertainty of knowing which route the enemy would take; and from that circumſtance, the whole of our force could not be brought up together [114] time enough to engage all at once. Our ſtrength is yet reſerved; and it is evident that Howe does not think himſelf a gainer by the affair, otherwiſe he would this morning have moved down and attacked General Waſhington.

Gentlemen of the city and country, it is in your power, by a ſpirited improvement of the preſent circumſtance, to turn it to a real advantage. Howe is now weaker than before, and every ſhot will contribute to reduce him. You are more immediately intereſted than any other part of the continent; your all is at a ſtake; it is not ſo with the general cauſe; you are devoted by the enemy to plunder and deſtruction: It is the encouragement which Howe, the chief of plunderers, has promiſed his army. Thus circumſtanced, you may ſave yourſelves by a manly reſiſtance, but you can have no hope in any other conduct. I never yet knew our brave general, or any part of the army, officers or men, out of heart, and I have ſeen them in circumſtances a thouſand times more trying than the preſent. It is only thoſe that are not in action, that feel languor and heavineſs, and the beſt way to rub it off, is to turn out, and make ſure work of it.

Our army muſt undoubtedly feel fatigue, and want a reinforcement of reſt, though not of valour. Our own intereſt and happineſs call upon us to give them every ſupport in our power, and make the [115] burden of the day, on which the ſafety of this city depends, light as poſſible. Remember, gentlemen, that we have forces both to the northward and ſouthward of Philadelphia, and if the enemy be but ſtopt till thoſe can arrive, this city will be ſaved, and the enemy finally routed. You have too much at ſtake to heſitate. You ought not to think an hour on the matter, but to ſpring to action at once. Other ſtates have been invaded, have likewiſe driven off the invaders. Now our time and turn is come, and perhaps the finiſhing ſtroke is reſerved for us. When we look back on the dangers we have been ſaved from, and reflect on the ſucceſs we have been bleſſed with, it would be ſinful either to be idle or deſpair.

I cloſe this paper with a ſhort addreſs to General Howe. You, ſir, are only lingering out the period that ſhall bring with it your defeat. You have yet ſcarce began upon the war, and the farther you enter, the faſter will your troubles thicken. What you now enjoy is only a reſpite from ruin; an invitation to deſtruction: ſomething that will lead on to our deliverance at your expence. We know the cauſe we are engaged in, and though a paſſionate fondneſs for it may make us grieve at every injury that threatens it, yet, when the moment of concern is over, the determination to duty returns. We are not moved by the gloomy ſmile of a worthleſs [116] king, but by the ardent glow of generous patriotiſm. We fight not to enſlave, but to ſet a country free, and to make room upon the earth for honeſt men to live in. In ſuch a cauſe, we are ſure we are right; and we leave to you, the deſpairing reflection of being the tool of a miſerable tyrant.

THE CRISIS.
No. VI.

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To General Sir William Howe.

TO argue with a man who has renounced the uſe and authority of reaſon, and whoſe philoſophy conſiſts in holding humanity in contempt, is like adminiſtering medicines to the dead, or endeavouring to convert an atheiſt by ſcripture. Enjoy, ſir, your inſenſibility of feeling and reflecting. It is the prerogative of animals. And no man will envy you thoſe honours, in which a ſavage only can be your rival, and a bear your maſter.

As the generoſity of this country, rewarded your brother's ſervices laſt war with an elegant monument in Weſtminſter Abbey, it is conſiſtent that ſhe ſhould beſtow ſome mark of diſtinction upon you. You certainly deſerve her notice, and a conſpicuous place in the catalogue of extraordinary perſons. Yet it would be a pity to paſs you from the world in ſtate, and conſign you to magnificent oblivion among the tombs, without telling the future [118] beholder why. Judas is as much known as John, yet hiſtory aſcribes their fame to very different actions.

Sir William hath undoubtedly merited a monument: But of what kind? or of what inſcription? where placed? or how embelliſhed? is a queſtion that would puzzle all the heralds of St. James's, in the profoundeſt mood of hiſtorical deliberation. We are at no loſs, ſir, to aſcertain your real character, but ſomewhat perplexed how to perpetuate its identity, and preſerve it uninjured from the tranſformations of time or miſtake. A ſtatuary may give a falſe expreſſion to your buſt, or decorate it with ſome equivocal emblems, by which you may happen to ſteal into reputation, and impoſe upon the hereafter traditionary world. Ill nature, or ridicule may conſpire, or a variety of accidents combine to leſſen, enlarge or change Sir William's fame; and no doubt, but he who has taken ſo much pains to be ſingular in his conduct, would chooſe to be as ſingular in his exit, his monument and his epitaph.

The uſual honours of the dead, to be ſure, are not ſufficiently ſublime to eſcort a character like you to the republic of duſt and aſhes; for however men may differ in their ideas of grandeur or government here, the grave is nevertheleſs a perfect republic. Death is not the monarch of the [119] dead, but of the dying. The moment he obtains a conqueſt, he loſes a ſubject, and, like the fooliſh king you ſerve, will, in the end, war himſelf out of all dominion.

As a proper preliminary towards the arrangement of your funeral honours, we readily admit your new rank of knighthood. The title is perfectly in character, and is your own, more by merit than creation. There are knights of various orders from the knight of the windmill, to the knight of the poſt. The former is your patron for exploits, and the latter will aſſiſt you in ſettling your accounts. No honourary title could be more happily applied! The ingenuity is ſublime! And your royal maſter hath diſcovered more genius in fitting you therewith, than in generating the moſt finiſhed figure for a button, or deſcanting on the properties of a button mould.

But how, ſir, ſhall we diſpoſe of you? The invention of a ſtatuary is exhauſted, and Sir William is yet unprovided with a monument. America is anxious to beſtow her funeral favours upon you, and wiſhes to do it in a manner that ſhall diſtinguiſh you from all the deceaſed heroes of the laſt war. The Egyptian method of embalming is not known to the preſent age, and hieroglyphical pageantry hath out lived the ſcience of decyphering it. Some other method, therefore, muſt be thought of to [120] immortalize the new knight of the windmill and poſt. Sir William, thanks to his ſtars, is not oppreſſed with very delicate ideas. He has no ambition of being wrapt up and handed about in myrrh, aloes, and caſſia. Leſs chargeable odours will ſuffice; and it fortunately happens, that the ſimple genius of America, hath diſcovered the art of preſerving bodies, and embelliſhing them too, with much greater frugality than the ancients. In a balmage, ſir, of humble tar, you will be as ſecure as Pharoah, and in a hieroglyphic of feathers, rival in finery all the mummies of Egypt.

As you have already made your exit from the moral world, and by numberleſs acts both of paſſionate and deliberate injuſtice engraved an "Here Lyeth" on your deceaſed honour, it muſt be mere affectation in you to pretend concern at the humours or opinions of mankind reſpecting you. What remains of you may expire at any time. The ſooner the better. For he who ſurvives his reputation, lives out of ſpite to himſelf like a man liſtening to his own reproach.

Thus entombed and ornamented I leave you to the inſpection of the curious, and return to the hiſtory of your yet ſurviving actions.—The character of Sir William hath undergone ſome extraordinary revolutions ſince his arrival in America. It is now fixed and known; and we have nothing [121] to hope from your candour or to fear from your capacity. Indolence and inability have too large a ſhare in your compoſition ever to ſuffer you to be any thing more than the hero of little villanies and unfiniſhed adventures. That, which to ſome perſons appeared moderation in you at firſt, was not produced by any real virtue of your own, but by a contraſt of paſſions dividing and holding you in perpetual irreſolution. One vice will frequently expel another without the leaſt merit in the man, as powers in contrary directions reduce each other to reſt.

It became you to have ſupported a dignified ſolemnity of character; to have ſhewn a ſuperior liberality of ſoul; to have won reſpect by an obſtinate perſeverance in maintaining order, and to have exhibited on all occaſions, ſuch an unchangeable graciouſneſs of conduct, that while we beheld in you the reſolution of an enemy, we might admire in you the ſincerity of a man. You came to America under the high ſounding titles of commander and commiſſioner; not only to ſuppreſs what you called rebellion by arms, but to ſhame it out of countenance by the excellence of your example. Inſtead of which, you have been the patron of low and vulgar frauds, the encourager of Indian cruelties, and have imported a cargo of vices blacker than thoſe you pretend to ſuppreſs.

[122] Mankind are not univerſally agreed in their determination of right and wrong; but there are certain actions which the conſent of all nations and individuals hath branded with the unchangeable name of MEANNESS. In the liſt of human vices we find ſome of ſuch a refined conſtitution, that they cannot be carried into practice without ſeducing ſome virtue to their aſſiſtance; but meanneſs hath neither alliance nor apology. It is generated in the duſt and ſweepings of other vices, and is of ſuch a hateful figure that all the reſt conſpire to diſown it. Sir William, the commiſſioner of George the Third, hath at laſt vouchſafed to give it rank and pedigree. He has placed the fugitive at the council board, and dubbed it companion of the order of knighthood.

The particular act of meanneſs which I allude to in this deſcription, is forgery. You, ſir, have abetted and patronized the forging and uttering counterfeit continental bills. In the ſame New-York newſpapers in which your own proclamation under your maſter's authority was publiſhed, offering, or pretending to offer, pardon and protection to the inhabitants of theſe ſtates, there were repeated advertiſements of counterfeit money for ſale, and perſons who have come officially from you and under ſanction of your flag, have been taken up in attempting to put them off.

[123] A conduct ſo baſely mean in a public character is without precedent or pretence. Every nation on earth, whether friends or enemies, will unite in deſpiſing you. 'Tis an incendiary war upon ſociety which nothing can excuſe or palliate—An improvement upon beggarly villany—and ſhews an inbred wretchedneſs of heart made up between the venomous malignity of a ſerpent and the ſpiteful imbecility of an inferior reptile.

The laws of any civilized country would condemn you to the gibbet without regard to your rank or titles, becauſe it is an action foreign to the uſage and cuſtom of war; and ſhould you fall into our hands, which pray God you may, it will be a doubtful matter whether we are to conſider you as a military priſoner or a priſoner for felony.

Beſides, it is exceedingly unwiſe and impolitic in you, or any perſons in the Engliſh ſervice, to promote, or even encourage, or wink, at the crime of forgery in any caſe whatever. Becauſe, as the riches of England, as a nation, are chiefly in paper, and the far greater part of trade among individuals is carried on by the ſame medium, that is, by notes and drafts on one another, they, therefore, of all people in the world ought to endeavour to keep forgery out of ſight, and, if poſſible, not to revive the idea of it. It is dangerous to make men familiar with a crime which they may afterwards [124] practiſe to much greater advantage againſt thoſe who firſt taught them. Several officers in the Engliſh army have made their exit at the gallows for forgery on their agents; for we all know, who know any thing of England, that there is not a more neceſſitous body of men, taking them generally, than what the Engliſh officers are. They contrive to make a ſhew at the expence of the taylor, and appear clean at the charge of the waſher-woman.

England hath at this time nearly two hundred million pounds ſterling of public money in paper, for which ſhe hath no real property, beſides a large circulation of bank notes, bank poſt bills, and promiſſory notes and drafts of private bankers, merchants, and tradeſmen. She hath the greateſt quantity of paper currency and the leaſt quantity of gold and ſilver of any nation in Europe; the real ſpecie, which is about ſixteen millions ſterling, ſerve only as change in large ſums, which are always made in paper, or for payment in ſmall ones. Thus circumſtanced, the nation is put to its wit's end, and obliged to be ſevere almoſt to criminality, to prevent the practice and growth of forgery. Scarcely a ſeſſion paſſes at the Old Bailey, or an execution at Tyburn, but witneſſeth this truth. Yet you, ſir, regardleſs of the policy which her neceſſity obliges her to adopt, have made your whole [125] army intimate with the crime. And as all armies, at the concluſion of a war, are too apt to carry into practice the vices of the campaign, it will probably happen, that England will hereafter abound in forgeries, to which art, the practitioners were firſt initiated under your authority in America. You, ſir, have the honour of adding a new vice to the military catalogue; and the reaſon, perhaps, why the invention was reſerved for you is, becauſe no general before was mean enough even to think of it.

That a man whoſe ſoul is abſorbed in the low traffic of vulgar vice, is incapable of moving in any ſuperior region, is clearly ſhewn in you by the event of every campaign. Your military exploits have been without plan, object or deciſion. Can it be poſſible that you or your employers can ſuppoſe the poſſeſſion of Philadelphia to be any ways equal to the expence or expectation of the nation which ſupports you? What advantages does England derive from any achievements of yours? To her it is perfectly indifferent what place you are in, ſo long as the buſineſs of conqueſt is unperformed, and the charge of maintaining you remains the ſame.

If the principal events of the three campaigns be attended to, the balance will appear ſtrongly againſt you at the cloſe of each; but the laſt, in point of importance to us, hath exceeded the former two. [126] It is pleaſant to look back on dangers paſt, and equally as pleaſant to meditate on preſent ones, when the way out begins to appear. That period is now arrived, and the long doubtful winter of war is changing to the ſweeter proſpects of victory and joy. At the cloſe of the campaign in ſeventy-five, you were obliged to retreat from Boſton. In the ſummer of ſeventy-ſix, you appeared with a numerous fleet and army in the harbour of New York. By what miracle the Continent was preſerved in that ſeaſon of danger is a ſubject of admiration! If inſtead of waſting your time againſt Long Iſland, you had run up the North River, and landed any where above New York, the conſequence muſt have been, that either you would have compelled General Waſhington to fight you with very unequal numbers, or he muſt have ſuddenly evacuated the city, with the loſs of nearly all the ſtores of the army, or have ſurrendered for the want of proviſions, the ſituation of the place naturally producing one or other of theſe events.

The preparations made to defend New York, were, nevertheleſs, wiſe and military; becauſe your forces were then at ſea, their numbers uncertain; ſtorms, ſickneſs, or variety of accidents might have diſabled their coming, or ſo diminiſhed them on their paſſage, that thoſe which ſurvived, would have been incapable of opening the campaign with [127] any proſpect of ſucceſs; in which caſe, the defence would have been ſufficient, and the place preſerved; for cities that have been raiſed from nothing with an infinitude of labour and expence, are not to be thrown away on the bear probability of their being taken. On theſe grounds, the preparations made to maintain New York were as judicious as the retreat afterwards. While you, in the interim, let ſlip the very opportunity, which ſeemed to put conqueſt in your power.

Through the whole of that campaign you had nearly double the forces which General Waſhington immediately commanded. The principal plan, at that time, on our part, was to wear away the ſeaſon with as little loſs as poſſible, and to raiſe the army for the next year. Long-Iſland, New-York, Forts Waſhington and Lee, were not defended, after your ſuperior force was known, under any expectation of their being finally maintained, but as a range of out works, in the attacking of which, your time might be waſted, your numbers reduced, and your vanity amuſed by poſſeſſing them on our retreat. It was intended to have withdrawn the garriſon from Fort Waſhington, after it had anſwered the former of thoſe purpoſes, but the fate of that day put a prize into your hands without much honour to yourſelves.

[128] Your progreſs through the Jerſesy, was accidental; you had it not even in contemplation, or you would not have ſent ſo principal a part of your force to Rhode Iſland before hand. The utmoſt hope of America in the year ſeventy ſix reached no higher than that ſhe might not then be conquered. She had no expectation of defeating you in that campaign. Even the moſt cowardly tory allowed, that, could ſhe withſtand the ſhock of that ſummer, her independence would be paſt a doubt. You had then greatly the advantage of her. You were formidable. Your military knowledge was ſuppoſed to be complete. Your fleets and forces arrived without an accident. You had neither experience nor reinforcements to wait for. You had nothing to do but to begin, and your chance lay in the firſt vigorous onſet,

America was young and unſkilled. She was obliged to truſt her defence to time and practice; and hath, by mere dint of perſeverance, maintained her cauſe, and brought her enemy to a condition, in which, ſhe is now capable of meeting him on any grounds.

It is remarkable in the campaign of ſeventy-ſix, you gained no more notwithſtanding your great force, than what was given you by conſent of evacuation, except Fort Waſhington: while every advantage obtained by us, was by fair and hard fighting. The defeat of Sir Peter Parker was [129] complete. The conqueſt of the Heſſians at Trenton by the remains of a retreating army, which but a few days before, you affected to deſpiſe, is an inſtance of heroic perſeverance, very ſeldom to be met with. And the victory over the Britiſh troops at Princetown, by a harraſſed and wearied party, who had been engaged the day before, and marched all night without refreſhment, is attended with ſuch a ſcene of circumſtances and ſuperiority of generalſhip, as will ever give it a place on the firſt line in the hiſtory of great actions.

When I look back on the gloomy days of laſt winter, and ſee America ſuſpended by a thread, I feel a triumph of joy at the recollection of her delivery, and a reverence for the characters which ſnatched her from deſtruction. To doubt now, would be a ſpecies of infidelity, and to forget the inſtruments which ſaved us then, would be ingratitude.

The cloſe of that campaign, left us with the ſpirits of conquerors. The northern diſtricts were relieved by the retreat of General Carleton over the lakes. The army under your command were hunted back, and had their bounds preſcribed. The Continent began to feel its military importance, and the winter paſſed pleaſantly away in preparations for the next campaign.

However confident you might be on your firſt arrival, the courſe of the year ſeventy ſix, gave [130] you ſome idea of the difficulty, if not impoſſibility of conqueſt. To this reaſon, I aſcribe your delay in opening the campaign in ſeventy ſeven. The face of matters, on the cloſe of the ſormer year, gave you no encouragement to purſue a diſcretionary war as ſoon as the ſpring admitted the taking the field: for, though conqueſt in that caſe, would have given you a double portion of fame, yet the experiment was too hazardous. The miniſtry, had you ſailed, would have ſhifted the whole blame upon you, charged you with having acted without orders, and condemned at once, both your plan and execution.

To avoid thoſe misfortunes, which might have involved you, and your money accounts in perplexity, and ſuſpicion, you prudently waited the arrival of a plan of operations from England, which was, that you ſhould proceed to Philadelphia by the way of Cheſapeak, and that Burgoyne, after reducing Ticonderoga, ſhould take his route by Albany, and, if neceſſary, join you.

The ſplendid laurels of laſt campaign have flouriſhed in the north. In that quarter America hath ſurprized the world, and laid the foundation of her this year's glory. The conqueſt of Ticonderoga (if it may be called a conqueſt) has, like all your other victories, led on to ruin. Even the proviſions taken in that fortreſs, (which by General Burgoyne's [131] return was ſufficent in bread and flour for nearly 5000 men, for ten weeks, and in beef and pork for the ſame number of men for one month) ſerved only to haſten his overthrow, by enabling him to proceed for Saratoga, the place of his deſtruction. A ſhort review of the operations of the laſt campaign, will ſhew the condition of affairs on both ſides.

You have taken Ticonderoga, and marched into Philadelphia. Theſe are all the events which the year hath produced on your part. A trifling campaign indeed, compared with the expences of England, and the conqueſt of the continent. On the other ſide, a conſiderable part of your northern force has been routed by the New York militia, under General Herkemer. Fort Stanwix hath bravely ſurvived a compounded attack of ſoldiers and ſavages, and the beſiegers have fled. The battle of Bennington has put a thouſand priſoners into our hands, with all their arms, ſtores, artillery and baggage. General Burgoyne in two engagements has been defeated; himſelf, his army, and all that were his and theirs are now ours. Ticonderoga and Independence are retaken, and not the ſhadow of an enemy remains in all the northern diſtricts. At this inſtant, we have upwards of eleven thouſand priſoners, between ſixty and ſeventy pieces of braſs ordnance, beſides ſmall arms, tents, ſtores, &c. &c.

[132] In order to know the real value of thoſe advantages we muſt reverſe the ſcene, and ſuppoſe General Gates and the force he commanded, to be at your mercy as priſoners, and General Burgoyne with his army of ſoldiers and ſavages to be already joined to you in Penſylvania. So diſmal a picture, can ſcarcely be looked at. It hath all the traces and colourings of horror and deſpair, and excites the moſt ſwelling emotions of gratitude, by exhibiting the miſeries we are ſo graciouſly preſerved from.

I admire this diſtribution of laurels around the continent. It is the earneſt of future union. South Carolina has had her day of ſuffering and of fame; and the other ſouthern ſtates have exerted themſelves in proportion to the force that invaded or inſulted them. Towards the cloſe of the campaign in ſeventy ſix, theſe middle ſtates were called upon, and did their duty nobly. They were witneſſes to the almoſt expiring flame of human freedom. It was the cloſe ſtruggle of life and death. The line of inviſible diviſion, and on which, the unabated fortitude of a Waſhington prevailed, and ſaved the ſpark, that has ſince blazed in the north with unrivalled luſtre.

Let me aſk, ſir, what great exploits have you performed? Through all the variety of changes and opporunities which this war hath produced, I know no one action of yours, that can be ſtiled maſterly. [133] You have moved in and out backward and forward, round and round, as if valour conſiſted in a military jig. The hiſtory and figure of your movements would be truly ridiculous could they be juſtly delineated. They reſemble the labours of a puppy purſuing his tail, the end is ſtill at the ſame diſtance, and all the turnings round muſt be done over again.

The firſt appearance of affairs at Ticonderoga wore ſuch an unpromiſing aſpect, that it was neceſſary, in July, to detach a part of the forces to the ſupport of that quarter, which were otherwiſe deſtined or intended to act againſt you, and this, perhaps, has been the means of poſtponing your downfal to another campaign. The deſtruction of one army at a time is work enough. We know, ſir, what we are about, what we have to do, and how to do it.

Your progreſs from Cheſapeak, was marked by no capital ſtroke of policy or heroiſm. Your principal aim was to get General Waſhington between the Delaware and Schuylkill, and between Philadelphia and your army. In that ſituation, with a river on each of his flanks, which united about five miles below the city, and your army above him, you could have intercepted his reinforcements and ſupplies, cut off all his communication with the country, and, if neceſſary, have diſpatched aſſiſtance to open a paſſage for General Burgoyne. This [134] ſcheme was too viſible to ſucceed, for had General Waſhington ſuffered you to command the open country above him, I think it a very reaſonable conjecture that the conqueſt of Burgoyne would not have taken place, becauſe you could, in that caſe, have relieved him. It was therefore neceſſary, while that important victory was in ſuſpence, to trepan you into a ſituation, in which you could only be on the defenſive, without the power of affording him aſſiſtance. The manoeuvre had its effect, and Burgoyne was conquered.

There has been ſomething unmilitarily paſſive in you from the time of your paſſing the Schuylkill, and getting poſſeſſion of Philadelphia, to the cloſe of the campaign, You miſtook a trap for a conqueſt, the probability of which had been made known to Europe, and the edge of your triumph taken off by our own information long before.

Having got you into this ſituation, a ſcheme for a general attack upon you at Germantown, was carried into execution on the fourth of October, and though the ſucceſs was not equal to the excellence of the plan, yet the attempting it, proved the genius of America to be on the riſe, and her power approaching to ſuperiority. The obſcurity of the morning was your beſt friend, for a fog is always favourable to an hunted enemy. Some weeks after this, you, likewiſe, planned an attack on General [135] Waſhington while at Whitemarſh. Marched out with infinite paracle, but on finding him preparing to attack you the next morning, you prudently cut about, and retreated to Philadelphia, with all the precipitation of a man conquered in imagination.

Immediately after the battle of German town, the probability of Burgoyne's defeat gave a new policy to affairs in Penſylvania, and it was judged moſt conſiſtent with the general ſafety of America, to wait the iſſue of the northern campaign. Slow and ſure is ſound work. The news of that victory arrived in our camp on the 18th of October, and no ſooner did the ſhout of joy, and the report of the thirteen cannon reach your ears, than you reſolved upon a retreat, and the next day, that is, on the 19th, withdrew your drooping army into Philadelphia. This movement was evidently dictated by fear; and carried with it a poſitive confeſſion that you dreaded a ſecond attack. It was hiding yourſelf among women and children, and ſleeping away the choiceſt part of a campaign in expenſive inactivity. An army in a city can never be a conquering army. The ſituation admits only of defence. It is a mere ſhelter; and every military power in Europe will conclude you to be eventually defeated.

[136] The time when you made this retreat, was the very time you ought to have fought a battle, in order to put yourſelf in a condition of recovering in Penſylvania, what you had loſt at Saratoga. And the reaſon why you did not, muſt be either prudence or cowardice; the former ſuppoſes your inability, and the latter needs no explanation. I draw no concluſions, ſir, but ſuch as are naturally deduced from known and viſible facts, and ſuch as will always have a being while the facts which produced them remain unaltered.

After this retreat, a new difficulty aroſe, which exhibited the power of Britain in a very contemptible light, which was the attack and defence of Mud Iſland. For ſeveral weeks did that little unfiniſhed fortreſs ſtand out againſt all the attempts of Admiral and General Howe. It was the fable of Bendar realized on the Delaware. Scheme after ſcheme, and force upon force were tried and defeated. The garriſon, with ſcarce any thing to cover them but their bravery, ſurvived in the midſt of mud, ſhot and ſhells, and were at laſt obliged to give it up more to the powers of time and gunpowder, than to the military ſuperiority of the beſiegers.

It is my ſincere opinion, that matters are in much werſe condition with you, than what is generally known. Your maſter's ſpeech at the opening of parliament is like a ſoliloquy on ill luck. It ſhews him to [137] be coming a little to his reaſon, for ſenſe of pain is the firſt ſymptom of recovery in profound ſtupefactions. His condition is deplorable. He is obliged to ſubmit to all the inſults of France and Spain, without daring to know or reſent them, and thankful for the moſt trivial evaſions, to the moſt humble remonſtrances. The time was when he could not deign an anſwer to a petition from America, and the time now is when he dare not give an anſwer to an affront from France. The capture of Burgoyne's army will ſink his conſequence as much in Europe as in America. In his ſpeech, he expreſſes his ſuſpicions at the warlike preparations of France and Spain, and he has only the one army which you command to ſupport his character in the world with; it remains very uncertain when, or in what quarter it will be moſt wanted, or can be beſt employed; and this will partly account for the great care you take to keep it from action and attacks, for ſhould Burgoyne's fate be yours, which it probably will, England may take her endleſs farewel, not only of all America, but of all the Weſt Indies.

Never did a nation invite deſtruction upon itſelf with the eagerneſs and ignorance with which Britain has done. Bent upon the ruin of a young and unoffending country, ſhe hath drawn the ſword that hath wounded herſelf to the heart, and in the agony of her reſentment, hath applied a poiſon for a cure. [138] Her conduct towards America is a compound of rage and lunacy; ſhe aims at the government of it, yet preſerves neither dignity nor character in her methods to obtain it. Were government a mere manufacture, or article of commerce immaterial by whom it ſhould be made or ſold, we might as well employ her, as another, but when we conſider it as the fountain from whence the general manners and morality of a country take their riſe, that the perſons entruſted with the execution thereof, are by their ſerious example, and authority to ſupport theſe principles, how abominably abſurd is the idea of being hereafter governed by a ſet of men who have been guilty of forgery, perjury, treachery, theft, and every ſpecies of villainy, which the loweſt wretches on earth could practiſe or invent. What greater public curſe can befal any country, than to be under ſuch authority, and what greater bleſſing, than to be delivered therefrom. The ſoul of any man of ſentiment, would riſe in brave rebellion againſt them, and ſpurn them from the earth.

The malignant and venomous tempered General Vaughan has amuſed his ſavage fancy in burning the whole town of Kingſton, in York government, and the late governor of that ſtate, Mr. Tryon, in his letter to General Parſons, has endeavoured to juſtify it, and declared his with to juſtify it, and declared his wiſh to burn the houſes of every committee-man [139] in the country. Such a confeſſion from one who was once entruſted with the powers of civil government, is a reproach to the character. But it is the wiſh and the declaration of a man whom anguiſh and diſappointment have driven to deſpair, and who is daily decaying into the grave with conſtitutional rottenneſs.

There is not in the compaſs of language a ſufficiency of words to expreſs the baſeneſs of your king, his miniſtry, and his army. They have refined upon villainy till it wants a name. To the fiercer vices of former ages, they have added the dregs and ſcummings of the moſt finiſhed raſcallity, and are ſo completely ſunk in ſerpentine deceit, that there is not left among them one generous enemy.

From ſuch men, and ſuch maſters, may the gracious hand of Heaven, preſerve America! And though her ſufferings are heavy and ſevere, they are like ſtraws in the wind, compared to the weight of evils ſhe would feel under the government of your king, and his penſioned parliament.

There is ſomething in meanneſs which excites a ſpecies of reſentment that never ſubſides, and ſomething in cruelty which ſtirs up the heart to the higheſt agony of human hatred. Britain hath filled up both theſe characters till no addition can be made, and hath not reputation left with us to obtain credit for the ſlighteſt promiſe. The will of [140] God hath parted us, and the deed is regiſtered for eternity. When ſhe ſhall be a ſpot ſcarcely viſible among the nations, America ſhall flouriſh, the favourite of Heaven, and the friend of mankind.

For the domeſtic happineſs of Britain, and the peace of the world, I wiſh ſhe had not a foot of land but what is circumſcribed within her own iſland. Extent of dominion hath been her ruin, and inſtead of civilizing others, hath brutalized herſelf. Her late reduction of India, under Clive and his ſucceſſors, was not ſo properly a conqueſt, as an extermination of mankind. She is the only power who could practiſe the prodigal barbarity of tying men to the mouths of loaded cannon and blowing them away. It happens that General Burgoyne, who made the report of that horrid tranſaction in the Houſe of Commons, is now a priſoner with us, and though an enemy, I can appeal to him for the truth of it, being confident that he neither can nor will deny it. Yet Clive received the approbation of the laſt parliament.

When we take a ſurvey of mankind, we cannot help curſing the wretch, who, to the unavoidable misfortunes of nature, ſhall wilfully add the calamities of war. One would think there were evils enough in the world without ſtudying to increaſe them, and that life is ſufficiently ſhort, without thanking the ſand that meaſures it. The hiſtories of [141] Alexander, and Charles of Sweden, are the hiſtories of human devils; a good man cannot think of their actions without abhorrence, nor of their deaths without rejoicings. To ſee the bounties of Heaven deſtroyed, the beautiful face of nature laid waſte, and the choiceſt works of creation and art tumbled into ruin, would fetch a curſe from the ſoul of piety itſelf. But in this country the aggravation is heightened by a new combination of affecting circumſtances. America was young, and, compared with other countries, was virtuous. None, but a Herod of uncommon malice would have made war upon infancy and innocence; and none but a people of the moſt finiſhed fortitude dared, under thoſe circumſtances, have reſiſted tyranny. The natives, or their anceſtors had fled from the former oppreſſions of England, and, with the induſtry of bees, had changed a wilderneſs into a habitable world. To Britain, they were indebted for nothing. The country was the gift of Heaven, and God alone is their Lord and ſovereign.

The time, ſir, will come, when you, in a melancholy hour, ſhall reckon up your miſeries by your murders in America. Life, with you, begins to wear a clouded aſpect. The viſion of pleaſurable deluſion is wearing away, and changing to the barren wild of age and ſorrow. The poor reflection of having ſerved your king, will yield you no conſolation [142] in your parting moments. He will crumble to the ſame undiſtinguiſhed aſhes with yourſelf, and have ſins enough of his own to anſwer for. It is not the farcical benedictions of a biſhop, nor the cringing hypocriſy of a court of chaplains, nor the formality of an act of parliament, that can change guilt into innocence, or make the puniſhment of one pang the leſs. You may, perhaps, be unwilling to be ſerious, but this deſtruction of the goods of Providence, this havock of the human race, and this ſowing the world with miſchief, muſt be accounted for to him who made and governs it. To us they are only preſent ſufferings, but to him they are deep rebellions.

If there is a ſin ſuperior to every other, it is that of wilful and offenſive war. Moſt other ſins are circumſcribed within narrow limits, that is, the power of one man cannot give them a very general tenſion, and many kind of ſins have only a mental exiſtence, from which no infection ariſes; but he who is the author of a war, lets looſe the whole contagion of hell, and opens a vein that bleeds a nation to death. We leave it to England and Indians to boaſt of theſe honours; we feel no thirſt for ſuch ſavage glory; a nobler flame, a purer ſpirit animates America. She hath taken up the ſword of virtuous defence; ſhe hath bravely put herſelf between tyranny and freedom, between a curſe and a bleſſing, [143] determined to expel the one, and protect the other.

It is the object only of war that makes it honourable. And if ever there were a juſt war ſince the world began, it is this which America is now engaged in. She invaded no land of yours. She hired no mercenaries to burn your towns, nor Indians to maſſacre their inhabitants. She wanted nothing from you, and was indebted nothing to you; and thus circumſtanced, her defence is honourable, and her proſperity certain.

Yet it is not on the juſtice only, but likewiſe on the importance of this cauſe, that I ground my ſeeming enthuſiaſtical confidence of our ſucceſs. The vaſt extenſion of America, makes her of too much value in the ſcale of Providence, to be caſt like a pearl before ſwine, at the feet of an European iſland; and of much leſs conſequence would it be that Britain were ſunk in the ſea, than that America ſhould miſcarry. There has been ſuch a chain of extraordinary events in the diſcovery of this country at firſt, in the peopling and planting it, and afterwards, in the rearing and nurſing it to its preſent ſtate, and in the protection of it through the preſent war, that no man can doubt, but Providence hath ſome nobler end to accompliſh than the gratification of the petty Elector of Hanover, or the ignorant and inſignificant King of Britain.

[144] As the blood of the martyrs hath been the ſeed of the chriſtian church, ſo the political perſecutions of England, will, and hath already enriched America with induſtry, experience, union and importance. Before the preſent aera ſhe was a mere chaos of uncemented colonies, individually expoſed to the ravages of the Indians, and the invaſion of any power that Britain ſhould be at war with. She had nothing ſhe could call her own. Her felicity depended upon accident. The convulſions of Europe might have thrown her from one conqueror to another, till ſhe had been the ſlave of all, and ruined by every one; for until ſhe had ſpirit enough to become her own maſter, there was no knowing to which maſter ſhe ſhould belong. That period, thank God, is paſt, and ſhe is no longer the dependant, diſunited colonies of Britain, but the Independent and United States of America, knowing no maſter but Heaven and herſelf. You or your king, may call this "Deluſion," "Rebellion," or what name you pleaſe. To us it is perfectly indifferent. The iſſue will determine the character, and time will give it a name as laſting as his own.

You have now, ſir, tried the fate of three campaigns, and can fully declare to England, that nothing is to be got on your part, but blows and broken bones; and nothing on hers, but waſte of [145] trade and credit, and an encreaſe of poverty and taxes. You are now only where you might have been two years ago without the loſs of a ſingle ſhip, and yet not a ſtep the forwarder towards the conqueſt of the continent; becauſe, as I have already hinted, "An army in a city can never be a conquering army." The full amount of your loſſes ſince the beginning of the war, exceeds twenty thouſand men, beſides millions of treaſure, for which you have nothing in exchange. Our expences, though great, are circulated within ourſelves. Yours is a direct ſinking of money, and that from both ends at once, firſt, in hiring troops out of the nation, and in paying them afterwards, becauſe the money in neither caſe can return again to Britain. We are already in poſſeſſion of the prize, you only in ſuit for it. To us it is a real treaſure, to you it would be only an empty triumph. Our expences will repay themſelves with tenfold intereſt, while yours entail upon you everlaſting poverty.

Take a review, ſir, of the ground you have gone over, and let it teach you policy, if it cannot honeſty. You ſtand upon a very tottering foundation. A change of the miniſtry in England, may probably bring your meaſures into queſtion, and your head to the block. Clive, with all his ſucceſſes, had ſome difficulty in eſcaping, and yours, being all a war of loſſes, will afford you leſs pretenſions, and your enemies more ground for impeachment.

[146] Go home, ſir, and endeavour to ſave the remains of your ruined country by a juſt repreſentation of the madneſs of her meaſures. A few moments well applied, may yet preſerve her from political deſtruction. I am not one of thoſe who wiſh to ſee Europe in a flame, becauſe I am perſuaded ſuch an event will not ſhorten the war. The rupture, at preſent, is confined between the two powers of America and England. England finds ſhe cannot conquer America, and America has no wiſh to conquer England. You are fighting for what you can never obtain, and we defending what we mean never to part with. A few words, therefore, ſettle the bargain. Let England, mind her own buſineſs, and we will mind ours. Govern yourſelves and we will govern ourſelves. You may then trade where you pleaſe unmoleſted by us, and we will trade where we pleaſe unmoleſted by you; and ſuch articles as we can purchaſe of each other better than elſewhere, may be mutually done. If it were poſſible that you could carry on the war for twenty years, you muſt ſtill come to this point at laſt, or worſe, and the ſooner you think of it the better it will be for you.

My official ſituation enables me to know the repeated inſults which Britain is obliged to put up with from foreign powers, and the wretched ſhifts ſhe is driven to, to gloſs them over. Her reduced [147] ſtrength, and exhauſted coffers in a three years war with America, have given a powerful ſuperiority to France and Spain. She is now a match for them. —But, if neither counſels can prevail on her to think, nor ſufferings awaken her to reaſon, ſhe muſt e'en go on, till the honour of England becomes a proverb of contempt, and Europe dub her the land of fools.

I am, Sir, With every Wiſh for an honourable Peace,
Your Friend, Enemy, and Countryman, COMMON SENSE.

To the Inhabitants of America.

[148]

WITH all the pleaſure with which a man exchanges bad company for good, I take my leave of Sir William and return to you. It is now nearly three years ſince the tyranny of Britain received its firſt repulſe by the arms of America. A period, which has given birth to the New World, and erected a monument of folly to the old.

I cannot help being ſometimes ſurpriſed at the complimentary references, which I have ſeen and heard made to ancient hiſtories and tranſactions. The wiſdom of civil governments, and ſenſe of honour of the States of Greece and Rome, are frequently held up as objects of excellence and imitation. Mankind have lived for very little purpoſe, if, at this period of the world, they muſt go two or three thouſand years back for leſſons and examples. We do diſhonourary injuſtice to ourſelves by placing them in ſuch a ſuperior line. We have no juſt authority for it, neither can we tell why it is that we ſhould ſuppoſe ourſelves inferior.

Could the miſt of antiquity be taken away, and men and things viewed as they then really were, it is more than probable that they would admire us, rather than we them. America has ſurmounted a [149] greater variety and combination of difficulties, than, I believe, ever fell to the ſhare of any one people in the ſame ſpace of time, and has repleniſhed the world with more uſeful knowledge, and ſounder maxims of civil government than were ever produced in any age before. Had it not been for America, there had been no ſuch thing as freedom left throughout the whole univerſe. England hath loſt hers, in a long chain of right reaſoning from wrong principles, and it is from this now ſhe muſt learn the reſolution to redreſs herſelf, and the wiſdom how.

The Grecians and Romans were ſtrongly poſſeſſed of the ſpirit of liberty, but not the principle, for at the time they were determined not to be ſlaves themſelves, they employed their power to enſlave the reſt of mankind. But this diſtinguiſhed aera is blotted by no one miſanthropical vice. In ſhort, if the principle on which the cauſe is founded, the univerſal bleſſings that are to ariſe from it, the difficulties that accompanied it; the wiſdom with which it has been debated, the ſortitude by which it has been ſupported, the ſtrength of the power we had to oppoſe, and the condition in which we undertook it, be all taken in one view, we may juſtly ſtile it, the moſt virtuous and illuſtrious revolution that ever graced the hiſtory of mankind.

A good opinion of ourſelves is exceedingly neceſſary in private life, but abſolutely neceſſary in [150] public life; and of the utmoſt importance in ſupporting national character. I have no notion of yielding the palm of the United States to any Grecians or Romans that were ever born. We have equalled the braveſt in times of danger, and excelled the wiſeſt in the conſtruction of civil governments, no one in America excepted.

From this agreeable eminence, let us take a review of preſent affairs. The ſpirit of corruption is ſo inſeparably interwoven with Britiſh politics, that their miniſtry ſuppoſe all mankind are governed by the ſame motive. They have no idea of people ſubmitting even to a temporary inconvenience, from an attachment to rights and privileges. Their plans of buſineſs are calculated by the hour, and for the hour, and are uniform in nothing but in the corruption which give them birth. They never had, neither have they at this time, any regular plan for the conqueſt of America by arms. They know not how to go about it, neither have they the power to effect it, if they could know. The thing is not within the compaſs of human practicability, for America is too extenſive either to be fully conquered, or paſſively defended. But ſhe may be actively defended, by defeating or making priſoners of the army that invades her. And this is the only ſyſtem of defence that can be effectual in a large country.

[151] There is ſomething in a war carried on by invaſion, which makes it differ in circumſtances from any other mode of war, becauſe, he who conducts it cannot tell whether the ground he gains, be for him, or againſt him, when he firſt makes it. In the winter of ſeventy ſix, General Howe, marched with an air of victory through the Jerſeys, the conſequence of which, was his defeat, and General Burgoyne, at Saratoga experienced the ſame fate from the ſame cauſe. The Spaniards, about two years ago, were defeated by the Algerines in the ſame manner, that is, their firſt triumphs became a trap, in which they were totally routed. And, whoever will attend to the circumſtances, and events of a war carried on by invaſion, will find, that any invader, in order to be finally conquered, muſt begin firſt to conquer.

I confefs myſelf one of thoſe who believe the loſs of Philadelphia to be attended with more advantages than injuries. The caſe ſtood thus. The enemy imagined Philadelphia to be of more importance to us, than it really was; for we all know that it had long ceaſed to be a port, not a cargo of goods had been brought into it for near a twelvemonth, nor any fixed manufactories, nor even ſhip-building carried on in it; yet, as the enemy believed the conqueſt of it to be practicable, and, to that belief, added the abſurd idea, that the ſoul of all America was centered there, and would be conquered there, it naturally follows, [152] that their poſſeſſion of it, by not anſwering the end propoſed, muſt break up the plans they had fooliſhly gone upon, and either oblige them to form a new one, for which their preſent ſtrength is not ſufficient, or to give over the attempt.

We never had ſo ſmall an army to fight againſt, nor ſo fair an opportunity of final ſucceſs as now. The death wound is already given. The day is our own, if we follow it up. The enemy by his ſituation is within our reach, and by his reduced ſtrength is within our power. The miniſters of Britain may rage as they pleaſe, but our part is to conquer their armies. Let them wrangle and welcome, but let it not draw our attention from the one thing needful. Here, in this ſpot is our buſineſs to be accompliſhed; our felicity ſecured. What we have now to do, is as clear as light, and the way to do it is as ſtrait as a line. It needs not to be commented upon, yet, in order to be perfectly underſtood, I will put a caſe that cannot admit of a miſtake.

Had the armies under Generals Howe and Burgoyne been united and taken poſt at Germantown, and had the northern army, under General Gates, been joined to that under General Waſhington, at Whitemarſh, the conſequence would have been a general action; and, if in that action, we had killed and taken the ſame number of officers and men, that is, between nine and ten thouſand, with the [153] ſame quantity of artillery, arms, ſtores, &c. as have been taken at the northward, and obliged General Howe with the remains of his army, that is, with the ſame number he now commands, to take ſhelter in Philadelphia, we ſhould certainly have thought ourſelves the greateſt heroes in the world; and ſhould as ſoon as the ſeaſon permitted, have collected together all the force of the continent, and laid ſiege to the city, for it requires a much greater force to beſiege an enemy in a town, than to defeat them in the field. The caſe now is juſt the ſame, as if it had been produced by the means I have here ſuppoſed. Between nine and ten thouſand have been killed and taken, all their ſtores are in our poſſeſſion, and General Howe in conſequence of that victory, has thrown himſelf for ſhelter into Philadelphia. He, or his trifling friend Galloway, may form what pretences they pleaſe, yet no juſt reaſon can be given for their going into winter quarters ſo early as the 19th of October, but their apprehenſion of a defeat if they continued out, or their conſcious inability to keep the field with ſafety. I ſee no advantage which can ariſe to America, by hunting the enemy from State to State. It is a triumph without a prize, and wholly unworthy the attention of a people determined to conquer. Neither can any State promiſe to itſelf ſecurity, while the enemy remains in a condition to tranſport themſelves from one part of the continent [154] to another. Howe, likewiſe, cannot conquer where we have no army to oppoſe, therefore any ſuch removals in him are mean and cowardly, and reduces Britain to a common pilferer. If he retreats from Philadelphia, he will be deſpiſed; if he ſtays, he may be ſhut up and ſtarved out, and the country, if he advances into, may become his Saratoga. He has his choice of evils, and we of opportunities. If he moves early, it is not only a ſign, but a proof that he expects no reinforcement, and his delays will prove that he either waits for the arrival of a plan to go upon, or force to execute it, or both: in which caſe, our ſtrength will encreaſe more than his, therefore, in any caſe, we cannot be wrong, if we do but proceed.

The particular condition of Penſylvania, deſerves the attention of all the other States. Her military ſtrength muſt not be eſtimated by the number of inhabitants. Here are men of all nations, characters, profeſſions, and intereſts. Here are the firmeſt whigs, ſurviving, like ſparks in the ocean, unquenched and uncooled, in the midſt of diſcouragement and diſaffection. Here are men loſing their all with cheerfulneſs, and collecting fire and fortitude, from the flames of their own eſtates. Here are others ſkulking in ſecret; many making a market of the times; and numbers, who are changing whig and tory with the circumſtances of every day.

[155] It is by mere dint of fortitude and perſeverance, that the whigs of this ſtate, have been able to maintain ſo good a countenance, and do even what they have done. We want help, and the ſooner it can arrive, the more effectual it will be. The invaded ſtate, be it which it may, will always feel an additional burthen upon its back, and be hard ſet to ſupport its civil power with ſufficient authority: and this difficulty will always riſe or fall in proportion as the other ſtates throw in their aſſiſtance to the common cauſe.

The enemy will moſt probably make many manoeuvres at the opening of this campaign, to amuſe and draw off the attention of the ſeveral ſtates from the one thing needful. We may expect to hear of alarms, and pretended expeditions to this place, and that place; to the ſouthward, the eaſtward, and the northward, all intended to prevent our forming into one formidable body. The leſs the enemy's ſtrength is, the more ſubtleties of this kind will they make uſe of. Their exiſtence depends upon it, becauſe the force of America, when collected, is ſufficient to ſwallow their preſent army up. It is therefore our buſineſs to make ſhort work of it, by bending our whole attention to this one principal point, for the inſtant that the main body, under General Howe is defeated, all the inferior alarms throughout the continent, like ſo many ſhadows, will follow his downfal.

[156] The only way to finiſh a war with the leaſt poſſible bloodſhed, or perhaps without any, is to collect an army, againſt the power of which, the enemy ſhall have no chance. By not doing this, we prolong the war, and double both the calamities and the expences of it. What a rich and happy country would America be, were ſhe, by a vigourous exertion, to reduce Howe, as ſhe hath reduced Burgoyne. Her currency would riſe to millions beyond its preſent value. Every man would be rich, and every man would have it in his power to be happy. And why not do theſe things? What is there to hinder? America is her own miſtreſs, and can do what ſhe pleaſes.

If we had not at this time a man in the field, we could, nevertheleſs, raiſe an army in a few weeks, ſufficient to overwhelm all the force which General Howe at preſent commands. Vigour and determination will do any thing and every thing. We began the war with this kind of ſpirit, why not end it with the ſame? Here, gentlemen, is the enemy. Here is the army. The intereſt, the happineſs of all America is centered in this half ruined ſpot. Come on and help us. Here are laurels, come and ſhare them. Here are tories, come and help us to expel them. Here are whigs that will make you welcome, and enemies that dread your coming,

The worſt of all policy, is that of doing things by halves. Penny wiſe and pound fooliſh, has been [157] the ruin of thouſands. The preſent ſpring, if rightly improved, will free us from all our troubles, and ſave us the expence of millions. We have now only one army to cope with. No opportunity can be fairer; no proſpect more promiſing. I ſhall conclude this paper, with a few outlines of a plan, either for filling up the battalions with expedition, or for raiſing an additional force, for any limited time, on any ſudden emergency.

That in which every man is intereſted, is every man's duty to ſupport. And any burthen which falls equally on all men, and, from which every man is to receive an equal benefit, is conſiſtent with the moſt perfect ideas of liberty. I would wiſh to revive ſomething of that virtuous ambition which firſt called America into the field. Then every man was eager to do his part, and perhaps the principal reaſon why we have in any degree fallen therefrom, is, becauſe we did not ſet a ſufficient value by it at firſt, but left it to blaze out by itſelf, inſtead of regulating and preſerving it by juſt proportions of reſt and ſervice.

Suppoſe any ſtate, whoſe number of effective inhabitants was 80,000, ſhould be required to furniſh 3,200 men towards the defence of the continent on any ſudden emergency.

Firſt, Let the whole number of effective inhabitants be divided into hundreds; then if each of thoſe [158] hundreds turn out four men, the whole number of 3,200 will be had.

Secondly, Let the names of each hundred men be entered in a book, and let four dollars be collected from each man, with as much more as any of the gentlemen whoſe abilities can afford it, ſhall pleaſe to throw in, which gifts ſhall likewiſe be entered againſt the donors names.

Thirdly, Let the ſums ſo collected be offered as a preſent, over and above the bounty of twenty dollars, to any four who may be inclined to propoſe themſelves as volunteers; if more than four offer, the majority of the ſubſcribers preſent ſhall determine which; if none offer, then four out of the hundred ſhall be taken by lot, who ſhall be entitled to the ſaid ſums, and ſhall either go, or provide others that will, in the ſpace of ſix days.

Fourthly, As it will always happen, that in the ſpace of ground on which an hundred men ſhall live, there will be always a number of perſons, who, by age and infirmity, are incapable of doing perſonal ſervice, and as ſuch perſons are generally poſſeſſed of the greateſt part of the property in any county, their portion of ſervice, therefore, will be to furniſh each man with a blanket, which will make a regimental coat, jacket and breeches, or cloaths in lieu thereof, and another for a watch cloak, and two pair of ſhoes—for however choice people may be of theſe things, matters not in caſes of this [159] kind—Thoſe who live always in houſes, can find many ways to keep themſelves warm, but it is a ſhame and a ſin to ſuffer a ſoldier in the field to want a blanket while there is one in the country.

Should the cloathing not be wanted, the ſuperannuated or infirm perſons poſſeſſing property, may, in lieu thereof, throw in their money ſubſcriptions, towards encreaſing the bounty; for though age will naturally exempt a perſonal ſervice, it cannot exempt him from his ſhare of the charge, becauſe the men are raiſed for the defence of property and liberty jointly.

There never was a ſcheme againſt which objections might not be raiſed. But this alone is not a ſufficient reaſon for rejection. The only line to judge truly upon, is, to draw out and admit all the objections which can fairly be made, and place againſt them all the contrary qualities, conveniences, and advantages, then by ſtriking a balance, you come at the true character of any ſcheme, principle or poſition.

The moſt material advantages of the plan here propoſed, are eaſe, expedition, and cheapneſs; yet the men ſo raiſed, get a much larger bounty, than is, any where, at preſent given; becauſe all the expences, extravagance, and conſequent idleneſs of recruiting are ſaved or prevented. The country incurs no new debt, nor intereſt thereon; the whole matter being all ſettled at once, and entirely done [160] with. It is a ſubſcription anſwering all the purpoſes of a tax, without either the charge or trouble of collecting. The men are ready for the field with the greateſt poſſible expedition, becauſe, it becomes the duty of the inhabitants themſelves, in every part of the country, to find up their proportion of men, inſtead of leaving it to a recruiting ſerjeant, who, be he ever ſo induſtrious, cannot know always where to apply.

I do not propoſe this as a regular digeſted plan, neither will the limits of this paper admit any further remarks upon it. I believe it to be a hint capable of much improvement, and as ſuch ſubmit it to the public.

THE CRISIS.
No. VII.
To the Earl of Carliſle, General Clinton, and William Eden, Eſq. Britiſh Commiſſioners, at New York.

[161]

THERE is a dignity in the warm paſſions of a whig, which is never to be found in the cold malice of a tory. In the one, nature is only heated —in the other ſhe is poiſoned. The inſtant the former has it in his power to puniſh, he feels a diſpoſition to forgive; but the canine venom of the latter knows no relief but revenge. This general diſtinction, will, I believe, apply in all caſes, and ſuit as well the meridian of England as America.

As I preſume your laſt proclamation will undergo the ſtrictures of other pens, I ſhall confine my remarks to only a few parts thereof. All that you have ſaid, might have been compriſed in half the compaſs. It is tedious and unmeaning, and only a repetition of your former follies, with here and there an offenſive aggravation. Your cargo of pardons will have no market—It is unfaſhionable [162] to look at them Even ſpeculation is at an end. They are become a perfect drug, and no way calculated for the climate.

In the courſe of your proclamation, you ſay, "The policy, as well as the BENEVOLENCE OF GREAT BRITAIN, have thus far checked the extremes of war, when they tended to diſtreſs a people, ſtill conſidered as their fellow ſubjects, and to deſolate a country ſhortly to become again a ſource of mutual advantage." What you mean by "the BENEVOLENCE of Great Britain," is to me, inconceivable. To put a plain queſtion: Do you conſider yourſelves men or devils? For until this point is ſettled, no determinate ſenſe can be put upon the expreſſion. You have already equalled, and in many places excelled the ſavages of either Indies; and if you have yet a cruelty in ſtore, you muſt have imported it unmixed with every human material from the original warehouſe of hell.

To the interpoſition of Providence, and her bleſſings on our endeavours, and not to BRITISH BENEVOLENCE, are we indebted for the ſhort chain that limits your ravages. Remember, you do not at this time, command a foot of land on the continent of America. Staten Iſland, York Iſland, a ſmall part of Long Iſland and Rhode Iſland, circumſcribe your power; and even thoſe you hold at the expence of the Weſt Indies. To avoid a [163] defeat, and prevent a deſertion of your troops, you have taken up your quarters in holes and corners of inacceſſible ſecurity; and in order to conceal what every one can conceive, you now endeavour to impoſe your weakneſs upon us for an act of mercy. If you think to ſucceed by ſuch ſhadowy devices, you are but infants in the political world; you have the A, B, C, of ſtratagem yet to learn, and are wholly ignorant of the people you have to contend with. Like men in a ſtate of intoxication, you forget that the reſt of the world have eyes, and that the ſame ſtupidity which conceals you from yourſelves, expoſes you to their ſatire and contempt.

The paragraph I have quoted, ſtands as an introduction to the following: "But when that country (America) profeſſes the unnatural deſign, not only of eſtranging herſelf from us, but of mortgaging herſelf and her reſources to our enemies, the whole conteſt is changed; and the queſtion is, how far Great Britain may, by every means in her power, deſtroy or render uſeleſs, a connection contrived for her ruin, and the aggrandizement of France. Under ſuch circumſtances, the laws of ſelf-preſervation muſt direct the conduct of Britain, and if the Britiſh Colonies are to become an acceſſion to France, will direct her, to render that acceſſion of as little avail as poſſible to her enemy.

[164] I conſider you, in this declaration, like madmen biting in the hour of death. It contains, likewiſe, a fraudulent meanneſs; for, in order to juſtify a barbarous concluſion, you have advanced a falſe poſition. The treaty we have formed with France is open, noble and generous. It is the true policy, founded on ſound philoſophy, and neither a ſurrender or mortgage, as you would ſcandalouſly inſinuate. I have ſeen every article, and ſpeak from poſitive knowledge. In France, we have found an affectionate friend, a faithful ally; from Britain nothing but tyranny, cruelty, and infidelity.

But the happineſs is, that the miſchief you threaten, is not in your power to execute; and if it were, the puniſhment would return upon you, in a tenfold degree. The humanity of America, hath hitherto, reſtrained her from acts of retaliation, and the affection ſhe retains for many individuals in England, who have fed, clothed, and comforted her priſoners, has, to the preſent day, warded off her reſentment, and operated as a ſcreen to the whole. But even theſe conſiderations muſt ceaſe, when national objects interfere and oppoſe them. Repeated aggravations will provoke a retort, and policy juſtify the meaſure. We mean now to take you ſeriouſly up upon your own ground and principles, and as you do, ſo ſhall you be done by.

You ought to know, gentlemen, that England and Scotland, are far more expoſed to incendiary [165] deſolation than America in her preſent ſtate, can poſſibly be. We occupy a country, with but few towns, and whoſe riches conſiſt in land and annual produce. The two laſt can ſuſſer but little, and that only within a very limited compaſs. In Britain, it is otherwiſe. Her wealth lies chiefly in cities and large towns, the repoſitories of manufactures, and fleets of merchantmen.—There is not a nobleman's country ſeat but may be laid in aſhes by a ſingle perſon. Your own, may probably contribute to the proof: In ſhort, there is no evil which cannot be returned, when you come to incendiary miſchief.—The ſhips in the Thames, may certainly be eaſily ſet on fire, as the temporary bridge was a few years ago; yet of that affair, no diſcovery was ever made; and the loſs you would ſuſtain by ſuch an event, executed at a proper ſeaſon, is infinitely greater than any you can inflict. The Eaſt India houſe, and the bank, neither, are, nor can be ſecure from this ſort of deſtruction, and, as Dr. Price juſtly obſerves, a fire at the latter would bankrupt the nation. It has never been the cuſtom of France and England, when at war, to make thoſe havocs on each other, becauſe the eaſe with which they could retaliate, rendered it as impolitic, as if each had deſtroyed his own.

But think not, gentlemen, that our diſtance ſecures you, or our invention fails us. We can much eaſier accompliſh ſuch a point than any nation in Europe. [166] We talk the ſame language, dreſs in the ſame habit, and appear with the ſame manners as yourſelves. We can paſs from one part of England to another unſuſpected; many of us are as well acquainted with the country as you are, and ſhould you impoliticly provoke our will, you will moſt aſſuredly lament the effects of it. Miſchiefs of this kind, requires no army to execute them. The means are obvious, and the opportunities unguardable. I hold up a warning piece to your ſenſes, if you have any left, and "to the unhappy people likewiſe, whoſe affairs are committed to you*." I call not with the rancour of an enemy, but with the earneſtneſs of a friend, on the deluded people of England, leſt, between your blunders and theirs, they ſink beneath the evils contrived for us.

"He who lives in a glaſs-houſe, ſays the Spaniſh proverb, ſhould never begin throwing ſtones." This, gentlemen, is exactly your caſe, and you muſt be the moſt ignorant of mankind, or ſuppoſe us ſo, not to ſee on which ſide the balance of accounts will fall. There are many other modes of retaliation, which for ſeveral reaſons, I chooſe not to mention. But, be aſſured of this, that the inſtant you put a threat in execution, a counter blow will follow it. If you openly profeſs yourſelves ſavages, it is high time we ſhould treat you as ſuch, [167] and if nothing but diſtreſs can recover you to reaſon, to puniſh, will become an office of charity.

While your fleet lay laſt winter in the Delaware, I offered my ſervice to the Penſylvanian navy-board, then at Trenton, as one who would make a party with them, or any four or five gentlemen, on an expedition down the river, to ſet fire to it, and though it was not then accepted, nor the thing perſonally attempted, it is more than probable, that your own folly will provoke a much more vulnerable part. Say not, when the miſchief is done, that you had warning, and remember that we did not begin it, but mean to repay it. Thus much for your ſavage and impolitic threat.

In another part of your proclamation you ſay, "But if the honours of a military life, are become the object of the Americans, let them ſeek thoſe honours, under the banners of their rightful ſovereign, and in fighting the battles of the united Britiſh empire, againſt our late mutual and natural enemies." Surely! The union of abſurdity with madneſs, was never marked with more diſtinguiſhable lines than theſe. Your rightful ſovereign as you call him, may do well enough for you, who dare not enquire into the humble capacities of the man; but we, who eſtimate perſons and things by their real worth, cannot ſuffer our judgments to be ſo impoſed upon; and, unleſs it is your wiſh to ſee him expoſed, it ought to be your endeavour to [168] keep him out of ſight. The leſs you have to ſay about him the better. We have done with him, and that ought to be anſwer enough. You have often been told ſo. Strange! that the anſwer muſt be ſo often repeated. You go a begging with your king as with a brat, or with ſome unſaleable commodity you were tired of; and though every body tells, no, no, ſtill you keep hawking him about. But there is one who will have him in a little time, and as we have no inclination to diſappoint you of a cuſtomer, we bid you nothing for him.

The impertinent folly of the paragraph I have juſt quoted, deſerve no other notice than to be laughed at, and thrown by, but the principle on which it is founded, is deteſtable. We are invited to ſubmit to a man who has attempted by every cruelty to deſtroy us, and to join him in making war againſt France, who is already at war againſt him for our ſupport.

Can Bedlam, in concert with Lucifer, form a more mad and deviliſh requeſt; Were it poſſible a people could ſink into ſuch apoſtacy, they would deſerve to be ſwept from the earth, like the inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah. The propoſition is an univerſal affront to the rank which man holds in the creation, and an indignity to him who placed him there. It ſuppoſes him made up without a ſpark of honour, and under no obligation to God or man.

[169] What ſort of men or Chriſtians muſt you ſuppoſe the Americans to be, who, after ſeeing their moſt humble petitions inſultingly rejected, the moſt grievous laws paſſed to diſtreſs them in every quarter, an undeclared war let looſe upon them, and Indians and negroes invited to the ſlaughter; who after ſeeing their kindred murdered, their fellow citizens ſtarved to death in priſons, and their houſes and property deſtroyed and buried; who after the moſt ſerious appeals to heaven, the moſt ſolemn abjuration by oath of all government connected with you, and the moſt heart-felt pledges and proteſtations of faith to each other; and who, after ſoliciting the friendſhip, and entering into alliances with other nations, ſhould at laſt break through all theſe obligations, civil and divine, by complying with your horrid and infernal propoſal. Ought we ever after to be conſidered as a part of the human race? Or, ought we not rather to be blotted from the ſociety of mankind, and become a ſpectacle of miſery to the world? But there is ſomething in corruption, which, like a jaundiced eye, transfers the colour of of itſelf to the object it looks upon, and ſees every thing ſtained and impure; for unleſs you were capable of ſuch conduct yourſelves, you could never have ſuppoſed ſuch a character in us. The offer fixes your infamy. It exhibits you as a nation without faith, with whom oaths and treaties are conſidered as trifles, and the breaking them, as the [170] breaking of a bubble. Regard to decency or to rank, might have taught you better, or pride inſpired you, though virtue could not. There is not left a ſtep in the degradation of character to which you can now deſcend; you have put your foot on the ground floor, and the key of the dungeon is turned upon you.

That the invitation may want nothing of being a complete monſter, you have thought proper to finiſh it with an aſſertion which has no foundation, either in fact or philoſophy; and as Mr. Ferguſon, your ſecretary, is a man of letters, and has made civil ſociety his ſtudy, and publiſhed a treatiſe on that ſubject, I addreſs this part to him.

In the cloſe of the paragraph which I laſt quoted, France is ſtiled the "natural enemy" of England, and by way of lugging us into ſome ſtrange idea, ſhe is ſtiled the "late mutual and natural enemy" of both countries. I deny that ſhe ever was the natural enemy of either, and that there does not exiſt in nature ſuch a principle. The expreſſion is an unmeaning barbariſm, and wholly unphiloſophical, when applied to beings of the ſame ſpecies, let their ſtation in the creation be what it may. We have a perfect idea of a natural enemy when we think of the devil, becauſe the enmity is perpetual, unalterable, and unabateable. It admits neither of peace, truce, or treaty; conſequently the warfare is eternal, and therefore it is natural. But man with man [171] cannot arrange in the ſame oppoſition. Their quarrels are accidental and equivocally created. They become friends or enemies at the change of temper, as the caſt of intereſt inclines them. The Creator of man did not conſtitute them the natural enemy of each other. He has not made any one order of beings ſo. Even wolves may quarrel, ſtill they herd together. If any two nations are ſo, then muſt all nations be ſo, otherwiſe it is not nature, but cuſtom, and the offence frequently originates with the accuſer. England is as truly the natural enemy of France, as France is of England, and, perhaps, more ſo. Separated from the reſt of Europe, ſhe has contracted an unſocial habit of manners, and imagines in others the jealouſy ſhe creates in herſelf. Never long ſatisfied with peace, ſhe ſuppoſes the diſcontent univerſal, and buoyed up with her own importance, conceives herſelf the only object pointed at. The expreſſion has been often uſed, and always with a fraudulent deſign; for when the idea of a natural enemy is conceived, it prevents all other enquiries, and the real cauſe of the quarrel is hidden in the univerſality of the conceit. Men ſtart at the notion of a natural enemy, and aſk no other queſtion. The cry obtains credi like the alarm of a mad dog, and is one of thoſe kind of tricks, which, by operating on the common paſſions, ſecures their intereſt through their folly.

[172] But we, ſir, are not to be thus impoſed upon. We live in a large world, and have extended our ideas beyond the limits and prejudices of an iſland. We hold out the right hand of friendſhip to all the univerſe, and we conceive there to be a ſociality in the manners of France, which is much better diſpoſed to peace and negociation than that of England, and until the latter becomes more civilized, ſhe cannot expect to live long at peace with any power. Her common language is vulgar and offenſive, and children, with their milk, ſuck in the rudiments of inſult.—"The arm of Britain! The mighty arm of Britain! Britain that ſhakes the earth to its center and its poles! The ſcourge of France! The terror of the world! That governs with a nod, and pours down vengeance like a God." This language neither makes a nation great or little; but it ſhews a ſavageneſs of manners, and has a tendency to keep national animoſity alive. The entertainments of the ſtage are calculated to the ſame end, and almoſt every public exhibition is tinctured with inſult. Yet England is always in dread of France. Terrified at the apprehenſion of an invaſion. Suſpicious of being outwitted in a treaty and privately cringing, though ſhe is publicly offending. Let her therefore, reform her manners, and do juſtice, and ſhe will find the idea of a natural enemy, to be only a phantom of her own imagination.

[173] Little did I think, at this period of the war, to ſee a proclamation which could promiſe you no one uſeful purpoſe whatever, and tend only to expoſe you. One would think you were juſt awakened from a four years dream, and knew nothing of what had paſſed in the interval. Is this a time to be offering pardons, or renewing the long forgotten ſubjects of charters and taxation? Is it worth your while, after every force has failed you, to retreat under the ſhelter of argument and perſuaſion? Or can you think that we, with nearly half your army priſoners, and in alliance with France, are to be begged or threatened into a ſubmiſſion by a piece of paper? But as commiſſioners, at a hundred pounds ſterling a week each, you conceive yourſelves bound to do ſomething, and the genius of ill-fortune told you, you muſt write.

For my own part I have not put pen to paper theſe ſeveral months. Convinced of your ſuperiority by the iſſue of every campaign, I was inclined to hope, that that which all the reſt of the world now ſee, would become viſible to you, and therefore felt unwilling to ruffle your temper by fretting you with repetitions and diſcoveries. There have been intervals of heſitation in your conduct, from which it ſeemed a pity to diſturb you, and a charity to leave you to yourſelves. You have often ſtopt, as if you intended to think, but your thoughts have ever been too early or too late.

[174] There was a time when Britain diſdained to anſwer, and even to hear a petition from America. That time is paſt, and ſhe, in her turn, is petitioning our acceptance. We now ſtand on higher ground, and offer her peace; and the time will come, when ſhe, perhaps in vain, will aſk it from us. The latter caſe is as probable as the former ever was. She cannot refuſe to acknowledge our independence with greater obſtinacy than ſhe before refuſed to repeal her laws; and if America alone could bring her to the one, united with France ſhe will reduce her to the other. There is ſomething in obſtinacy which differs from every other paſſion, whenever it fails it never recovers, but either breaks like iron, or crumbles ſulkily away like a fractured arch. Moſt other paſſions have their periods of fatigue and reſt; their ſufferings and their cure; but obſtinacy has no reſource, and the firſt wound is mortal. You have already begun to give it up, and you will, from the natural conſtruction of the vice, find yourſelves both obliged and inclined to do ſo.

If you look back you ſee nothing but loſs and diſgrace. If you look forward, the ſame ſcene continues, and the cloſe is an impenetrable gloom. You may plan and execute little miſchiefs, but are they worth the expence they coſt you, or will ſuch partial evils have any effect [175] on the general cauſe? Your expedition to Egg-Harbour, will be felt at a diſtance like an attack upon a hen-rooſt, and expoſe you in Europe with a ſort of childiſh phrenſy. It is well worth while to keep an army to protect you in writing proclamations, or to get once a year into winter quarters? Poſſeſſing yourſelves of towns is not conqueſt, but convenience, and in which you will, one day or the other, be trepanned. Your retreat from Philadelphia was only a timely eſcape, and your next expedition may be leſs fortunate.

It would puzzle all the politicians in the univerſe to conceive what you ſtay for, or why you ſhould have ſtaid ſo long. You are proſecuting a war in which you confeſs you have neither object nor hope, and that conqueſt, could it be effected, would not repay the charges: In the mean while, the reſt of your affairs are running into ruin, and a European war kindled againſt you. In ſuch a ſituation, there is neither doubt or difficulty; the firſt rudiments of reaſon will determine the choice, for if peace can be procured with more advantages than even a conqueſt can be obtained, he muſt be an ideot indeed that heſitates.

But you are probably buoyed up by a ſet of wretched mortals, who, having deceived themſelves, are cringing with the duplicity of a ſpaniel [176] for a little temporary bread. Thoſe men will tell you juſt what you pleaſe. It is their intereſt to amuſe, in order to lengthen out their protection. They ſtudy to keep you amongſt them for that very purpoſe; and in proportion as you diſregard their advice, and grow callous to their complaints, they will ſtretch into improbability, and pepper off their flattery the higher. Characters like theſe are to be found in every country, and every country will deſpiſe them.

THE CRISIS.
No. VIII.
To the People of England.

[177]

THERE are ſtages in the buſineſs of ſerious life in which to amuſe is cruel, but to deceive is to deſtroy; and it is of little conſequence in the concluſion, whether men deceive themſelves or ſubmit by a kind of mutual conſent, to the impoſitions of each other. That England has been long under the influence of deluſion or miſtake, needs no other proof than the unexpected and wretched ſituation ſhe is now involved in: And ſo powerful has been the influence, that no proviſion was ever made or thought of againſt the misfortune, becauſe the poſſibility of its happening was never conceived.

The general and ſucceſsful reſiſtance of America, the conqueſt of Burgoyne, and a war with France, were treated in parliament as the dreams of a diſcontented oppoſition, or a diſtempered imagination. They were beheld as objects unworthy of a ſerious thought, and the bare intimation of [178] them afforded the miniſtry a triumph of laughter. Short triumph indeed! For every thing which has been predicted has happened, and all that was promiſed have failed. A long ſeries of politics ſo remarkably diſtinguiſhed by a ſucceſſion of misfortunes, without one alleviating turn, muſt certainly have ſomething in it ſyſtematically wrong. It is ſufficient to awaken the moſt credulous into ſuſpicion, and moſt obſtinate into thought. Either the means in your power are inſufficient, or the meaſures ill-planned; either the execution has been bad, or the thing attempted impracticable; or to ſpeak more emphatically, either you are not able, or Heaven is not willing. For, why is it that you have not conquered us? Who, or what has prevented you? You have had every opportunity you could deſire, and ſuccceded to your utmoſt wiſh in every preparatory means. Your fleets and armies have arrived in America without an accident. No uncommon misfortune hath intervened. No foreign nation hath interfered until the time you had allotted for victory was paſt. The oppoſition either in or out of parliament, neither diſconcerted your meaſures, retarded or diminiſhed your force. They only foretold your ſate. Every miniſterial ſcheme was carried with as high a hand as if the whole nation had been unanimous. Every thing wanted was aſked for, and every thing aſked [179] for was granted. A greater force was not within the compaſs of your abilities to ſend, and the time you ſent it was, of all others, the moſt favourable. You were then at reſt with the whole world beſide. You had the range of every court in Europe uncontradicted by us. You amuſed us with a tale of commiſſioners of peace, and under that diſguiſe collected a numerous army and came almoſt unexpectedly upon us. The force was much greater than we looked for; and that which we had to oppoſe it with was unequal in numbers, badly armed and poorly diſciplined; beſides which, it was embodied only for a ſhort time, and expired within a few months after your arrival. We had governments to form; meaſures to concert; an army to raiſe and train, and every neceſſary article to import or to create. Our non-importation ſcheme had exhauſted our ſtores, and your command by ſea, intercepted our ſupplies. We were a people unknown, and unconnected with the political world, and ſtrangers to the diſpoſition of foreign powers. Could you poſſibly wiſh for a more favorable conjunction of circumſtances? Yet all theſe have happened and paſſed away, and, as it were, left you with a laugh. They are likewiſe events of ſuch an original nativity as can never happen again, unleſs a new world ſhould ariſe from the ocean.

If any thing can be a leſſon to preſumption, ſurely the circumſtances of this war will have their [180] effect. Had Britain been defeated by any European power, her pride would have drawn conſolation from the importance of her conquerors; but in the preſent caſe, ſhe is excelled by thoſe ſhe affected to deſpiſe, and her own opinion retorting on herſelf, become an aggravation of her diſgrace. Misfortune and experience are loſt upon mankind, when they produce neither reflection nor reformation. Evils, like poiſons, have their uſes, and there are diſeaſes which no other remedy can reach. It has been the crime and folly of England to ſuppoſe herſelf invincible, and that, without acknowledging or perceiving that a full third of her ſtrength was drawn from the country ſhe is now at war with. The arm of Britain has been ſpoken of as the arm of the Almighty, and ſhe has lived of late, as if ſhe thought the whole world created for her diverſion. Her politics, inſtead of civilizing, has tended to brutalize mankind, and under the vain unmeaning title of "Defender of the Faith," ſhe has made war, like an Indian, againſt the religion of humanity. Her cruelties in the Eaſt Indies, will NEVER, NEVER be forgotten; and, it is ſomewhat remarkable, that the produce of that ruined country, tranſported to America, ſhould there kindle up a war, to puniſh the deſtroyer. The chain is continued, though with a kind of myſterious uniformity, both in the crime and the puniſhment. The latter [181] runs parallel with the former; and time and fate will give it a perfect illuſtration.

Where information is withheld, ignorance becomes a reaſonable excuſe; and one would charitably hope, that the people of England do not encourage cruelty from choice, but from miſtake. Their recluſe ſituation, ſurrounded by the ſea, preſerves them from the calamities of war, and keeps them in the dark as to the conduct of their own armies. They ſee not, therefore they feel not. They tell the tale that is told them, and believe it, and accuſtomed to no other news than their own, they receive it, ſtript of its horrors, and prepared for the palate of the nation, through the channel of the London Gazette. They are made to believe that their generals and armies differ from thoſe of other nations, and have nothing of rudeneſs or barbarity in them. They ſuppoſe them what they wiſh them to be. They feel a diſgrace in thinking otherwiſe, and naturally encourage the belief from a partiality to themſelves. There was a time when I felt the ſame prejudices, and reaſoned from the ſame errors; but experience, ſad and painful experience, has taught me better. What the conduct of former armies was, I know not, but what the conduct of the preſent is, I well know. It is low, cruel, indolent, and proſſigate: and had the people of America no other cauſe for ſeparation than what [182] the army has occaſioned, that alone is cauſe enough.

The field of politics in England is far more extenſive than that of news. Men have a right to reaſon for themſelves, and though they cannot contradict the intelligence in the London Gazette, they can frame upon it what ſentiments they pleaſe. But the misfortune is, that a general ignorance has prevailed over the whole nation reſpecting America. The miniſtry and the minority have both been wrong. The former was always ſo; the latter, only lately ſo. Politics to be executively right, muſt have a unity of means and time, and a defect in either overthrows the whole. The miniſtry rejected the plans of the minority while they were practicable, and joined in them, when they became impracticable. From wrong meaſures, they got into wrong time, and have now completed the circle of abſurdity by cloſing it upon themſelves.

It was my fate to come to America a few months before the breaking out of hoſtilities. I found the diſpoſition of the people ſuch, that they might have been led by a thread, and governed by a reed. Their ſuſpicion was quick and penetrating, but their attachment to Britain was obſtinate, and it was, at that time, a kind of treaſon to ſpeak againſt it. They diſliked the miniſtry, but they eſteemed the nation. Their idea of grievance operated without reſentment, and their ſingle object was reconciliation, [183] Bad as I believed the miniſtry to be, I never conceived them capable of a meaſure ſo raſh and wicked as the commencing of hoſtilities; much leſs did I imagine the nation would encourage it. I viewed the diſpute as a kind of lawſuit, in which I ſuppoſed the parties would find a way either to decide or ſettle it. I had no thoughts of independence, or of arms. The world could not then have perſuaded me, that I ſhould be either a ſoldier or an author. If I had any talents for either, they were buried in me, and might ever have continued ſo, had not the neceſſity of the times dragged and driven them into action. I had formed my plan of life, and conceiving myſelf happy, wiſhed every body elſe ſo. But when the country into which I had juſt put my foot, was ſet on fire about my ears, it was time to ſtir. It was time for every man to ſtir. Thoſe who had been long ſettled and had ſomething to defend; thoſe who had juſt come had ſomething to purſue; and the call, and the concern was equal and univerſal. For in a country where all men were once adventurers, the difference of a few years in their arrival, could make none in their right.

The breaking out of hoſtilities, opened a new ſuſpicion in the politics of America, which, though at that time very rare, has been ſince proved to be very right. What I allude to, is, "A ſecret and fixt determination in the Britiſh cabinet to annex [184] America to the crown of England as a conquered country." If this be taken as the object, then the whole line of conduct purſued by the miniſtry, though raſh in its origin, and ruinous in its conſequences, is nevertheleſs uniform and conſiſtent in its parts. It applies to every caſe, and reſolves every difficulty. But if taxation, or any thing elſe taken in its room, then there is no proportion between the object and the charge. Nothing but the whole ſoil and property of the country can be placed as a poſſible equivalent againſt the millions which the miniſtry expended. No taxes raiſed in America could poſſibly repay it. A revenue of two millions ſterling a year, would not diſcharge the ſum and intereſt accumulated thereon, in twenty years.

Reconciliation never appears to have been the wiſh or the object of adminiſtration, they looked on conqueſt as certain and infallible, and under that perſuaſion, ſought to drive the Americans into what they might ſtile, a general rebellion, and then cruſhing them with arms in their hands, reap the rich harveſt of a general confiſcation, and ſilence them for ever. The dependants at court were too numerous to be provided for in England. The market for plunder in the Eaſt Indies were over; and the profligacy of government required that a a new mine ſhould be opened, and that mine, could be no other than America conquered and [185] forfeited. They had no where elſe to go. Every other channel was drained; and extravagance with the thirſt of a drunkard, was gaping for ſupplies.

If the miniſtry deny this to have been their plan, it becomes them to explain what was their plan. For either they have abuſed us in coveting property they never laboured for, or they have abuſed you in expending an amazing ſum upon an incompetent object. Taxation, as I mentioned before, could never be worth the charge of obtaining it by arms; and any kind of formal obedience which America could have made, would have weighed with the lightneſs of a laugh againſt ſuch a load of expence. It is, therefore, moſt probable, that the miniſtry will at laſt juſtify their policy by their diſhoneſty, and openly declare, that their original deſign was conqueſt: And in this caſe, it well becomes the people of England, to conſider how far the nation would have been benefited by the ſucceſs.

In a general view, there are few conqueſts that repay the charge of making them, and mankind are pretty well convinced, that it can never be worth their while to go to war for profit ſake. If they are made war upon, their country invaded, or their exiſtence at ſtake, it is their duty to defend and preſerve themſelves, but in every other light, and from every other cauſe, is war inglorious and deteſtable. But to return to the caſe in queſtion—

When conqueſts are made of foreign countries, it is ſuppoſed that the COMMERCE and DOMINION [186] of the country which made them are extended. But this could neither be the object nor the conſequence of the preſent war. You enjoyed the whole commerce before. It could receive no poſſible addition by a conqueſt, but on the contrary, muſt diminiſh as the inhabitants were reduced in numbers and wealth. You had the DOMINION over the country which you uſed to have, and had no complaint to make againſt her for breach of any part of the compact between you and her, or contending againſt any eſtabliſhed cuſtom, commercial, political or territorial. The country and commerce were both your own when you BEGAN to conquer, in the ſame manner and form as they had been your own an hundred years before. Nations have ſometimes been induced to make conqueſts for the ſake only of reducing the power of their enemies, or bringing it to a balance with their own. But this could be no part of your plan. No foreign authority was claimed here, neither was any ſuch authority ſuſpected by you, or acknowledged, or imagined by us. What then, in the name of heaven, could you go to war for? or what chance could you poſſibly have in the event, but either to hold the ſame country which you held before, and that in a much worſe condition, or to loſe with an amazing expence, what you might have retained without a farthing charges.

[187] War never can be the intereſt of a trading nation, any more than quarrelling can be profitable to a man in buſineſs. But to make war with thoſe who trade with us, is like ſetting a bull-dog upon a cuſtomer at the ſhop door. The leaſt degree of common ſenſe ſhews the madneſs of the latter, and it will apply with the ſame force of conviction to the former. Piratical nations, having neither commerce or commodities of their own to loſe, may make war upon all the world, and lucratively find their account in it. But it is quite otherwiſe with Britain. For, beſides the ſtoppage of trade in time of war, ſhe expoſes more of her own property to be loſt, than ſhe has the chance of taking from others. Some miniſterial gentlemen in parliament have mentioned the greatneſs of her trade, as an apology for the greatneſs of her loſs. This is miſerable politics indeed! becauſe, it ought to have been given as a reaſon for her not engaging in a war at firſt. The coaſt of America commands the Weſt India trade, almoſt as effectually as the coaſt of Africa does that of the Streights, and England can no more carry to the former, without the conſent of America, than ſhe can the latter without a Mediterranean paſs.

In whatever light the war with America is conſidered upon commercial principles, it is evidently the intereſt of the people of England not to ſupport it; and why it has been ſupported ſo long [188] againſt the cleareſt demonſtrations of truth and national advantage, is to me, and muſt be to all the reaſonable world, a matter of actoniſhment. Perhaps, it may be ſaid, that I live in America, and write this from intereſt. To this I reply, that my principles are univerſal. My attachment is to all the world, and not to any particular part, and if what I advance is right, no matter where, or who it comes from. We have given the proclamation of your commiſſioners a currency in our newſpapers, and I have no doubt but you will give this a place in yours. To oblige and be obliged is fair.

Before I diſmiſs this part of my addreſs, I ſhall mention one more circumſtance in which I think the people of England have been equally miſtaken; and then proceed to other matter.

There is ſuch an idea exiſting in the world, as that of NATIONAL HONOUR, and this falſely underſtood, is oftentimes the cauſe of war. In a chriſtian and philoſophical ſenſe, mankind ſeem to have ſtood ſtill at individual civilization, and to retain as nations, all the original rudeneſs of nature. Peace by treaty, is only a ceſſation of violence, for a reformation of ſentiment. It is a ſubſtitute for a principle that is wanting, and ever will be wanting till the idea of NATIONAL HONOUR be rightly underſtood. As individuals, we profeſs ourſelves chriſtians, but as nations, we are heathens, Romans, and what not. I remember the [189] late Admiral Saunders declaring in the Houſe of Commons, and that in the time of peace, "That the city of Madrid laid in aſhes, was not a ſufficient atonement for the Spaniards taking off the rudder of an Engliſh ſloop of war." I do not aſk whether this is chriſtianity or morality, I aſk whether it is decency? whether it is proper language for a nation to uſe? In private life we ſhould call it by the plain name of bullying, and the elevation of rank cannot alter its character. It is, I think, exceedingly eaſy to define, what ought to be underſtood by national honour, for that which is the beſt character for an individual, is the beſt character for a nation; and wherever the latter exceeds or falls beneath the former, there is a departure from the line of true greatneſs.

I have thrown out this obſervation with a deſign of applying it to Great Britain. Her idea of national honour ſeems devoid of that benevolence of heart, that univerſal expanſion of philanthropy, and that triumph over the rage of vulgar prejudice, without which, man is inferior to himſelf, and a companion of common animals. To know whom ſhe ſhall regard or diſlike, ſhe aſks what country they are of, what religion they profefs, and what property they enjoy. Her idea of national honour ſeems to conſiſt in national inſult, and that to be a great people, is to be neither a chriſtian, a philoſopher, or a gentleman, but to threaten with the rudeneſs [190] of a bear, and to devour with the ferocity of a lion. This, perhaps, may found harſh and uncourtly, but it is too true, and the more is the pity.

I mention this only as her general character. But towards America ſhe has obſerved no character at all, and deſtroyed by her conduct what ſhe aſſumed in her title. She ſet out with the title of Parent or Mother Country. The aſſociation of ideas which naturally accompany this expreſſion, are filled with every thing that is fond, tender, and forbearing. They have an energy particular to themſelves, and overlooking the accidental attachment of common affections, apply with peculiar ſoftneſs to the firſt feelings of the heart. It is a political term which every mother can feel the force of, and every child can judge of. It needs no painting of mine to ſet it off, for nature only can do it juſtice.

But has any part of your conduct to America correſponded with the title you ſet up? If in your general national character you are unpoliſhed and ſevere, in this you are inconſiſtent and unnatural, and you muſt have exceeding falſe notions of national honour, to ſuppoſe that the world can admire a want of humanity, or that national honour depends on the violence of reſentment, the inflexibility of temper, or the vengeance of execution.

I would willingly convince you, and that with as much temper as the times will ſuffer me to do, [191] that as you oppoſed your own intereſt by quarrelling with us, ſo likewiſe your national honour, rightly conceived and underſtood, was no ways called upon to enter into a war with America; had you ſtudied true greatneſs of heart, the firſt and faireſt ornament of mankind, you would have acted directly contrary to all that you have done, and the world would have aſcribed it to a generous cauſe; beſides which, you had (though with the aſſiſtance of this country) ſecured a powerful name by the laſt war. You were known and dreaded abroad; and it would have been wiſe in you to have ſuffered the world to have ſlept undiſturbed under that idea. It was to you a force exiſting without expence. It produced to you all the advantages of real power, and you were ſtronger through the univerſality of that charm than any future fleets and armies may probably make you. Your greatneſs was ſo ſecured and interwoven with your ſilence, that you ought never to have awakened mankind, and had nothing to do but to be quiet. Had you been true politicians you would have ſeen all this, and continued to draw from the magic of a name, the force and authority, of a nation.

Unwiſe as you were in breaking the charm, you were ſtill more unwiſe in the manner of doing of it. Samſon only told the ſecret, but you have performed the operation; you have ſhaven your own head, and wantonly thrown away the locks. America [192] was the hair from which the charm was drawn that infatuated the world. You ought to have quarrelled with no power; but with her upon no account. You had nothing to fear from any condeſcenſion you might make. You might have humoured her, even if there had been no juſtice in her claims, without any riſk to your reputation; for Europe faſcinated by your ſame, would have aſcribed it to your benovolence, and America, intoxicated by the great, would have ſlumbered in her fetters.

But this method of ſtudying the progreſs of the paſſions, in order to aſcertain the probable conduct of mankind, is a philoſophy in politics, which thoſe who preſide at St. James's have no conception of. They know no other influence than corruption, and reckon all their probabilities from precedent. A new caſe, is to them a new world, and while they are ſeeking for a parallel, they get loſt. The talents of Lord Mansfield can be eſtimated, at beſt, no higher than thoſe of a ſophiſt. He underſtands the ſubtleties, but not the elegance of nature? and by continually viewing mankind through the cold medium of the law, never thinks of penetrating into the warmer region of the mind. As for Lord North, it is his happineſs to have in him more philoſophy than ſentiment, for he bears flogging like a top, and ſleeps the better for it. His puniſhment becomes his ſupport, for while he ſuffers the laſh for his ſins, he keeps himſelf up by twirling about. In [193] politics, he is a good arithmetician, and in every thing elſe, nothing at all.

There is one circumſtance which comes ſo much within Lord North's province as a financier, that I am ſurpriſed it ſhould eſcape him, which is the different abilities of the two countries in ſupporting the expence; for, ſtrange as it may ſeem, England is not a match for America in this particular. By a curious kind of revolution in accounts, the people of England ſeem to miſtake their poverty for their riches, that is, they reckon their national debt as part of their national wealth. They make the ſame kind of error which a man would do, who, after mortgaging his eſtate, ſhould add the money borrowed, to the full value on the eſtate, in order to count up his worth, and in this caſe, he would conceit that he got rich by running into debt. Juſt thus it is with England. The government owed at the beginning of this war, one hundred and thirty five millions ſterling, and though the individuals to whom it was due, had a right to reckon their ſhares as ſo much private property, yet to the nation collectively, it was ſo much poverty. There is as effectual limits to public debts as to private ones, for when once the money borrowed is ſo great as to require the whole yearly revenue to diſcharge the intereſt thereon, there is an end to a farther borrowing; in the ſame manner as when the intereſt of a man's debts amounts to the yearly income of [194] his eſtate, there is an end to his credit, This is nearly the caſe with England; the intereſt of her preſent debt being at leaſt equal to one half of her yearly revenue, ſo that out of ten millions annually collected by taxes, ſhe has but five ſhe can call her own.

The very reverſe of this was the caſe with America; ſhe began the war without any debt upon her, and in order to carry it on, ſhe neither raiſed money by taxes, nor borrowed it upon intereſt, but created it; and her ſituation at this time, continues ſo much the reverſe of yours, that taxing would make her rich, whereas it would make you poor. When we ſhall have ſunk the ſum which we have created, we ſhall then be out of debt, be juſt as rich as when we began, and all the while we are doing it, ſhall feel no difference, becauſe the value will riſe, as the quantity decreaſes.

There was not a country in the world, ſo capable of bearing the expence of a war, as America; not only, becauſe, ſhe was not in debt when ſhe began, but becauſe the country is young, and capable of infinite improvement, and has an almoſt boundleſs tract of new lands in ſtore, whereas, England has got to her extent of age and growth, and has no unoccupied land, or property in reſerve. The one is like a young heir, coming to a large improveable eſtate, the other like an old man whoſe [195] chances are over, and his eſtate mortgaged for half its worth.

In the ſecond number of the Criſis, which I find has been re-publiſhed in England, I endeavoured to to ſet forth the impracticability of conquering America. I ſtated every caſe, that I conceived could poſſibly happen, and ventured to predict its conſequence. As my concluſions were drawn not artfully, but naturally, they have all proved to be true. I was upon the ſpot; knew the politics of America, her ſtrength, and reſources; and, by a train of ſervices, the beſt in my power to render, was honoured with the friendſhip of the congreſs the army, and the people. I conſidered the cauſe a juſt one. I know and feel it a juſt one, and under that confidence never made my own profit or loſs an object. My endeavour was to have the matter well underſtood on both ſides, and I conceived myſelf tendering a general ſervice, by ſetting forth to the one the impoſſibility of being conquered, and to the other, the impoſſibility of conquering. Moſt of the arguments made uſe of by the miniſtry for ſupporting the war, are the very arguments that ought to have been uſed againſt ſupporting it; and the plans, by which they thought to conquer, are the very plans, in which they were ſure to be defeated. They have taken every thing up at the wrong end. Their ignorance is aſtoniſhing, and were you in my [196] ſituation you would ſee it. They may, perhaps, have your confidence, but I am perſuaded, they would make very indifferent members of congreſs. I know what England is, and what America is, and from the compound of knowledge, am better enabled to judge of the iſſue, than what the king or any of his miniſters can be.

In this number, I have endeavoured to ſhew the ill policy and diſadvantages of the war. I believe many of my remarks are new. Thoſe which are not ſo, I have ſtudied to improve, and place in a manner that may be clear and ſtriking, Your failure, is, I am perſuaded, as certain as fate. America is above your reach. She is, at leaſt, your equal in the world, and her independance, neither reſts upon your conſent, or can be prevented by your arms. In ſhort, you ſpend your ſubſtance in vain, and impoveriſh yourſelf without a hope.

But ſuppoſe you had conquered America, what advantage collectively or individually, as merchants, manufacturers, or conquerors, could you have looked for. This is an object you ſeem never to have attended to. Liſtening for the ſound of victory, and led away by the phrenzy of arms, you neglected to reckon either the coſt or the conſequences. You muſt all pay towards the expence; the pooreſt among you muſt bear his ſhare, and it is both your right and duty to weigh ſeriouſly the matter. Had America been [197] conquered, ſhe might have been parcelled out in grants to the favourites at court, but no ſhare of it would have fallen to you. Your taxes would not have been leſſened, becauſe, ſhe would have been in no condition to have paid any towards your relief. We are rich by a contrivance of our own, which would have ceaſed, as ſoon as you became maſters. Our Paper money will be of no uſe in England, and ſilver and gold we have none. In the laſt war you made many conqueſts, but were any of your taxes leſſened thereby? On the contrary, were you not taxed to pay for the charge of making them, and have not the ſame been the caſe in every war?

To the parliament, I beg to addreſs myſelf in a particular manner They appear to have ſuppoſed themſelves partners in the chace, and to have hunted with the lion from an expectation of a right in the booty; but in this, it is moſt probably they would, as legiſlators, have been diſappointed. The caſe is quite a new one, and many unforeſeen difficulties would have ariſen thereon. The parliament claimed a legiſlative right over America, and the war originated from that pretence. But the army is ſuppoſed to belong to the crown, and if America had been conquered through their means, the claims of the legiſlature would have been ſuffocated in the conqueſt. Ceded, or conquered countries, are ſuppoſed to be out of the authority [198] of parliament. Taxation is exerciſed over them by prerogative and not by law. It was attempted to be done in the Grenades a few years ago, and the only reaſon why it was not done, was, becauſe, the crown had made a prior relinquiſhment of its claim. Therefore, parliament have been all this while ſupporting meaſures for the eſtabliſhment of their authority, in the iſſue of which, they would have been triumphed over by prerogative. This might have opened a new and intereſting oppoſition between the parliament and the crown. The crown would have ſaid that it conquered for itſelf, and that to conquer for parliament was an unknown caſe. The parliament might have replied, that America not being a foreign country, but a country in rebellion, could not be ſaid to be conquered, but reduced; and thus continued their claim, by diſowning the term. The crown might have rejoined, that however America might be conſidered at firſt, ſhe became foreign at laſt, by a declaration of independence, and a treaty with France; and that her caſe being by that treaty, put within the law of nations, was out of the law of parliament. The parliament might have maintained, that as their claim over America had never been ſurrendered, ſo neither could it be taken away. The crown might have inſiſted, that though the claim of parliament could not be taken away yet being an inferior, might be [199] ſuperceded; and that, whether the claim was withdrawn from the object, or the object taken from the claim, the ſame ſeparation enſued; and that America being ſubdued after a treaty with France, was to all intents and purpoſes a regal conqueſt, and of courſe the ſole property of the king. The parliament, as the legal delegates of the people, might have contended againſt the term "inferior," and reſted the caſe upon the antiquity of power; and this would have brought on a ſet of very intereſting and rational queſtions.

  • Firſt, What is the original fountain of power and honor in any country?
  • Secondly, Whether the prerogative does not belong to the people?
  • Thirdly, Whether there is any ſuch thing as the Engliſh conſtitution?
  • Fourthly, Of what uſe is the crown to the people?
  • Fifthly, Whether he who invented a crown was not an enemy to mankind?
  • Sixthly, Whether it is not a ſhame for a man to ſpend a million a year, and do no good for it, and whether the money might not be better applied?
  • Seventhly, Whether ſuch a man is not better dead than alive?
  • Eighthly, Whether a congreſs conſtituted like that of America, is not the moſt happy and conſiſtent [200] form of government in the world?
  • —With a number of others of the ſame import.

In ſhort, the contention about the dividend might have diſtracted the nation; for nothing is more common than to agree in the conqueſt and quarrel for the prize; therefore it is, perhaps, a happy circumſtance, that our ſucceſſes have prevented the diſpute.

If the parliament had been thrown out in their claim, which it is moſt probable they would, the nation likewiſe would have been thrown out in their expectation; for as the taxes would have been laid by the crown, without the parliament, the revenue ariſing therefrom, if any could have aroſe, would not have gone into the exchequer, but into the privy purſe, and ſo far from leſſening the taxes, would not even have been added to them, but ſerved only as pocket money to the crown. The more I reflect on this matter, the more I am aſtoniſhed at the blindneſs and ill-policy of my countrymen, whoſe wiſdom ſeems to operate without diſcernment, and their ſtrength without an object.

To the great bulwark of the nation, I mean the mercantile and manufacturing part thereof, I likewiſe preſent my addreſs. It is your intereſt to ſee America an independent country, and not a conquered one. If conquered, ſhe is ruined; and if ruined, poor; conſequently the trade will be a trifle, and her credit doubtful. If independent, [201] ſhe flouriſhes, and from her flouriſhing, muſt your profits ariſe. It matters nothing to you, who governs America, if your manufactures find a conſumption there. Some articles will conſequently be obtained from other places, and right they ſhould; but the demand of others, will increaſe by the great influx of inhabitants which a ſtate of independence and peace will occaſion, and on the final event you may be enriched. The commerce of America is perfectly free, and ever will be ſo. She will conſign away no part of it to any nation. She has not to her friends, and certainly will not to her enemies, though it is probable that your narrow-minded politicians, thinking to pleaſe you thereby, may ſome time or other make ſuch an unneceſſary propoſal. Trade flouriſhes beſt when it is free, and it is weak policy to attempt to fetter it. Her treaty with France is on the moſt liberal and generous principles, and the French in their conduct towards her, have proved themſelves to be philoſophers, politicians, and gentlemen.

To the miniſtry I likewiſe addreſs myſelf. You, gentlemen, have ſtudied the ruin of your country, from which it is not within your abilities to reſcue her. Your attempts to recover are as ridiculous as your plans, which involved her, are deteſtable. The commiſſioners being about to depart, will probably bring you this, and with it my ſixth number to them; and in ſo doing they carry back more [202] COMMON SENSE than they brought, and you will likewiſe have more than when you ſent them.

Having thus addreſſed you ſeverally, I conclude by addreſſing you collectively. It is a long lane that has no turning. A period of ſixteen years of miſconduct and misfortune, is certainly long enough for any one nation to ſuffer under; and upon a ſuppoſition that war is not declared between France and you, I beg to place a line of conduct before you that will eaſily lead you out of all your troubles. It has been hinted before, and cannot be too much attended to.

Suppoſe America had remained unknown to Europe till the preſent year, and that Mr. Banks and Dr. Solander, in another voyage round the world, had made the firſt diſcovery of her in the ſelf ſame condition ſhe is now in, of arts, arms, numbers, and civilization. What, I aſk, in that caſe, would have been your conduct towards her, for THAT will point out what it ought to be now? The problems and their ſolutions are equal, and the right line of the one is the parallel of the other. The queſtion takes in every circumſtance that can poſſibly ariſe. It reduces politics to a ſimple thought, and is moreover a mode of inveſtigation, in which, while you are ſtudying your intereſt, the ſimplicity of the caſe will cheat you into good temper. You have nothing to do but to ſuppoſe you have found America, and ſhe appears [203] found to your hand, and, while in the joy of your heart you ſtand ſtill to admire her, the path of politics riſes ſtraight before you.

Were I diſpoſed to paint a contraſt, I could eaſily ſet off what you have done in the preſent caſe againſt what you would have done in THAT caſe, and, by juſtly oppoſing them, conclude a picture that would make you bluſh. But, as when any of the prouder paſſions are hurt, it is much better philoſophy to let a man ſlip into a good temper, than to attack him in a bad one; for that reaſon, therefore, I only ſtate the caſe, and leave yourſelves to reflect upon it.

To go a little back into politics, it will be found that the true intereſts of Britain lay in propoſing and promoting the independence of America immediately after the laſt peace; for the expence which Britain had then incurred by defending America, as her own dominions, ought to have ſhewn her the policy and neceſſity of changing the STILE of the country, as the beſt probable method of preventing future wars and expence, and the only method by which ſhe could hold the commerce without the charge of ſovereignty. Beſides which, the title ſhe aſſumed of parent country, led to, and pointed out, the propriety, wiſdom and advantage of a ſeparation; for as in private life, children grow into men, and, by ſetting up for themſelves, extend and ſecure the intereſt of the whole family, ſo in the [204] ſettlement of colonies large enough to admit of maturity, the ſame policy ſhould be purſued, and the ſame conſequences would follow. Nothing hurts the affections both of parents and children ſo much, as living too cloſely connected, and keeping up the diſtinction too long. Domineering will not do over thoſe, who by a progreſs in life are become equal in rank to their parents, that is, when they have families of their own; and though they may conceive themſelves the ſubjects of their advice, will not ſuppoſe them the objects of their government. I do not, by drawing this parallel, mean to admit the title of PARENT COUNTRY, becauſe, if due any where, it is due to Europe collectively, and the firſt ſettlers from England were driven here by proſecution. I mean only to introduce the term for the ſake of policy, and to ſhow from your title, the line of your intereſt.

When you ſaw the ſtate of ſtrength and opulence, and that by her own induſtry, which America had arrived at, you ought to have adviſed her to have ſet up for herſelf, and propoſed an alliance of intereſt with her, and, in ſo doing, you would have drawn, and that at her own expence, more real advantage, and more military ſupplies and aſſiſtance, both of ſhips and men, than from any weak and wrangling government you could exerciſe over her. In ſhort, had you ſtudied only the domeſtic politics [205] of a family, you would have learned how to govern the ſtate; but, inſtead of this eaſy and natural line, you flew out into every thing which was wild and outrageous, till by following the paſſion and ſtupidity of the pilot, you wrecked the veſſel within ſight of the ſhore.

Having ſhown what you ought to have done, I now proceed to ſhew the reaſon why it was not done. The caterpillar circle of the court, had an intereſt to purſue diſtinct from, and oppoſed to yours, for though by the independence of America, and an alliance therewith, the trade would have continued, if not increaſed, as in many articles neither country can go to a better market, and, though by defending and protecting herſelf, ſhe would have been no expence to you, and conſequently your national charges would have decreaſed, and your taxes might have been proportionally leſſened thereby; yet the ſtriking off ſo many places from the court calendar was put in oppoſition to the intereſt of the nation. The loſs of thirteen government ſhips, with their appendages here and in England, is a ſhocking ſound in the ear of a hungry courtier. Your preſent king and miniſter will be the ruin of you; and you had better riſk a revolution and call a congreſs, than be thus led on from madneſs to deſpair, and from deſpair to ruin. America has ſet you the example, and may you follow it and be ſree.

[206] I now come to the laſt part—a war with France. This is what no man in his ſenſes will adviſe you to, and all good men would wiſh to prevent. Whether France will declare war againſt you, is not for me in this place to mention, or to hint even if I knew it, but it muſt be madneſs in you to do it firſt. The matter is now come to a full criſis, and peace is eaſy, if willingly ſet about. Whatever you may think, France has behaved handſomely to you. She would have been unjuſt to herſelf to have acted otherwiſe than ſhe did; and having accepted our offer of alliance, ſhe gave you genteel notice of it. There was nothing in her conduct reſerved or indelicate; and, while ſhe announced her determination to ſupport her treaty, ſhe left you to give the firſt offence. America, on her part, has exhibited a character of firmneſs to the world. Unprepared and unarmed, without form or government, ſhe ſingly oppoſed a nation that domineered over half the globe. The greatneſs of the deed demands reſpect; and, though you may feel reſentment, you are compelled both to WONDER and ADMIRE.

Here I reſt my arguments, and finiſh my addreſs, ſuch as it is: it is a gift, and you are welcome. It was always my deſign to dedicate a CRISIS to you, when the time ſhould come that would properly MAKE IT A CRISIS; and when, likewiſe, I ſhould catch myſelf in a temper to write it, and [207] ſuppoſe you in a condition to read it. THAT time is now arrived, and with it the opportunity of conveyance. For the commiſſioners—POOR COMMISSIONERS! having proclaimed, that "YET FORTY DAYS AND NINEVEH SHALL BE OVERTHROWN" have waited out the date, and, diſcontented with their God, are returning to their gourd. And all the harm I wiſh them, is, that it may not WITHER about their cars, and that they may not make their exit in the belly of a whale.

COMMON SENSE.

P.S. Though, in the tranquility of my mind, I have concluded with a laugh, yet I have ſomething to mention to the COMMISSIONERS, which to them is ſerious, and worthy their attention. Their authority is derived from an act of parliament, which likewiſe deſcribes and LIMITS their OFFICIAL powers. Their commiſſion, therefore, is only a recital, and perſonal inveſtiture, of thoſe powers, or a nomination and deſcription of the perſons who are to execute them. Had it contained any thing contrary to, or gone beyond the line of, the written law from which it is derived and by which it is bound, it would, by the Engliſh conſtitution, have been treaſon in the crown, and the king been ſubject to an impeachment. He dared not, therefore, put in his commiſſion what you [208] have put in your proclamation, that is, he dared not have authoriſed you, in that commiſſion, to burn and deſtroy, or to threaten to burn and deſtroy, any thing in America. You are both in the ACT, and in the COMMISSION, ſtiled COMMISSIONERS FOR RESTORING PEACE, and the methods for doing it are there pointed out. Your laſt proclamation is ſigned by you, as commiſſioners UNDER THAT ACT. You make parliament the patron of its contents. Yet in the body of it, you inſert matters contrary both to the ſpirit and letter of the act, and what likewiſe your king dared not have put in his commiſſion to you. The ſtate of things in England, gentlemen, is too tickliſh for you to run hazards. You are ACCOUNTABLE TO PARLIAMENT FOR THE EXECUTION OF THAT ACT ACCORDING TO THE LETTER OF IT. Your heads may pay for breaking it, for you certainly have broke it by exceeding it. And as a friend, who would wiſh you to eſcape the paw of the lion as well as the belly of the whale, I civilly hint to you, TO KEEP WITHIN COMPASS.

Sir Harry Clinton, ſtrictly ſpeaking, is as accountable as the reſt; though a general, he is likewiſe a commiſſioner, acting under a ſuperior authority. His firſt obedience is to the act; and his plea of being a general, will not and cannot clear him as a commiſſioner, for that would ſuppoſe the crown, [209] in its ſingle capacity, to have the power of diſpenſing with a ſingle act of parliament. Your ſituations, gentlemen, are nice and critical, and the more ſo, becauſe England is unſettled. Take heed! Remember the times of Charles the Firſt! For Laud and Stafford fell by truſting to a hope like yours.

Having thus ſhewn you the danger of your proclamation, I now ſhew you the folly of it. The means contradict the deſign. You threaten to lay waſte, in order to render America a uſeleſs acquiſition of alliance to France. I reply, that the more deſtruction you commit, (if you could do it,) the more valuable to France you make that alliance. You can deſtroy only houſes and goods; and by ſo doing you encreaſe our demand upon her for materials and merchandize; for the wants of one nation, provided it has FREEDOM and CREDIT, naturally produces riches to the other; and as you can neither ruin the land, nor prevent the vegetation, you would encreaſe the exportation of our produce in payment, which, to her, would be a new fund of wealth. In ſhort, had you caſt about for a plan on purpoſe to enrich your enemies, you could not have hit upon a better.

C. S.

THE CRISIS.
No. IX.
Addreſſed to the People of England.

[210]

"TRUSTING, (ſays the king of England in his ſpeech of November laſt) in the Divine Providence, and in the juſtice of my cauſe, I am firmly reſolved to proſecute the war with vigour, and to make every exertion in order to compel our enemies to equitable terms of peace and accommodation." To this declaration the United States of America, and the confederated powers of Europe, will reply, if Britain will have war, ſhe ſhall have enough of it.

Five years have nearly elapſed ſince the commencement of hoſtilities, and every campaign, by a gradual decay, has leſſened your ability to conquer, without producing a ſerious thought on your condition or your fate. Like a prodigal lingering in an habitual conſumption, you feel the relics of life, and miſtake them for recovery. New ſchemes, like [211] new medicines, have adminiſtered freſh hopes, and prolonged the diſeaſe inſtead of curing it. A change of generals, like a change of phyſicians, ſerved only to keep the flattery alive, and furniſh new pretences for new extravagance.

"Can Britain fail * ?" Has been proudly aſked at the commencement of every enterprize, and that "whatever ſhe wills is fate ," has been given with the ſolemnity of prophetic confidence, and though the queſtion has been conſtantly replied to by diſappointment, and the prediction falſified by misfortune, yet ſtill the inſult continued, and your catalogue of national evils encreaſed therewith. Eager to perſuade the world of her power, ſhe conſidered deſtruction as the miniſter of greatneſs, and conceived that the glory of a nation, like that of an Indian, lay in the number of its ſcalps, and the miſeries it inflicts.

Fire, ſword and want, as far as the arms of Britain could extend them, have been ſpread with wanton cruelty along the coaſt of America; and while you, remote from the ſcene of ſuffering, had nothing to loſe, and as little to dread, the information reached you like a tale of antiquity, in which the diſtance of time defaces the conception, and [212] changes the ſevereſt ſorrows into converſable amuſement.

This makes the ſecond paper, addreſſed, perhaps in vain, to the people of England. That advice ſhould be taken, wherever example has failed, or precept be regarded, where warning is ridiculed, is like a picture of hope reſting on deſpair: But when time ſhall ſtamp with univerſal currency, the facts you have long encountered with a laugh, and the irreſiſtable evidence of accumulated loſſes, like the hand writing on the wall, ſhall add terror to diſtreſs, you will then, in a conflict of ſufferings, learn to ſympathize with others by feeling for yourſelves.

The triumphant appearance of the combined fleets in the channel, and at your harbour's mouth, and the expedition of captain Paul Jones, on the weſtern and eaſtern coaſt of England and Scotland, will, by placing you in the condition of an endangered country, read to you a ſtronger lecture on the calamities of invaſion, and bring to your minds a truer picture of promiſcuous diſtreſs, than the moſt finiſhed rhetoric can deſcribe, or the keeneſt imagination can conceive.

Hitherto, you have experienced the expences, but nothing of the miſeries of war. Your diſappointments have been accompanied with no immediate ſuffering, and your loſſes came to you only by intelligence. Like fire at a diſtance, you heard [213] not even the cry; you felt not the danger, you ſaw not the confuſion. To you, every thing has been foreign, but the taxes to ſupport it. You knew not what it was to be alarmed at midnight with an armed enemy in the ſtreets. You were ſtrangers to the diſtreſſing ſcene of a family in flight, and the thouſand reſtleſs cares, and tender ſorrows that inceſſantly aroſe. To ſee women and children wandering in the ſeverity of winter with the broken remains of a well furniſhed houſe, and ſeeking ſhelter in every crib and hut, were matters you had no conception of. You knew not what it was to ſtand by and ſee your goods chopt up for fuel, and your beds ript to pieces to make packages for plunder. The miſery of others, like a tempeſtuous night, added to the pleaſures of your own ſecurity. You even enjoyed the ſtorm, by contemplating the difference of conditions, and that which carried ſorrow into the breaſt of thouſands, ſerved but to heighten in you a ſpecies of tranquil pride.—Yet theſe are but the fainter ſufferings of war, when compared with carnage and ſlaughter, the miſeries of a military hoſpital, or a town in flames.

The people of America by anticipating diſtreſs, had fortified their minds againſt every ſpecies you could inflict. They had reſolved to abandon their homes, to reſign them to deſtruction, and to ſeek new ſettlements, rather than ſubmit. Thus familiarized to misfortune, before it arrived, they [214] bore their portion with leſs regret: The juſtneſs of their cauſe, was a continual ſource of conſolation, and the hope of final victory, which never left them, ſerved to lighten the load, and ſweeten the cup allotted them to drink.

But when their ſuffering ſhall become yours, and invaſion be transferred to the invaders, you will have neither an extended wilderneſs to fly to, their cauſe to comfort you, nor their hopes to reſt on. Diſtreſs with them was ſharpened with no ſelf-reflection. They had not brought it on themſelves. On the contrary, they had by every proceeding endeavoured to avoid it, and had deſcended even below the mark of congreſſional character to prevent a war. The national honour, or the advantages of independence, were matters, which, at the commencement of the diſpute, they had never ſtudied, and it was only at the laſt moment that the meaſure was reſolved on. Thus circumſtanced, they naturally and conſcientiouſly felt a dependance upon Providence. They had a clear pretention to it, and had they failed therein, infidelity had gained a triumph.

But your condition is the reverſe of theirs. Every thing you ſuffer you have ſought; nay, had you created miſchiefs on purpoſe to inherit them, you could not have ſecured your title by a firmer deed. The world awakens with no pity at your complaints. You felt none for others; you deſerve [215] none for yourſelves. Nature doth not intereſt herſelf in caſes like yours, but, on the contrary, turns from them with diſlike, and abandons them to puniſhment. You may now preſent memorials to what court you pleaſe, but ſo far as America is the object, none will liſten. The policy of Europe, and the propenſity there isin every mind to curb inſulting ambition, and bring cruelty to judgment, are unitedly againſt you; and where nature and intereſt reinforces each other, the compact is too intimate to be diſſolved.

Make but the caſe of others your own, and your own theirs, and you will then have a clear idea of the whole. Had France acted towards her colonies as you have done, you would have branded her with every epithet of abhorrence; and had you like her, ſtept in to ſuccour a ſtruggling people, all Europe muſt have echoed with your own applauſes. But entangled in the paſſion of diſpute, you ſee it not as you ought, and form opinions thereon which ſuit with no intereſt but your own. You wonder America does not riſe in union with you to impoſe on herſelf a portion of your taxes, and reduce herſelf to unconditional ſubmiſſion. You are amazed that the ſouthern powers of Europe do not aſſiſt you in conquering a country, which is afterwards to be turned againſt themſelves; and that the northern ones do not contribute to reinſtate you in America, who already enjoy the market for [216] naval ſtores by the ſeparation. You ſeem ſurprized that Holland does not pour in her ſuccours, to maintain you miſtreſs of the ſeas, when her own commerce is ſuffering by your act of navigation, or that any country ſhould ſtudy her own intereſts while yours is on the carpet.

Such exceſſes of paſſionate folly, and unjuſt, as well as unwiſe reſentment, have driven you on, like Pharoah, to unpitied miſeries, and while the importance of the quarrel ſhall perpetuate your diſgrace, the flag of America will carry it round the world. The natural feelings of every rational being will take againſt you, and wherever the ſtory ſhall be told, you will have neither excuſe nor conſolation left. With an unſparing hand, and an unſatiable mind, you have havocked the world, both to gain dominion, and to loſe it; and while in a phrenzy of avarice and ambition, the eaſt and the weſt are doomed to tributary bondage, you rapidly earned deſtruction as the wages of a nation.

At the thoughts of a war at home, every man amongſt you ought to tremble. The proſpect is far more dreadful there than in America. Here the party that was againſt the meaſures of the continent, were, in general, a kind of neutrals, who added ſtrength to neither army. There does not exiſt a being ſo devoid of ſenſe and ſentiment as to covet "UNCONDITIONAL SUBMISSION," and therefore no man in America could be with you in [217] principle. Several, might, from a cowardice of mind, PREFER it to the hardſhips and dangers of OPPOSING it; but the ſame diſpoſition that gave them ſuch a choice, unfitted them to act either for or againſt. But England is rent into parties, with equal ſhares of reſolution. The principle which produced the war, divides the nation. Their animoſities are in the higheſt ſtate of fermentation, and both ſides by a call of the militia are in arms. No human foreſight can diſcern, no concluſion can be formed, what turn a war might take, if once ſet on by an invaſion. She is not now in a fit diſpoſition to make a common cauſe of her own affairs, and having no conqueſts to hope for abroad, and nothing but expences ariſing at home, her every thing is ſtaked upon a defenſive combat, and the further ſhe goes, the worſe ſhe is off.

There are ſituations a nation may be in, in which peace or war, abſtracted from every other conſideration, may be politically right or wrong. When nothing can be loſt by a war, but what muſt be loſt without it, war is then the policy of that country; and ſuch was the ſituation of America at the commencement of hoſtilities; But when no ſecurity can be gained by a war, but what may be accompliſhed by a peace, the cafe becomes reverſed, and ſuch now is the ſituation of England.

That America is beyond the reach of conqueſt, is a fact which experience has ſhewn, and time confirmed; and this admitted, what, I aſk, is now the [218] object of contention; If there be any honour in purſuing ſelf-deſtruction with inflexible paſſion: if national ſuicide be the perfection of national glory, you may, with all the pride of criminal happineſs, expire unenvied, and unrivalled.—But when the tumult of war ſhall ceaſe, and the tempeſt of preſent paſſions be ſucceeded by calm reflection, or when thoſe, who ſurviving its fury, ſhall inherit from you, a legacy of debts and misfortunes, when the yearly revenue ſhall ſcarcely be able to diſcharge the intereſt of the one, and no poſſible remedy be left for the other: Ideas, far different to the preſent, will ariſe, and embitter the remembrance of former follies. A mind diſarmed of its rage, feels no pleaſure in contemplating a frantic quarrel. Sickneſs of thought, the ſure conſequence of conduct like yours, leaves no ability for enjoyment, no reliſh for reſentment; and though, like a man in a fit, you feel not the injury of the ſtruggle, nor diſtinguiſh between ſtrength and diſeaſe, the weakneſs, will, nevertheleſs, be proportioned to the violence and the ſenſe of pain, encreaſe with the recovery.

To what perſons, or to whoſe ſyſtem of politics you owe your preſent ſtate of wretchedneſs, is a matter of total indifference to America. They have contributed, however unwillingly, to ſet her above themſelves; and ſhe, in the tranquillity of conqueſt, reſigns the enquiry. The caſe now, is not ſo properly, who began the war, as who continues it. That there are men in all countries to [219] whom a ſtate of war is a mine of wealth, is a fact never to be doubted. Characters like theſe, naturally breed in the putrefaction of diſtempered times, and after fattening on the diſeaſe, they periſh with it, or impregnated with the ſtench, retreat into obſcurity.

But there are ſeveral erroneous notions, to which you likewiſe owe a ſhare of your misfortunes, and which, if continued, will only increaſe your trouble and your loſſes. An opinion hangs about the gentlemen of the minority, that America would reliſh meaſures under THEIR adminiſtration, which ſhe would not from the preſent cabinet. On this rock lord Chatham would have ſplit had he gained the helm, and ſeveral of his ſurvivors are ſteering the ſame courſe. Such diſtinctions in the infancy of the argument, had ſome degree of foundation, but they now ſerve no other purpoſe than to lengthen out a war, in which the limits of the diſpute, being fixt by the fate of arms, and guarantied by treaties, are not to be changed, or altered by trivial circumſtances.

The miniſtry and many of the minority ſacrifice their time in diſputing on a queſtion, with which, they have nothing to do, namely, whether America ſhall be independent or not? Whereas, the only queſtion that can come under their determination, is, whether they will accede to it or not? They confound a military queſtion with a political one, [220] and undertake to ſupply by a vote, what they loſt by a battle. Say, ſhe ſhall not be independent, and it will ſignify as much, as if they voted againſt a decree of fate, or ſay that ſhe ſhall, and ſhe will be no more independent than before. Queſtions, which when determined, cannot be executed, ſerve only to ſhew the folly of diſpute, and the weakneſs of the diſputants.

From a long habit of calling America your own, you ſuppoſe her governed by the ſame prejudices and conceits which govern yourſelves. Becauſe you have ſet up a particular denomination of religion to the excluſion of all others, you imagine ſhe muſt do the ſame; and, becauſe you, with an unſociable narrowneſs of mind, have cheriſhed againſt France and Spain, you ſuppoſe her alliance muſt be defective in friendſhip. Copying her notions of the world from you, ſhe formerly thought as you inſtructed, but now feeling herſelf free, and the prejudice removed, ſhe thinks, and acts upon a different ſyſtem. It frequently happens, that in proportion as we are taught to diſlike perſons and countries, not knowing why, we feel an ardour of eſteem upon a removal of the miſtake: It ſeems as if ſomething was to be made amends for, and we eagerly give into every office of friendſhip, to atone for the injury of the error.

[221] But, perhaps, there is ſomething in the extent of countries, which, among the generality of people, inſenſibly communicates extenſion of the mind. The ſoul of an iſlander in its native ſtate, ſeems bounded by the foggy confines of the water's edge, and all beyond, affords to him matters only for profit or curioſity—not for friendſhip. His iſland is to him, his world, and fixt to that, his every thing centers in it; while thoſe, who are inhabitants of a continent, by caſting their eye over a larger field, take in likewiſe a larger intellectual circuit, and thus approaching nearer to an acquaintance with the univerſe, their atmoſphere of thought is extended, and their liberality fills a wider ſpace. In ſhort, our minds ſeem to be meaſured by countries when we are men, as they are by places, when we are children, and until ſomething happens to diſentangle us from the prejudice, we ſerve under it without perceiving it.

In addition to this, it may be remarked, that men who ſtudy any univerſal ſcience, the principles of which are univerſally known or admitted, and applied without diſtinction to the common benefit of all countries, obtain thereby a larger ſhare of philanthropy than thoſe who only ſtudy national arts and improvements. Natural philoſophy, mathematics and aſtronomy, carry the mind from the country to the creation, and give it a fitneſs [222] ſuited to the extent. It was not Newton's honour, neither could it be his pride, that he was an Engliſhman, but that he was a philoſopher: The Heavens had liberated him from the prejudices of an iſland, and ſcience had expanded his ſoul as boundleſs as his ſtudies.

THE CRISIS.
No. X.

[223]

HAD America purſued her advantages with half the ſpirit ſhe reſiſted her misfortunes, ſhe would, before now, have been a conquering, and a peaceful people; but lulled in the lap of ſoft tranquillity, ſhe reſted on her hopes, and adverſity only has convulſed her into action. Whether ſubtlety or ſincerity, at the cloſe of the laſt year, induced the enemy to an appearance for peace, is a point not material to know; it ſufficient that we ſee the effects it has had on our politics, and that we ſternly riſe to reſent the deluſion.

The war, on the part of America, has been a war of natural feelings. Brave in diſtreſs; ſerene in conqueſt; drowſy while at reſt; and in every ſituation generouſly diſpoſed to peace. A dangerous calm, and a moſt heightened zeal, have, as circumſtances varied, ſucceeded each other. Every paſſion, but that of deſpair, has been called to a tour of duty; and ſo miſtaken has been the enemy, [224] of our abilities and diſpoſition, that when ſhe ſuppoſed us conquered, we roſe the conquerors. The extenſiveneſs of the United States, and the variety of their reſources; the univerſality of their cauſe, the quick operation of their feelings, and the ſimilarity of their ſentiments, have, in every trying ſituation, produced a ſomething, which favoured by Providence, and purſued with ardour, has accompliſhed in an inſtant the buſineſs of a campaign. We have never deliberately ſought victory, but ſnatched it; and bravely undone in an hour, the plotted operations of a ſeaſon,

The reported fate of Charleſtown, like the misfortunes of ſeventy-ſix, has at laſt called forth a ſpirit, and kindled up a flame, which, perhaps, no other event could have produced. If the enemy has circulated a falſhood, they have unwiſely aggravated us into life, and if they have told us a truth, they have unintentionally done us a ſervice. We were returning with folded arms from the fatigues of war, and thinking and ſetting leiſurely down to enjoy repoſe. The dependance that has been put upon Charleſtown, threw a drowſineſs over America. We looked on the buſineſs done— The conflict over—the matter ſettled—or that all which remained unfiniſhed would follow of itſelf. In this ſtate of dangerous relax, expoſed to the poiſonous inſuſions of the enemy, and having [225] no common danger to attract our attention, we were extinguiſhing by ſtages the ardour we began with, and ſurrendering by piece meals the virtue that defended us.

Afflicting as the loſs of Charleſtown may be, yet if it univerſally rouze us from the ſlumber of a twelvemonths paſt, and renew in us the ſpirit of former days, it will produce an advantage more important than its loſs. America ever is what ſhe thinks herſelf to be. Governed by ſentiment, and acting her own mind, ſhe becomes, as ſhe pleaſes, the victor or the victim.

It is not the conqueſt of towns, nor the accidental capture of garriſons, that can reduce a country ſo extenſive as this. The ſufferings of one part can ever be relieved by the exertions of another, and there is no ſituation the enemy can be in, that does not afford to us the ſame advantages ſhe ſeeks herſelf. By dividing her force, ſhe leaves every poſt attackable. It is a mode of war that carries with it a confeſſion of weakneſs, and goes on the principle of diſtreſs, rather than conqueſt.

The decline of the enemy is viſible, not only in their operations, but in their plans; Charleſtown originally made but a ſecondary object in the ſyſtem of attack, and it is now become their principal one, becauſe they have not been able to ſucceed elſewhere. It would have carried a cowardly appearance [226] in Europe, had they formed their grand expedition in ſeventy-ſix, againſt a part of the continent, where there was no army, or not a ſufficient one to oppoſe them; but failing year after year in their impreſſions here, and to the eaſtward and northward, they deſerted their firſt capital deſign, and prudently contenting themſelves with what they can get, give a flouriſh of honour to conceal diſgrace.

But this piecemeal work is not conquering the continent. It is a diſcredit in them to attempt it, and in us to ſuffer it. It is now full time to put an end to a war of aggravations, which, on one ſide, has no poſſible object, and on the other, has every inducement which honour, intereſt, ſafety and happineſs can inſpire. If we ſuffer them much longer to remain among us, we ſhall become as bad as themſelves. An aſſociation of vices will reduce us more than the ſword. A nation hardened in the practice of iniquity knows better how to profit by it, than a young country newly corrupted. We are not a match for them in the line of advantageous guilt, nor they to us on the principles we bravely ſet out with. Our firſt days were our days of honour. They have marked the character of America wherever the ſtory of her wars are told; and convinced of this, we have nothing to do, but wiſely and unitedly to tread the well known track.

[227] The progreſs of a war is often as ruinous to individuals, as the iſſue of it is to a nation; and it is not only neceſſary that our forces be ſuch, that we be conquerors in the end, but that by timely exertions we be ſecure in the interim. The preſent campaign will afford an opportunity which has never preſented itſelf before, and the preparations for it are equally neceſſary, whether Charlſtown ſtand or fall. Suppoſe the firſt, it is in that caſe only a failure of the enemy, not a defeat. All the conqueſt a beſieged town can hope for, is, not to be conquered; and compelling an enemy to raiſe the ſiege, is to the beſieged a victory. But there muſt be a probability, amounting almoſt to certainty, that would juſtify a garriſon marching out to attack a retreat. Therefore, ſhould Charleſtown not be taken, and the enemy abandon the ſiege, every other part of the continent ſhould prepare to meet them; and on the contrary, ſhould it be taken, the ſame preparations are neceſſary to balance the loſs, and put ourſelves in a condition to co-operate with our allies, immediately on their arrival.

We are not now fighting our battles alone, as we were in ſeventy ſix. England, from a malicious diſpoſition to America, has not only not declared war againſt France and Spain, but the better to proſecute her paſſions here, has afforded thoſe two powers no military object, and avoids them, to diſtreſs us. She will ſuffer her Weſt India iſlands [228] to be over-run by France, and her ſouthern ſettlements taken by Spain, rather than quit the object that gratifies revenge. This conduct, on the part of Britain, has pointed out the propriety of France ſending a naval and land force to co - operate with America on the ſpot. Their arrival cannot be very diſtant, nor the ravages of the enemy long. In the mean time the part neceſſary to us needs no illuſtration. The recruiting the army, and procuring the ſupplies, are the two things needful, and a capture of either of the enemy's diviſions, will reſtore to America peace and plenty.

At a criſis, big, like the preſent, with expectation and events, the whole country is called to unanimity and exertion. Not an ability ought now to ſleep, that can produce but a mite to the general good, nor even a whiſper to paſs that militates againſt it. The neceſſity of the caſe, and the importance of the conſequences, admit no delay from a friend, no apology from an enemy. To ſpare now, would be the height of extravagance, and to conſult preſent eaſe, would be to ſacrifice it, perhaps, for ever.

America, rich in patriotiſm and produce, can want neither men nor ſupplies, when a ſerious neceſſity call them forth. The ſlow operation of taxes, owing to the extenſiveneſs of collection, and their depreciated value before they arrived in the treaſury, have in many inſtances, thrown a burthen [229] upon government, which has been artfully interpreted by the enemy into a general decline throughout the country. Yet this, inconvenient as it may at firſt appear, is not only remediable, but may be turned to an immediate advantage; for it makes no real difference, whether a certain number of men, or company of militia (and in this country, every man is a militia man) are directed by law to ſend a recruit at their own expence, or whether a tax is laid on them for that purpoſe, and the man hired by government afterwards. The firſt, if there is any difference, is both cheapeſt and beſt, becauſe it ſaves the expence which would attend collecting it as a tax, and brings the man ſooner into the field, than the modes of recruiting formerly uſed. And on this principle, a law has been paſſed in this ſtate, for recruiting two men from each company of militia, which will add upwards of a thouſand to the force of the country.

But the flame, which has broke forth in this city ſince the report from New York, of the loſs of Charleſtown, not only does honour to the place, but, like the blaze of ſeventy-ſix, will kindle into action the ſcattered ſparks throughout America.— The valour of a country, may be learned by the bravery of its ſoldiery, and the general caſt of its inhabitants, but confidence of ſucceſs is beſt diſcovered by the active meaſures purſued by men of property; and when the ſpirit of enterprize becomes ſo univerſal [230] as to act at once on all ranks of men, a war may then, and not till then, be ſtiled truly popular.

In ſeventy-ſix, the ardour of the enterpriſing part was conſiderably checked, by the real revolt of ſome, and the coolneſs of others. But in the preſent caſe, there is a firmneſs in the ſubſtance and property of the country to the public cauſe. An aſſociation has been entered into by the merchants, tradeſmen, and the principal inhabitants of this city, to receive and ſupport the new ſtate money at the value of gold and ſilver; a meaſure, which, while it does them honour, will likewiſe contribute to their intereſt, by rendering the operations of the campaign convenient and effectual.

Neither has the ſpirit of exertion ſtopt here. A voluntary ſubſcription is likewiſe began, to raiſe a fund of hard money to be given as bounties to fill up the full quota of the Pennſylvania line. It has been the remark of the enemy, that every thing in America has been done by the force of government; but when ſhe ſees individuals throwing in their voluntary aids, and facilitating the public meaſures in concert with the eſtabliſhed powers of the country, it will convince her that the cauſe of America ſtands not on the will of a few, but on the broad foundation of property and popularity.

Thus aided, and thus ſupported, diſaffection will decline, and the withered head of tyranny expire [231] in America. The ravages of the enemy will be ſhort and limited, and like all their former ones, will produce a victory over themſelves.

COMMON SENSE.

☞ At the time of writing this number of the Criſis, the loſs of Charleſtown, though believed by ſome, was more confidently diſbelieved by others. But there ought to be no longer a doubt on the matter. Charleſtown is gone, and I believe, for the want of a ſufficient ſupply of proviſions. The man that does not now feel for the honour of the beſt and nobleſt cauſe that ever a country engaged in, and exert himſelf accordingly, is no longer worthy a peaceable reſidence among a people determined to be free.

C. S.

THE CRISIS EXTRAORDINARY.
(On the Subject of Taxation.)

[232]

IT is impoſſible to ſit down and think ſeriouſly on the affairs of America, but the original principles on which ſhe reſiſted, and the glow and ardour they inſpired, will occur like the undefaced remembrance of a lovely ſcene. To trace over in imagination the purity of the cauſe, the voluntary ſacrifices made to ſupport it, and all the various turnings of the war in its defence, is at once both paying and receiving reſpect. The principles deſerve to be remembered, and to remember them rightly, is repoſſeſſing them. In this indulgence of generous recollection, we become gainers by what we ſeem to give, and the more we beſtow the richer we become.

So extenſively right was the ground on which America proceeded, that it not only took in every juſt and liberal ſentiment which could impreſs the heart, but made it the direct intereſt of every claſs and order of men to defend the country. The war, [233] on the part of Britain, was originally a war of covetouſneſs. The ſordid, and not the ſplendid paſſions gave it being. The fertile fields, and proſperous infancy of America, appeared to her as mines for tributary wealth. She viewed the hive, and diſregarding the induſtry that had enriched it, thirſted for the honey. But in the preſent ſtage of her affairs, the violence of temper is added to the rage of avarice; and therefore, that, which at the firſt ſetting out proceeded from purity of principle and public intereſt, is now heightened by all the obligations of neceſſity; for it requires but little knowledge of human nature, to diſcern what would be the conſequence, were America again reduced to the ſubjection of Britain. Uncontrouled power, in the hands of an incenſed, imperious, and rapacious conqueror, is an engine of dreadful execution, and woe be to that country over which it can be exerciſed. The names of whig and tory would then be ſunk in the general term of rebel, and the oppreſſion, whatever it might be, would, with very few inſtances of exception, light equally on all.

Britain did not go to war with America for the ſake of dominion, becauſe ſhe was then in poſſeſſion; neither was it for the extenſion of trade and commerce, becauſe ſhe had monopolized the whole and the country had yielded to it; neither was it to extinguiſh what ſhe might call rebellion, becauſe, before ſhe began, no reſiſtance exiſted. It could [234] then be from no other motive than avarice, or a deſign of eſtabliſhing, in the firſt inſtance, the ſame taxes in America as are paid in England (which, as I ſhall preſently ſhew, are above eleven times heavier than the taxes we now pay for the preſent year, 1780), or in the ſecond inſtance, to confiſcate the whole property of America, in caſe of reſiſtance and conqueſt of the latter, of which ſhe had then no doubt.

I ſhall now proceed to ſhew what the taxes in England are, and what the yearly expence of the preſent war is to her,—What the taxes of this country amount to, and what the annual expence of defending it effectually will be to us; and ſhall endeavour conciſely, to point out the cauſe of our difficulties, and the advantages on one ſide, and the conſequences on the other, in caſe we do, or do not put ourſelves in an effectual ſtate of defence. I mean to be open, candid and ſincere. I ſee a univerſal wiſh to expel the enemy from the country, a murmuring becauſe the war is not carried on with more vigour, and my intention is, to ſhew, as ſhortly as poſſible, both the reaſon and the remedy.

The number of ſouls in England (excluſive of Scotland and Ireland) is ſeven millions*, and the number of ſouls in America is three millions.

[235] The amount of the taxes in England (excluſive of Scotland and Ireland) was, before the preſent war commenced, eleven millions ſix hundred and forty-two thouſand ſix hundred and fifty-three pounds ſterling, which on an average is no leſs a ſum than one pound thirteen ſhillings and three pence ſterling per head, per annum, men, women and children; beſides county taxes, taxes for the ſupport of the poor, and a tenth of all the produce of the earth for the ſupport of the biſhops and the clergy*. Nearly five millions of this ſum went [236] annually to pay the intereſt of the national debt contracted by former wars, and the remaining ſum of ſix millions ſix hundred and forty two thouſand ſix hundred pounds was applied to defray the yearly expence of government, the peace eſtabliſhment of the army and navy, placemen and penſioners, &c. conſequently the whole of her enormous taxes being thus appropriated, ſhe had nothing to ſpare out of them towards defraying the expences of the preſent war, or any other. Yet had ſhe not been in debt at the beginning of the war, as we were not, and like us had only a land, and not a naval war to carry on, her then revenue of eleven millions and a half pounds ſterling would then defray all her annual expences of war and government within each year.

But this not being the caſe with her, ſhe is obliged to borrow about ten million pounds ſterling [237] yearly, to proſecute the war ſhe is now engaged in (this year ſhe borrowed twelve), and lay on new taxes to diſcharge the intereſt: and allowing that the preſent war has coſt her only fifty millions ſterling, the intereſt thereon at five per cent, will be two millions and an half, therefore the amount of her taxes now muſt be fourteen millions, which, on an average, is not leſs than forty ſhillings ſterling per head, men, women and children throughout the nation. Now as this expence of fifty millions was borrowed on the hopes of conquering America, and as it was Avarice which firſt induced her to commence the war, how truly wretched and deplorable would the condition of this country be, were ſhe, by her own remiſſneſs, to ſuffer an enemy of ſuch a diſpoſition, and ſo circumſtanced, to reduce her to ſubjection.

I now proceed to the revenues of America.

I have already ſtated the number of ſouls in America to be three millions, and by a calculation I have made, which I have every reaſon to believe is ſufficiently right, the whole expence of the war and the ſupport of the ſeveral governments, may be defrayed for two million pounds ſterling, annually; which, on an average, is thirteen ſhillings and four pence per head, men, women, and children, and the peace eſtabliſhment at the end of the war, will be but three quarters of a million, or five ſhillings ſterling per [238] head. Now, throwing out of the queſtion every thing of honour, principle, happineſs, freedom and reputation in the world, and taking it up on the ſimple ground of intereſt, I put the following caſe.

Suppoſe Britain was to conquer America, and as conquerors, was to lay her under no other conditions than to pay the ſame proportions towards her annual revenue which the people of England, pay; our ſhare in that caſe, would be ſix million pounds ſterling yearly; can it then be a queſtion, whether it is beſt to raiſe two millions to defend the country and govern it ourſelves, and only three quarters of a million afterwards, or pay ſix millions to have it conquered, and let the enemy govern it.

Can it be ſuppoſed that conquerors would chuſe to put themſelves in a worſe condition than what they granted to the conquered. In England, the tax on rum is five ſhillings and one penny ſterling per gallon, which is one ſilver dollar and fourteen coppers. Now would it not be laughable to imagine, that after the expence they have been at, they would let either whig or tory in America drink it cheaper than themſelves. Coffee, which is ſo conſiderable an article of conſumption and ſupport here, is there loaded with a duty, which makes the price between five and ſix ſhillings ſterling a pound, and a penalty of fifty pounds ſterling on any perſon detected [239] in roaſting it in his own houſe. There is ſcarce an article of life you can eat, drink, wear, or enjoy, that is not there loaded with a tax; even the light from heaven is only permited to ſhine into their dwellings by paying eighteen pence ſterling per window annually; and the humbleſt drink of life, ſmall beer, cannot there be purchaſed without a tax of nearly two coppers a gallon, beſides a heavy tax upon the malt, and another on the hops before it is brewed, excluſive of a land tax on the earth which produces them. In ſhort, the condition of that country in point of taxation is ſo oppreſſive, the number of her poor ſo great, and the extravagance and rapaciouſneſs of the court ſo enormous, that were they to effect a conqueſt of America, it is then only that the diſtreſſes of America would begin. Neither would it ſignify any thing to a man whether he be whig or tory. The people of England, and the miniſtry of that country know us by no ſuch diſtinctions. What they want is clear ſolid revenue, and the modes they would take to procure it, would operate alike on all. Their manner of reaſoning would be ſhort, becauſe they would naturally infer, that if we were able to carry on a war of five or ſix years againſt them, we were able to pay the ſame taxes which they do.

I have already ſtated that the expence of conducting the preſent war, and the government of the ſeveral ſtates, may be done for two millions ſterling, [240] and the eſtabliſhment in time of peace, for three quarters of a million*.

As to navy matters, they flouriſh ſo well, and are ſo well attended in the hands of individuals, that I think it conſiſtent on every principle of real uſe and oeconomy, to turn the navy into hard money, (keeping only three or four packets) and apply it to promote the ſervice of the army. We ſhall not have a ſhip the leſs; the uſe of them, and the benefit from them, will be greatly increaſed, and their expence ſaved. We are now allied to a formidable naval power, from whom we derive the aſſiſtance of a navy. And the line in which we can proſecute the war, ſo as to reduce the common enemy, and benefit the alliance moſt effectually, will be, by attending cloſely to the land ſervice.

I eſtimate the charge of keeping up, and maintaining an army, officering them, and all expences included, ſufficient for the defence of the country, to be equal to the expence of forty thouſand men at thirty pounds ſterling per head, which is one million two hundred thouſand pounds.

[241] I likewiſe allow four hundred thouſand pounds for continental expences at home and abroad.

And four hundred thouſand pounds for the ſupport of the ſeveral ſtate governments, the amount will then be,

For the army,1,200,000
Continental expences at home and abroad,400,000
Government of the ſeveral ſtates,400,000
Total,2,000,000

I take the proportion of this ſtate, Pennſylvania, to be an eighth part of the thirteen United States, the quota then for us to raiſe will be two hundred and fifty thouſand pounds ſterling; two hundred thouſand of which, will be our ſhare for the ſupport and pay of the army and continental expences at home and abroad, and fifty thouſand pounds for the ſupport of ſtate government.

In order to gain an idea of the proportion in which the raiſing ſuch a ſum will fall, I make the following calculation:

Pennſylvania contains three hundred and ſeventy five thouſand inhabitants, men, women, and children, which is likewiſe an eighth of the whole inhabitants of the whole United States: therefore two hundred and fifty thouſand pounds ſterling to be raiſed among three hundred and ſeventy five thouſand perſons, is, on an average, thirteen ſhillings [242] and four pence ſterling, per head, per annum, or ſomething more than one ſhilling ſterling per month. And our proportion of three quarters of a million, for the government of the country, in time of peace, will be ninety three thouſand ſeven hundred and fifty pounds ſterling, fifty thouſand of which will be for the government expences of the ſtate, and forty three thouſand ſeven hundred and fifty pounds for continental expences at home and abroad.

The peace eſtabliſhment then, will, on an average, be five ſhillings ſterling per head. Whereas, was England now to ſtop, and the war to ceaſe, her peace eſtabliſhment would continue the ſame as it is now, viz. forty ſhillings per head; therefore, was our taxes neceſſary for carrying on the war as much per head, as her's now is, and the difference to be only whether we ſhould, at the end of the war, pay at the rate of five ſhillings per head, or forty ſhillings per head, the caſe needs no thinking of. But as we can ſecurely defend and keep the country for one third leſs than what our burthen would be if it was conquered, and ſupport the governments afterwards for one eighth of what Britain would levy on us, and, could I find a miſer whoſe heart never felt the emotion of a ſpark of princiciple, even that man, uninfluenced by every love, but the love of money, and capable of no attachment but to his intereſt, would, and muſt, from the frugality which governs him, contribute to the defence [243] of the country, or he ceaſes to be a miſer, and becomes an ideot. But when we take in with it, every thing that can ornament mankind; when the line of our intereſt becomes the line of our happineſs; when all that can cheer and animate the heart? when ſenſe of honour, fame, character at home and abroad, are interwoven, not only with the ſecurity, but the increaſe of property; there exiſts not a man in America, unleſs he be a hired emiſſary, who does not ſee that his good is connected with keeping up a ſufficient defence.

I do not imagine that an inſtance can be produced in the world, of a country putting herſelf to ſuch an amazing charge to conquer and enſlave another, as Britain has done. The ſum is too great for her to think of with any tolerable degree of temper; and when we conſider the burthen ſhe ſuſtains, as well as the diſpoſition ſhe has ſhewn, it would be the height of folly in us, to ſuppoſe that ſhe would not reimburſe herſelf by the moſt rapid means, had ſhe once more America within her power. With ſuch an oppreſſion of expence, what would an empty conqueſt be to her? what relief under ſuch circumſtances could ſhe derive from a victory without a prize! It was money, it was revenue ſhe firſt went to war for, and nothing but that would ſatisfy her. It is not the nature of avarice to be ſatisfied with any thing elſe. Every paſſion that acts upon mankind has a peculiar mode of operation. Many of them are temporary and [244] fluctuating; they admit of ceſſation and variety. But avarice is a fixed uniform paſſion. It neither abates of its vigour, nor changes its object; and the reaſon why it does not, is founded on the nature of things, for wealth has not a rival, where avarice is a ruling paſſion. One beauty may excel another, and extinguiſh from the mind of a man the pictured remembrance of a former one: But wealth is the phoenix of avarice, and therefore cannot ſeek a new object, becauſe there is not another in the world.

I now paſs on to ſhew the value of the preſent taxes, and compare them with the annual expence; but this I ſhall preface with a few explanatory remarks.

There are two diſtinct things which make the payment of taxes difficult; the one is the large and real value of the ſum to be paid, and the other is, the ſcarcity of the thing in which the payment is to be made; and, although theſe appear to be one and the ſame, they are in ſeveral inſtances, not only different, but the difficulty ſprings from different cauſes.

Suppoſe a tax was to be laid, equal to one half of what a man's yearly income is, ſuch a tax could not be paid, becauſe the property could not be ſpared; and on the other hand, ſuppoſe a very trifling tax was laid to be collected in pearls, ſuch a tax likewiſe could not be paid, becauſe it could not be had. Now any perſon may ſee that theſe [245] are diſtinct caſes, and the latter of them is a repreſentation of ours.

That the difficulty cannot proceed from the former, that is, from the real value or weight of the tax is evident at firſt view, to any perſon who will conſider it.

The amount of the quota of taxes for this ſtate, for the preſent year, 1780, (and ſo on in proportion for every other ſtate) is twenty millions of dollars, which at ſeventy for one, is but ſixty four thouſand two hundred and eighty pounds three ſhillings ſterling, and on an average, is no more than three ſhillings and five pence ſterling, per head, per annum, per man, woman, and child, or 3⅖ pence per head, per month. Now here is a clear poſitive fact, that cannot be contradicted, and which proves that the difficulty cannot be in the weight of the tax, for in itſelf it is a trifle, and far from being adequate to our quota of the expence of the war. The quit-rents of one penny ſterling per acre, on only one half the ſtate, come to upwards of fifty thouſand pounds, which is almoſt as much as all the taxes of the preſent year, and as thoſe quit-rents made no part of the taxes then paid, and are now diſcontinued, the quantity of money drawn for public ſervice this year, excluſive of the militia fines, which I ſhall take notice of in the proceſs of this work, is leſs than what was paid, and payable in any year preceding the revolution, and ſince the laſt war; [246] what I mean, is, that the quit-rents and taxes taken together, came to a larger ſum then, than the preſent taxes without the quit-rents do now.

My intention by theſe arguments and calculations is, to place the difficulty to the right cauſe, and ſhew that it does not proceed from the weight or worth of the tax, but from the ſcarcity of the medium in which it is paid: and to illuſtrate this point ſtill farther, I ſhall now ſhew, that if the tax of twenty millions of dollars, was of four times the real value it now is, or nearly ſo, which would be about two hundred and fifty thouſand pounds ſterling, and would be our full quota, that this ſum would have been raiſed with more eaſe, and leſs felt, than the preſent ſum of only ſixty four thouſand two hundred and eighty pounds.

The convenience or inconvenience of paying a tax in money ariſes from the quantity of money that can be ſpared out of trade.

When the emiſſions ſtopt, the continent was left in poſſeſſion of two hundred millions of dollars, perhaps as equally diſperſed as it was poſſible for trade to do it. And as no more was to be iſſued, the riſe or fall of prices could neither increaſe nor diminiſh the quantity. It therefore remained the ſame through all the fluctuations of trade and exchange.

[247] Now had the exchange ſtood at twenty for one, which was the rate Congreſs calculated upon when they quoted the ſtates the latter end of laſt year, trade would have been carried on for nearly four times leſs money than it is now, and conſequently the twenty millions would have been ſpared with much greater eaſe, and when collected would have been of almoſt four times the value they now are. And on the other hand, was the depreciation to be ninety or one hundred for one, the quantity required for trade would be more than at ſixty or ſeventy for one, and though the value of them would be leſs, the difficulty of ſparing the money out of trade would be greater. And on theſe facts and arguments I reſt the matter, to prove that it is not the want of property, but the ſcarcity of the medium, by which the proportion of property for taxation is to be meaſured out, that makes the embarraſſment we lie under. There is not money enough, and what is equally as true, the people will not let there be money enough.

While I am on the ſubject of the currency, I ſhall offer one remark, which will appear true to every body, and can be accounted for by nobody, which is, that the better the times were, the worſe the money grew; and the worſe the times were, the better the money ſtood. It never depreciated by any advantage obtained by the enemy. The troubles [248] of ſeventy-ſix, and the loſs of Philadelphia, in ſeventy-ſeven, made no ſenſible impreſſion on it, and every one knows, that the ſurrender of Charleſtown did not produce the leaſt alteration in the rate of exchange, which, for long before, and for more than three months after, ſtood at ſixty for one. It ſeems, as if the certainty of its being our own, made us careleſs of its value, and that the moſt diſtant thoughts of loſing it, made us hug it the cloſer, like ſomething we were loth to part with; or that we depreciate it for our paſtime, which, when called to ſeriouſneſs by the enemy, we leave off to renew again at our leiſure. In ſhort, our good luck ſeems to break us, andour bad make us whole.

Paſſing on from this digreſſion, I ſhall now endeavour to bring into one view, the ſeveral parts I have already ſtated, and form thereon ſome propoſitions, and conclude.

I have placed before the reader, the average tax per head, paid by the people in England; which is forty ſhillings ſterling.

And I have ſhewn the rate on an average per head, which will defray all the expence of the war to us, and ſupport the ſeveral governments, without running the country into debt, which is thirteen ſhillings and four pence.

I have ſhewn what the peace eſtabliſhment may be conducted for, viz: an eighth part of what it would be if under the government of Britain.

[249] And I have likewiſe ſhewn what the average per head of the preſent taxes are, namely, three ſhillings and five pence ſterling, or 3⅖ per month; and that their whole yearly value, in ſterling, is only ſixty four thouſand two hundred and eighty pounds. Whereas, our quota, to keep the payments equal with the expences, is two hundred and fifty thouſand pounds. Conſequently, there is a deficiency of one hundred and eighty-five thouſand ſeven hundred and twenty pounds, and the ſame proportion of defect, according to the ſeveral quotas, happens in every other ſtate. And this defect is the cauſe why the army has been ſo indifferently fed, cloathed and paid. It is the cauſe, likewiſe, of the nerveleſs ſtate of the campaign, and the inſecurity of the country. Now, if a tax equal to thirteen and four pence per head, will remove all theſe difficuties, make people ſecure in their homes, leave them to follow the buſineſs of their ſtores and farms unmoleſted, and not only keep out, but drive out the enemy from the country; and if the neglect of raiſing this ſum will let them in, and produce the evils which might be prevented—on which ſide, I aſk, does the wiſdom, intereſt and policy lie; Or, rather, would it not be an inſult to reaſon to put the queſtion? The ſum, when proportioned out according to the ſeveral abilities of the people, can [250] hurt no one, but an inroad from the enemy ruins hundreds of families.

Look at the deſtruction done in this city. The many houſes totally deſtroyed, and others damaged; the waſte of fences in the country round it, beſides the plunder of furniture, forage and proviſion. I do not ſuppoſe that half a million ſterling would reinſtate the ſufferers; and does this, I aſk, bear any proportion to the expence that would make us ſecure. The damage, in an average, is at leaſt ten pounds ſterling per head, which is as much as thirteen ſhillings and four pence per head comes to for fifteen years. The ſame has happened on the frontiers, and in the Jerſeys, New York, and other places where the enemy has been—Carolina and Georgia are likewiſe ſuffering the ſame fate.

That the people generally do not underſtand the inſufficiency of the taxes to carry on the war, is evident, not only from common obſervation, but from the conſtruction of ſeveral petitions, which were preſented to the aſſembly of this ſtate, againſt the recommendation of Congreſs of the 18th of March laſt, for taking up and funding the preſent currency at forty for one, and iſſuing new money in its ſtead. The prayer of the petition was, That the currency might be appreciated by taxes (meaning the preſent taxes) and that part of the taxes be applied to the ſupport of the army, if the army could not be [251] otherwiſe ſupported. Now it could not have been poſſible for ſuch a petition to have been preſented, had the petitioners known, that ſo far from part of the taxes being ſufficient for the ſupport of the army, the whole of them falls three fourihs ſhort of the year's expences.

Before I proceed to propoſe methods by which a ſufficiency of money may be raiſed, I ſhall take a ſhort view of the general ſtate of the country.

Notwithſtanding the weight of the war, the ravages of the enemy, and the obſtructions ſhe has thrown in the way of trade and commerce, ſo ſoon does a young country outgrow misfortune, that America has already ſurmounted many that once heavily oppreſſed her. For the firſt year or two of the war, we were ſhut up within our ports, ſcarce venturing to look towards the ocean. Now our rivers are beautified with large and valuable veſſels, our ſtores filled with merchandize, and the produce of the country has a ready market, and an advantageous price. Gold and ſilver, that for a while ſeemed to have retreated again within the bowels of the earth, is once more riſen into circulation, and every day adds new ſtrength to trade commerce, and agriculture. In a pamphlet written by Sir John Dalrymple, and diſperſed in America in the year 1775, he aſſerted, that, two twenty gun ſhips, nay, ſays he, tenders of thoſe ſhips, ſtationed between Albemarle ſound, and Cheſapeak bay would [252] ſhut up the trade of America for 600 miles. How little did Sir John Dalrymple know of the abilities of America!

While under the government of Britain, the trade of this country was loaded with reſtrictions. It was only a few foreign ports we were allowed to ſail to. Now it is otherwiſe; and allowing that the quantity of trade is but half what it was before the war, the caſe muſt ſhew the vaſt advantage of an open trade, becauſe the preſent quantity under her reſtrictions, could not ſupport itſelf; from which I infer, that if half the quantity without the reſtrictions can bear itſelf up nearly, if not quite, as well as the whole when ſubject to them, how proſperous muſt the condition of America be when the whole ſhall return open with all the world. By trade, I do not mean the employment of a merchant only, but the whole intereſt and buſineſs of the country taken collectively.

It is not ſo much my intention, by this publicacation, to propoſe particular plans for raiſing money, as it is to ſhew the neceſſity and the advantages to be derived from it. My principle deſign is to form the diſpoſition of the people to ſuch meaſures which I am fully perſuaded is their intereſt and duty to adopt, and which needs no other force to accompliſh them than the force of being felt. But as every hint may be uſeful, I ſhall throw out [253] a ſketch, and leave others to make ſuch improvements upon it as to them may appear reaſonable.

The annual ſum wanted is two millions, and the average rate in which it falls is thirteen ſhillings and four pence per head.

Suppoſe then, that we raiſe half the ſum, and ſixty thouſand pounds over. The average rate thereof, will be ſeven ſhillings per head.

In this caſe, we ſhall have half the ſupply we want, and an annual fund of ſixty thouſand pounds, whereon to borrow the other million; becauſe ſixty thouſand pounds is the intereſt of a million at ſix per cent. and if at the end of another year, we ſhould be obliged by the continuance of the war, to borrow another million, the taxes will be increaſed to ſeven ſhillings and ſixpence, and thus for every million borrowed, and an additional tax equal to ſixpence per head muſt be levied.

The ſum then to be raiſed next year, will be one million and ſixty thouſand pounds; one half of which I would propoſe ſhould be raiſed by duties on imported goods and prize goods, and the other half by a tax on landed property and houſes, or ſuch other means as each ſtate may deviſe,

But as the duties on imports and prize goods muſt be the ſame in all the ſtates, therefore the rate per cent, or what other form the duty ſhall be laid, muſt be aſcertained and regulated by Congreſs, and ingrafted in that form into the law of each ſtate; and the monies ariſing therefrom carried into the [254] treaſury of each ſtate. The duties to be paid in gold or ſilver.

There are many reaſons why a duty on imports is the moſt convenient duty or tax that can be collected; one of which is, becauſe the whole is payable in a few places in a country, and it likewiſe operates with the greateſt eaſe and equality, becauſe as every one pays in proportion to what he conſumes, ſo people, in general, conſume in proportion to what they can afford, and therefore the tax is regulated by the abilities which every man ſuppoſes himſelf to have, or in other words every man becomes his own aſſeſſor, and pays by a little at a time, when it ſuits him to buy. Beſides, it is a tax which people may pay or let alone, by not conſuming the articles; and though the alternative may have no influence on their conduct, the power of chooſing is an agreeable thing to the mind. For my own part, it would be a ſatisfaction to me, was there a duty on all ſorts of liquors during the war, as in my idea of things, it would be an addition to the pleaſure of ſociety, to know, that when the health of the army goes round, a few drops from every glaſs become theirs. How often have I heard an emphatical wiſh, almoſt accompanied with a tear, "Oh, that our poor fellows in the field had ſome of this!" Why then need we ſuffer under [255] a fruitleſs ſympathy, when there is a way to enjoy both the wiſh and the entertainment at once?

But the great national policy of putting a duty upon imports is, that it either keeps the foreign trade in our own hands, or draws ſomething for the defence of the country from every foreigner who participates it with us.

Thus much for the firſt half of the taxes, and as each ſtate will beſt deviſe means to raiſe the other half, I ſhall confine my remarks to the reſources of this ſtate:

The quota then of this ſtate, of one million and and ſixty thouſand pounds, will be one hundred and thirty three thouſand two hundred and fifty pounds, the half of which, is ſixty ſix thouſand ſix hundred and twenty five pounds; and ſuppoſing one fourth part of Pennſylvania inhabited, then a tax of one buſhel of wheat on every twenty acres of land, one with another, would produce the ſum, and all the preſent taxes to ceaſe. Whereas the tythes of the biſhops and clergy in England, excluſive of the taxes, are upwards of half a buſhel of wheat on every ſingle acre of land, good and bad, throughout the nation.

In the former part of this paper, I mentioned the militia fines, but reſerved ſpeaking to the matter, which I ſhall now do: The ground I ſhall put it upon is, that two millions ſterling a year, will [256] ſupport a ſufficient army, and all the expences of war and government, without having recourſe to the inconvenient method of continually calling men from their employments, which of all others is the moſt expenſive and the leaſt ſubſtantial. I conſider the revenues created by taxes as the firſt and principal thing, and fines only as ſecondary and accidental things. It was not the intention of the militia law to apply the miltia fines to any thing elſe but the ſupport of the militia, neither do they produce any revenue to the ſtate, yet theſe fines amount to more than all the taxes; for taking the muſter-roll to be ſixty thouſand men, the fine on forty thouſand who may not attend, will be ſixty thouſand pounds ſterling, and thoſe who muſter, will give up a portion of time equal to half that ſum, and if the the eight claſſes ſhould be called within the year, and one third turn out, the fine on the remaining forty thouſand, would amount to ſeventy two millions of dollars, beſides the fifteen ſhillings on every hundred pounds property, and the charge of ſeven and a half per cent for collecting, in certain inſtances, which on the whole, would be upwards of two hundred and fifty thouſand pounds ſterling.

Now if thoſe very fines diſable the country from raiſing a ſufficient revenue, without producing an equivalent advantage, would it not be to the caſe and intereſt of all parties, to encreaſe the revenue [257] in the manner I have propoſed, or any better, if a better can be deviſed, and ceaſe the operation of the fines? I would ſtill keep the militia as an organized body of men, and, ſhould there be a real neceſſity to call them forth, pay them out of the proper revenues of the ſtate, and encreaſe the taxes a third or fourth per cent. on thoſe who do not attend. My limits will not allow me to go farther into this matter, which I ſhall therefore cloſe with this remark, that fines are, of all modes of revenue, the moſt unſuited to the mind of a free country. When a man pays a tax, he knows the public neceſſity requires it, and therefore feels a pride in diſcharging his duty; but a fine ſeems an atonement for neglect of duty, and of conſequence, is paid with diſcredit, and frequently levied with with ſeverity.

I have now only one ſubject more to ſpeak to, with which I ſhall conclude, which is, the reſolve of Congreſs of the 18th of March laſt, for taking up and funding the preſent currency at forty for one, and iſſuing new money in its ſtead.

Every one knows that I am not the flatterer of Congreſs but in this inſtance they are right; and if that meaſure is ſupported, the currency will acquire a value, which, without it, it will not. But this is not all: It will give relief to the finances until ſuch time as they can be properly arranged, and ſave the [258] country from being immediately double taxed under the preſent mode. In ſhort, ſupport that meaſure, and it will ſupport you.

I have now waded through a tedious courſe of difficult buſineſs, and over an untrodden path. The ſubject on every point it could be viewed, was entangled with perplexities, and enveloped in obſurity, yet ſuch are the reſources of America, that ſhe wants nothing but ſyſtem to inſure ſucceſs.

COMMON SENSE.

THE CRISIS..
No. XII*.

[259]

On the preſent State of News.

SINCE the arrival of two, if not three packets, in quick ſucceſſion, at New York from England, a variety of unconnected news has circulated through the country, and afforded as great a variety of ſpeculation.

That ſomething is the matter in the cabinet and councils of our enemies, on the other ſide of the water is certain—that they have run their length of madneſs, and are under the neceſſity of changing their meaſures may eaſily be ſeen into; but to what this change of meaſure may amount, or how far it may correſpond with our intereſt, happineſs and duty, is yet uncertain; and from what we have hitherto [260] experienced, we have too much reaſon to ſuſpect them in every thing.

I do not addreſs this publication ſo much to the people of America as to the Britiſh miniſtry, whoever they may be, for if it is their intention to promote any kind of negociation, it is proper they ſhould know before hand, that the United States have as much honour as bravery; that they are no more to be ſeduced from their alliance, than their allegiance; that their line of politics is formed, and not dependant, like that of their enemy, on chance, and accident.

On our part, in order to know, at any time, what the Britiſh government will do, we have only to find out what they ought not to do, and this laſt will be their conduct. For ever changing, and for ever wrong; too diſtant from America to improve circumſtances, and too unwiſe to foreſee them; ſcheming without principle, and executing without probability; their whole line of management has hitherto been blunder and baſeneſs. Every campaign has added to their loſs, and every year to their diſgrace; till unable to go on, and aſhamed to go back, their politics have come to a halt, and all their fine proſpects to the halter.

Could our affections forgive, or humanity forget the wounds of an infant country—we might, under the influence of a momentary oblivion, ſtand [261] ſtill and laugh. But they are engraven where no amuſement can conceal them, and of a kind for which there is no recompence. Can ye reſtore to us the beloved dead? Can ye ſay to the grave, give up the murdered; Can ye obliterate from our memories thoſe who are no more? Think not then to tamper with our feelings by inſidious contrivance, nor ſuffocate our humanity by ſeducing us to diſhonour.

In March 1780, I publiſhed part of the Criſis, No. IX, in the newſpapers, but did not conclude it in the following papers, and the remainder has lain by me till the preſent day.

There appeared about that time ſome diſpoſition in the Britiſh cabinet to ceaſe the further proſecution of the war, and, as I had formed my opinion, that whenever ſuch a deſign ſhould take place, it would be accompanied with a diſhonourable propoſition to America, reſpecting France, I had ſuppreſſed the remainder of that number, not to expoſe the baſeneſs of any ſuch propoſition. But the arrival of the next news from England, declared her determination to go on with the war, and conſequently as the political object I had then in view was not become a ſubject, it is unneceſſary in me to bring it forward, which is the reaſon it was never publiſhed.

The matter which I allude to in the unpubliſhed part, I ſhall now make a quotation of, and apply it [262] as the more enlarged ſtate of things, at this day, ſhall make convenient or neceſſary.

It was as follows:

"By the ſpeeches which have appeared from the Britiſh Parliament, it is eaſy to perceive to what impolitic and imprudent exceſſes their paſſions and prejudices, have, in every inſtance, carried them during the preſent war. Provoked at the upright and honourable treaty between America and France, they imagined nothing more was neceſſary to be done to prevent its final ratification, than to promiſe through the agency of their commiſsioners, (Carliſle, Eden, and Johnſton) a repeal of their once offenſive acts of parliament. The vanity of the conceit was as unpardonable, as the experiment was impolitic. And ſo convinced am I, of their wrong ideas of America, that I ſhall not wonder, if in their laſt ſtage of political phrenzy, they propoſe to her, to break her alliance with France, and enter into one with them. Such a propoſition, ſhould it ever be made, and it has already been more than once hinted in parliament, would diſcover ſuch a diſpoſition to perfidiouſneſs, and ſuch diſregard of honour and morals, as would add the finiſhing vice to national corruption.—I do not mention this to put America on the watch, but to put England on her guard, that ſhe do not, in the looſeneſs of her [263] heart, envelope in diſgrace, every fragment of reputation."—Thus far the quotation.

By the complexion of ſome part of the news, which has tranſpired through the New York papers, it ſeems probable that this inſidious aera in the Britiſh politics, is beginning to make its appearance. I wiſh it may not; for that which is a diſgrace to human nature, throws ſomething of a ſhade over all the human character, and the individual feels his ſhare of the wound, that is given to the whole.

The policy of Britain has ever been to divide America in ſome way or other. In the beginning of the diſpute, ſhe practiſed every art to prevent or deſtroy the union of the ſtates, well knowing, that could ſhe once get them to ſtand ſingly, ſhe could conquer them unconditionally. Failing in this project in America, ſhe renewed it in Europe; and after the alliance had taken place, ſhe made ſecret offers to France to induce her to give up America, and what is ſtill more extraordinary, ſhe at the ſame time, made propoſitions to doctor Franklin, then in Paris, the very court to which ſhe was ſecretly applying, to draw off America from France. But this is not all.

On the 14th of September, 1778, the Britiſh court, through their ſecretary, lord Weymouth, made application to the Marquis D'Almadovar the [264] Spaniſh Ambaſſador, at London, to "aſk the MEDIATION," for theſe were the words of the court of Spain, for the purpoſe of negociation a peace with France, leaving America (as I ſhall hereafter ſhew) out of the queſtion. Spain readily offered her Mediation, and likewiſe the city of Madrid as the place of conference, but withal, propoſed that the united States of America ſhould be invited to the treaty, and conſidered as independent during the time the buſineſs was negociating. But this was not the view of England. She wanted to draw France from the war, that ſhe might uninterruptedly pour out all her force and fury upon America: and being diſappointed in this plan as well through the open and generous conduct of Spain, as the determination of France, ſhe refuſed the mediation ſhe had ſolicited.

I ſhall now give ſome extracts from the juſtifying memorial of the Spaniſh court, in which ſhe has ſet the conduct and character of Britain with reſpect to America, in a clear and ſtriking point of light.

The memorial ſpeaking of the refuſal of the Britiſh court to meet in conference, with commiſſioners from the United States, who were to be conſidered as independent during the time of the conference, ſays,

[265]"It is a thing very extraordinary and even ridicuculous, that the court of London, who treats the colonies as independent, not only in acting, but of right, during the war, ſhould have a repugnance to treat them as ſuch only in acting during a truce of ſuſpenſion of hoſtilities. The convention of Saratoga; the reputing general Burgoyne as a lawful priſoner, in order to ſuſpend his trial; the exchange and liberating other priſoners made from the colonies; they having named Commiſſioners to go and ſupplicate the Americans, at their own doors, requeſt peace of them, and treat with them and the Congreſs, and finally by a thouſand other acts of this ſort, authoriſed by the court of London, which have been, and are true ſigns of the acknowledgement of of their independence.

"In aggravation to all the foregoing, at the ſame time the Britiſh cabinet anſwered the king of Spain in the terms already mentioned; they were inſinuating themſelves at the court of France by means of ſecret emiſſaries, and making very great offers to her to abandon the colonies and make peace with England. But there is yet more; for at this ſame time the Engliſh miniſtry were treating by means of another certain emiſſary, with doctor Franklin, miniſter plenipotentiary from the colonies, reſiding at Paris, to whom they made various propoſals [266] to diſunite them from France, and accommodate matters with England."

"From what has been obſerved it evidently follows, that the whole of the Britiſh politics was to diſunite the two courts of Paris and Madrid, by means of the ſuggeſtions and offers ſhe ſeparately made to them; and alſo to ſeparate the colonies from their treaties and engagements entered into with France, and induce them to arm againſt the houſe of Bourbon or MORE PROBABLY TO OPPRESS THEM WHEN THEY FOUND FROM BREAKING THEIR ENGAGEMENTS, THEY STOOD ALONE AND WITHOUT PROTECTORS."

"This therefore is the net they laid for the American ſtates; that is to ſay, to tempt them with flattering and very magnificent promiſes to come to an accommodation with them, excluſive of any intervention of Spain or France, that the Britiſh miniſtry might always remain the arbiters of the fate of the colonies.

"But the Catholic king, (the king of Spain) faithful on the one part to the engagements which bind him to the moſt Chriſtian king (the king of France) his nephew; juſt and upright on the other, to his own ſubjects whom he ought to protect and guard againſt ſo many inſults, and finally, full of humanity and compaſſion for the Americans and [267] other individuals who ſuffer in the preſent war, he is determined to purſue and proſecute it, and to make all the efforts in his power, until he can obtain a ſolid and permanent peace, with full and ſatisfactory ſecurities that it ſhall be obſerved."

Thus far the memorial; a tranſlation of which into Engliſh, may be ſeen in full, under the head of STATE PAPERS, in the Annual Regiſter for 1779, page 367.

The extracts I have here given, ſerve to ſhew the various endeavours and contrivances of the enemy to draw France from her connection with America, and to prevail on her to make a ſeparate peace with England, leaving America totally out of the queſtion, and at the mercy of a mercileſs unprincipled enemy. The opinion, likewiſe, which Spain has formed of the Britiſh cabinet character, for meanneſs and perfidiouſneſs, is ſo exactly the opinion of America, reſpecting it, that the memorial in this inſtance, contains our own ſentiments and language; for people, however remote, who think alike, will unavoidably ſpeak alike.

Thus we ſee the inſidious uſe which Britain endeavoured to make of the propoſitions for peace, under the mediation of Spain.—I ſhall now proceed to the ſecond propoſition under the mediation of the emperor of Germany and the empreſs of Ruſſia; the general outline of which was, that a [268] congreſs of the ſeveral powers at war, ſhould meet at Vienna, in 1781, to ſettle preliminaries of peace.

I could wiſh myſelf at liberty to make uſe of all the information I am poſſeſſed of on this ſubject; but as there is a delicacy in the manner, I do not conceive it prudent, at leaſt at preſent, to make references and quotations in the ſame manner as I have done with reſpect to the mediation of Spain, who publiſhed the whole proceedings herſelf; and, therefore, what comes from me on this part of the buſineſs, muſt reſt on my own credit with the public, aſſuring them, that when the whole proceedings, relative to the propoſed congreſs at Vienna, ſhall appear, they ſhall find my account not only true but ſtudiouſly moderate.

We know that at the time this mediation was on the carpet, the expectations of the Britiſh king and miniſtry ran high with reſpect to the conqueſt of America. The Engliſh packet which was taken with the mail on board, and carried into l'Orient, in France, contained letters from lord G. Germaine to ſir Henry Clinton, which expreſſed, in the fulleſt terms, the miniſterial idea of a total conqueſt. Copies of thoſe letters were ſent to Congreſs, and publiſhed in the newſpapers of laſt year. Colonel Laurens brought over the originals, ſome of which, ſigned in the hand writing [269] of the then ſecretary Germaine, are now in my poſſeſſion.

Filled with theſe high ideas, nothing could be more inſolent towards America than the language of the Britiſh court on the propoſed meditation. A peace with France and Spain ſhe anxiouſly ſolicited; but America, as before, ſhould be left to her mercy; neither would ſhe hear any propoſitions for admitting an agent from the United States into the congreſs of Vienna.

On the other hand, France with an open, noble, and manly determination, and the fidelity of a good ally, would hear no propoſition for a ſeparate peace, nor even meet in congreſs at Vienna, without an agent from America: and likewiſe, that the independant character of the United States, repreſented by the agent, ſhould be fully and unequivocally defined and ſettled before any conference ſhould be entered on. The reaſoning of the court of France on the ſeveral propoſitions of the two Imperial courts, which relate to us, is rather in the ſtyle of an American, than an ally; and ſhe advocated the cauſe of America, as if ſhe had been America herſelf. Thus the ſecond mediation, like the firſt, proved ineffectual.

But ſince that time a reverſe of fortune has overtaken the Britiſh arms, and all their high expectations are daſhed to the ground. The noble exertions [270] to the ſouthward, under general Green; the ſucceſsful operations of the allied armies in the Cheſepeake; the loſs of moſt of their iſlands in the Weſt-Indies, and Minorca in the Mediterranean; the perſevering ſpirit of Spain againſt Gibraltar; the expected capture of Jamaica; the failure of making a ſeparate peace with Holland, and the expence of one hundred millions ſterling, by which all theſe fine loſſes were obtained, have read them a loud leſſon of diſgraceful misfortune, and neceſſity has called on them to change their ground. in this ſituation of confuſion and deſpair their preſent councils have no fixed character. It is now the hurricane months of Britiſh politics. Every day ſeems to have a ſtorm of its own, and they are ſcudding under the bare poles of hope. Beaten, but not humble; condemned, but not penitent; they act like men trembling at fate, and catching at a ſtraw.—From this convulſion in the intrails of their politics, it is more than probable that the mountain groaning in labor, will bring forth a mouſe as to its ſize, and a monſter in its make. They will try on America the ſame inſidious arts they tried on France and Spain.

We ſometimes experience ſenſations to which language is not equal. The conception is too bulky to be born alive, and in the torture of thinking we ſtand dumb. Our feelings, impriſoned by their [271] magnitude, find no way out—and, in the ſtruggle of expreſſion every finger tries to be a tongue. The machinery of the body ſeems too little for the mind, and we look about for helps to ſhew our thoughts by.—Such muſt be the ſenſation of America, whenever Britain, teeming with corruption, ſhall propoſe to her to ſacrifice her faith.

But, excluſive of the wickedneſs, there is a perſonal offence contained in every ſuch attempt. It is calling us villains; for no man aſks another to act the villain unleſs he believes him inclined to be one. No man attempts to ſeduce a truly honeſt woman. It is the ſuppoſed looſeneſs of her mind that ſtarts the thoughts of ſeduction, and he who offers it calls her a proſtitute. Our pride is always hurt by the ſame propoſitions, which offend our principles; for when we are ſhocked at the crime, we are wounded by the ſuſpicion of our compliance.

Could I convey a thought that might ſerve to regulate the public mind, I would not make the intereſt of the alliance the baſis of defending it. All the world are moved by intereſt, and it affords them nothing to boaſt of. But I would go a ſtep higher, and defend it on the ground of honour and principle. That our public affairs have flouriſhed under the alliance—that it was [272] wiſely made, and has been nobly executed—that by its aſſiſtance we are enabled to preſerve our country from conqueſt, and expel thoſe who ſought our deſtruction—that it is our true intereſt to maintain it unimpaired, and that while we do ſo no enemy can conquer us;—are matters which experience has taught us, and the common good of ourſelves, abſtracted from principles of faith and honor, would lead us to maintain the connection.

But over and above the mere letter of the alliance, we have been nobly and generouſly treated, and have had the ſame reſpect and attention paid us, as if we had been an old eſtabliſhed country. To oblige, and be obliged, is fair work among mankind, and we want an opportunity of ſhewing to the world that we are a people ſenſible of kindneſs, and worthy of confidence. —Character is to us, in our preſent circumſtances, of more importance than intereſt. We are a young nation, juſt ſtepping upon the ſtage of public life, and the eye of the world is upon us to ſee how we act. We have an enemy that is watching to deſtroy our reputation, and who will go any length to gain ſome evidence againſt us, that may ſerve to render our conduct ſuſpected, and our character odious; becauſe, could ſhe accompliſh this, wicked as it [273] is, the world would withdraw from us, as from a people not to be truſted, and our taſk would then become difficult.

There is nothing ſets the character of a nation in a higher or lower light with others, than the faithfully ſulfilling, or perfidiouſly breaking of treaties. They are things not to be tampered with; and ſhould Britain, which ſeems very probable, propoſe to ſeduce America into ſuch an act of baſeneſs, it would merit from her ſome mark of unuſual deteſtation. It is one of thoſe extraordinary inſtances in which we ought not to be contented with the bare negative of congreſs, becauſe it is an affront on the multitude as well as on the government. It goes on the ſuppoſition that the public are not honeſt men, and that they may be managed by contrivance though they cannot be conquered by arms. But, let the world and Britain know, that we are neither to be bought nor ſold. That our mind is great and fixt, our proſpect clear, and that we will ſupport our character as firmly as our independence.

But I will go ſtill farther, general Conway, who made the motion in the Britiſh parliament, for diſcontinuing offenſive war in America, is a gentleman of an amiable character. We have no perſonal quarrel with him. But he feels not as we feel; he is not in our ſituation, and that alone, with out any other explanation, is enough.

[274] The Britiſh parliament ſuppoſes they have many friends in America, and that when all chance of conqueſt is over, they will be able to draw her from her alliance with France. Now, if I have any conception of the human heart, they will fail in this, more than in any thing they have yet tried.

This part of the buſineſs is not a queſtion of policy only but of honour and honeſty; and the propoſition will have in it ſomething ſo viſibly low and baſe that their partizans, if they have any, will be aſhamed of it. Men are often hurt by a mean action who are not ſtarted at a wicked one, and this will be ſuch a confeſſion of their inability, ſuch a declaration of ſervile thinking, that the ſcandal of it will ruin all their hopes.

In ſhort, we have nothing to do but to go on with vigour and determination. The enemy is yet in our country. They hold New-york, Charleſton and Savannah, and the very being in thoſe places is an offence, and a part of offenſive war, and until they can be driven from, or captured in them, it would be folly in us to liſten to an idle tale. I take it for granted that the Britiſh miniſtry are ſinking under the impoſſibility of carrying on the war. Let them come to a fair and open peace with France, Spain, Holland and America in the manner ſhe ought to do; but until then we can have nothing to ſay to them.

COMMON SENSE.

To Sir Guy Carlton.

[275]

IT is the nature of compaſſion to aſſociate with misfortune; and I addreſs this to you in behalf even of an enemy, a captain in the Britiſh ſervice, now on his way to the head quarters of the American army, and unfortunately doomed to death for a crime not his own.—A ſentence ſo extraordinary, an execution ſo repugnant to every human ſenſation, ought never to be told without the circumſtances which produced it; and as the deſtined victim is yet in exiſtence, and in your hands reſt his life or death, I ſhall briefly ſtate the caſe and the melancholy conſequence.

Captain Huddy of the Jerſey militia, was attacked in a ſmall fort on Tom's river, by a party of refugees in the Britiſh pay and ſervice, was made priſoner together with his company, carried to New-York and lodged in the provoſt of that city: about three weeks after which, he was taken out of the Provoſt down to the water-ſide, put into a boat and brought again upon the Jerſey ſhore, and there, contrary to the practice of all nations but ſavages, was hung up on a tree, and left hanging until found by our people, who took him down and buried him.

[276] The inhabitants of that part of the country where the murder was committed, ſent a deputation to General Waſhington with a full and certified ſtatement of the fact. Struck, as every human breaſt muſt be, with ſuch brutiſh outrage, and determined both to puniſh and prevent it for the future, the general repreſented the caſe to General Clinton, who then commanded, and demanded that the refugee officer, who ordered and attended the execution, and whoſe name is Lippincut, ſhould be delivered up as a murderer; and in caſe of refuſal, that the perſon of ſome Britiſh officer ſhould ſuffer in his ſtead. The demand, though not refuſed, has not been complied with; and the melancholy lot, (not by ſelection, but by caſting lots) has fallen upon Captain Aſgill of the guards, who, as I have already mentioned, is on his way from Lancaſter to camp, a martyr to the general wickedneſs of the cauſe he engaged in, and the ingratitude of thoſe he has ſerved.

The firſt reflection that ariſes on this black buſineſs, is, what ſort of men muſt Engliſhmen be, and what ſort of order and diſcipline do they preſerve in their army, when, in the immediate place of their head quarters, and under the eye and noſe of their commander in chief, a priſoner can be taken at pleaſure from his confinement, and his death made a matter of ſport.

[277] The hiſtory of the moſt ſavage Indians does not produce inſtances exactly of this kind. They, at leaſt, have a formality in their puniſhments. With them it is the horridneſs of revenge, but with your army it is the ſtill greater crime, the horridneſs of diverſion.

The Britiſh generals who have ſucceeded each other, from the time of General Gage to yourſelf, have all affected to ſpeak in language they have no right to. In their proclamations, their addreſſes, their letters to General Waſhington, and their ſupplications to Congreſs (for they deſerve no other name), they talk of Britiſh honour, Britiſh generoſity, and Britiſh clemency, as if thoſe things were matters of fact; whereas, we, whoſe eyes are open, who ſpeak the ſame language with yourſelves, many of whom were born on the ſame ſpot with you, and who can no more be miſtaken in your words, than in your actions, can declare to all the world, that ſo far as our knowledge goes, there is not a more deteſtable character, nor a meaner, or more barbarous enemy than the preſent Britiſh one. With us, you have forfeited all pretentions of reputation, and it is only holding you like a wild beaſt, afraid of your keepers, that you can be made manageable—But to return to the point in queſtion:

[278] Though I can think no man innocent who has lent his hand to deſtroy the country which he did not plant, and to ruin thoſe he could not enſlave, yet abſtracted from all ideas of right or wrong on the original queſtion, Captain Aſgyli, in the preſent caſe, is not the guilty man. The villain and the victim are here ſeparated characters. You hold the one and we the other. You diſown or affect to diſown and reprobate the conduct of Lippencut, yet you give him ſanctuary, and by ſo doing, you as effectually become the executioner of Aſgill, as if you put the rope round his neck, and diſmiſſed him from the world. Whatever your feelings on this extraordinary occaſion may be, are beſt known to yourſelf. Within the grave of our own mind lies buried the fate of Aſgill. He becomes the corpſe of your will, or the ſurvivor of your juſtice. Deliver up the one, and you ſave the other; withhold the one, and the other dies by your choice.

On our part the caſe is exceeding plain; AN OFFICER HAS BEEN TAKEN FROM HIS CONFINEMENT AND MURDERED AND THE MURDERER IS WITHIN YOUR LINES. Your army have been guilty of a thouſand inſtances of equal cruelty, but they have been rendered equivocal, and ſheltered from perſonal detection. Here the crime is fixt; and is one of thoſe extraordinary caſes, which can neither [279] be denied nor palliated, and to which the cuſtom oſ war does not apply; for it never could be ſuppoſed, that ſuch a brutal outrage would ever be committed. It is an original in the hiſtory of civilized barbarians, and is truly Britiſh.

On your part, you are accountable to us for the perſonal ſafety of the priſoners within your walls. Here can be no miſtake: they can neither be ſpies nor ſuſpected as ſuch; your ſecurity is not endangered, nor your operations ſubjected to miſcarriage, by men immured within a dungeon. They differ in every cirumſtance from men in the field, and leave no pretence for ſeverity of puniſhment. But if to the diſmal condition of captivity with you, muſt be added the conſtant apprehenſions of death; if to be impriſoned is ſo nearly to be entombed, and, if after all, the murderers are to be protected, and thereby the crime encouraged, wherein do you differ from Indians, either in conduct or character.

We can have no idea of your honour, or your juſtice in any future tranſaction, of what nature it may be, while you ſhelter within your lines an outrageous murderer, and ſacrifice in his ſtead, an officer of your own. If you have no regard to us at leaſt ſpare the blood which it is your duty to ſave. Whether the puiſhment will be greater on him, whom in this caſe innocently dies, or on him whom ſad neceſſity forces to retaliate, is, in the [280] nicety of ſenſation, an undecided Queſtion? It reſts with you to prevent the ſufferings of both. You have nothing to do but to give up the murderer, and the matter ends.

But to protect him, be he who he may, is to patronize his crime, and to trifle it off by frivolous and and unmeaning enquiries is to promote it. There is no declaration you can make, no promiſe you can give that will obtain credit. It is the man and not the apology that is demanded.

You ſee yourſelf preſſed on all ſides to ſpare the life of your own officer, for die he will if you withhold juſtice. The murder of captain Huddy is an offence not to be borne with, and there is no ſecurity we can have that ſuch actions, or ſimilar ones ſhall not be repeated, but by making the puniſhment fall upon yourſelves. To deſtroy the laſt ſecurity of captivity, and to take the unarmed, the unreſiſting priſoner to private and ſportive execution, is carrying barbarity too high for ſilence. The evil muſt be put an end to, and the choice of perſons reſts with you. But if your attachment to the guilty is ſtronger than to the innocent, you invent a crime that muſt deſtroy your character, and if the cauſe of your King needs to be ſupported, for ever ceaſe, ſir, to torture our remembrance with the wretched phraſes of Britiſh honour, Britiſh generoſity, and Britiſh clemency.

[281] From this melancholy circumſtance, learn, ſir, a leſſon of morality. The refugees are men whom your predeceſſors have inſtructed in wickedneſs, the better to fit them to their maſter's purpoſe. To make them uſeful they have made them vile, and the conſequence of their tortured villainy is now deſcending on the heads of their encouragers. They have been trained like hounds to the ſcent of blood, and cheriſhed in every ſpecies of diſſolute barbarity. Their ideas of right and wrong are worn away in the conſtant habitude of repeated infamy, till like men practiſed in executions, they feel not the value of another's life,

The taſk before you though painful is not difficult; give up the murderer, and ſave your officer, as the firſt outſet of a neceſſary reformation.

COMMON SENSE.

THE CRISIS.
No. XIV*.

[282]

"THE times that tried mens ſouls," are over and the greateſt and completeſt revolution the world ever knew, gloriouſly and happily accompliſhed.

But to paſs from the extremes of danger to ſafety, from the tumult of war to the tranquility of peace, though ſweet in contemplation, requires a gradual compoſure of the ſenſes to receive it. Even calmneſs has the power of ſtunning when it opens too inſtantly upon us. The long and raging hurricane that ſhould ceaſe in a moment, would leave us in a ſtate rather of wonder than enjoyment; and ſome moments of recollection muſt paſs, before we could be capable of taſting the full felicity of repoſe. There are but [283] few inſtances, in which the mind is fitted for ſudden tranſitions: It takes in its pleaſures by reflection and compariſon, and thoſe muſt have time to act before the reliſh for new ſcenes is complete.

In the preſent caſe—the mighty magnitude of the object—the various uncertainties of fate it has undergone—the numerous and complicated dangers we have ſuffered or eſcaped—the eminence we now ſtand on, and the vaſt proſpect before us, muſt all conſpire to impreſs us with contemplation.

To ſee it in our power to make a world happy —to teach mankind the art of being ſo—to exhibit on the theatre of the univerſe, a character hitherto unknown—and to have, as it were, a new creation entruſted to our hands, are honors that command reflection, and can neither be too highly eſtimated, nor too gratefully received.

In this pauſe then of recollection—while the ſtorm is ceaſing, and the long agitated mind vibrating to a reſt, let us look back on the ſcenes we have paſſed, and learn from experience what is yet to be done.

Never, I ſay, had a country ſo many openings to happineſs as this. Her ſetting out into life, like the riſing of a fair morning, was unclouded and promiſing. Her cauſe was good. Her principals [284] juſt and liberal. Her temper ſerene and firm. Her conduct regulated by the niceſt ſteps, and every thing about her wore the mark of honour.

It is not every country (perhaps there is not another in the world) that can boaſt ſo fair an origin. Even the firſt ſettlement of America correſponds with the character of the revolution. Rome, once the proud miſtreſs of the univerſe, was originally a band of ruffians. Plunder and rapine made her rich, and her oppreſſion of millions made her great. But America needs never be aſhamed to tell her birth, nor relate the ſtages by which ſhe roſe to empire.

The remembrance then of what is paſt, if it operates rightly, muſt inſpire her with the moſt laudable of all ambition, that of adding to the fair fame ſhe began with. The world has ſeen her great in adverſity. Struggling without a thought of yielding beneath accumulated difficulties. Bravely, nay proudly, encountering diſtreſs, and riſing in reſolution as the ſtorm encreaſed. All this is juſtly due to her, for her fortitude has merited the character. Let then the world ſee that ſhe can bear proſperity: and that her honeſt virtue in time of peace, is equal to the braveſt virtue in time of war.

She is now deſcending to the ſcenes of quiet and domeſtic life. Not beneath the cypreſs ſhade of [285] diſappointment, but to enjoy in her own land, and under her own vine, the ſweet of her labors, and the reward of her toil. In this ſituation, may ſhe never forget that a fair national reputation is of as much importance as independence. That it poſſeſſes a charm which wins upon the world, and makes even enemies civil. That it gives a dignity which is often ſuperior to power, and commands a reverence where pomp and ſplendor fail.

It would be a circumſtance ever to be lamented and never to be forgotten, were a ſingle blot, from any cauſe whatever, ſuffered to fall on a revolution, which to the end of time muſt be an honor to the age that accompliſhed it: and which has contributed more to enlighten the world, and diffuſe a ſpirit of freedom and liberality among mankind, than any human event (if this may be called one) that ever preceded it.

It is not among the leaſt of the calamities of a long continued war, that it unhinges the mind from thoſe nice ſenſations which at other times appear ſo amiable. The continual ſpectacle of woe, blunts the finer feelings, and the neceſſity of bearing with the ſight, renders it familiar. In like manner, are many of the moral obligations of ſociety weakened, till the cuſtom of acting by neceſſity, becomes an apology, where it is truly a crime. Yet let but a nation conceive rightly of its character, and it will [286] be chaſtly juſt in protecting it. None ever began with a fairer than America, and none can be under a greater obligation to preſerve it.

The debt which America has contracted, compared with the cauſe ſhe has gained, and the advantages to flow from it, ought ſcarcely to be mentioned. She has it in her choice to do, and to live as happily as ſhe pleaſes. The world is in her hands. She has no foreign power to monopolize her commerce, perplex her legiſlation, or controul her proſperity. The ſtruggle is over, which muſt one day have happened, and perhaps, never could have happended at a better time*. And [287] inſtead of a domineering maſter, ſhe has gained an ally, whoſe exemplary greatneſs, and univerſal liberality, have extorted a confeſſion even from her enemies.

[288] With the bleſſings of peace, independence, and an univerſal commerce, the ſtates individually, and collectively, will have leiſure and opportunity to regulate and eſtabliſh their domeſtic concerns, and to put it beyond the power of calumny to throw the leaſt reflection on their honor. Character is much eaſier kept than recovered, and that man, if any ſuch there be, who, from any ſiniſter views, or littleneſs of ſoul, lends unſeen his hand to injure it, contrives a wound it will never be in his power to heal.

As we have eſtabliſhed an inheritance for poſterity, let that inheritance deſcend, with every mark of an honourable conveyance. The little it will coſt, compared with the worth of the ſtates, the greatneſs of the object, and the value of national character, will be a profitable exchange.

But that which muſt more forcibly ſtrike a thoughtful penetrating mind, and which includes and renders eaſy all inferior concerns, is the [289] UNION OF THE STATES. On this, our great national character depends. It is this which muſt give us importance abroad and ſecurity at home. It is through this only that we are, or can be nationally known in the world. It is the flag of the United States which renders our ſhips and commerce ſafe on the ſeas, or in a foreign port. Our Mediterranean paſſes muſt be obtained under the ſame ſtile. All our treaties, whether of alliance, peace or commerce, are formed under the ſovereignty of the United States, and Europe knows us by no other name or title.

The diviſion of the empire into ſtates is for our own convenience, but abroad this diſtinction ceaſes. The affairs of each ſtate are local. They can go no farther than to itſelf. And were the whole worth of even the richeſt of them expended in revenue, it would not be ſufficient to ſupport ſovereignty againſt a foreign attack. In ſhort, we have no other national ſovereignty than as United States. It would even be fatal for us if we had—too expenſive to be maintained, and impoſſible to be ſupported. Individuals or individual ſtates may call themſelves what they pleaſe; but the world, and eſpecially the world of enemies, is not to be held in awe by the whiſtling of a name. Sovereignty muſt have [290] power to protect all the parts that compoſe and conſtitute it: and as UNITED STATES we are equal to the importance of the title, but otherwiſe we are not. Our union well and wiſely regulated and cemented, is the cheapeſt way of being great, the eaſieſt way of being powerful, and the happieſt invention in government, which the circumſtances of America can admit of—Becauſe it collects from each ſtate, that, which, by being inadequate, can be of no uſe to it, and forms an aggregate that ſerves for all.

The ſtates of Holland are an unfortunate inſtance of the effects of individual ſovereignty. Their disjointed condition expoſes them to numerous intrigues, loſſes, calamities and enemies; and the almoſt impoſſibility of bringing their meaſures to a deciſion, and that deciſion into execution, is to them, and would be to us, a ſource of endleſs misfortune.

It is with confederated ſtates, as with individuals in ſociety; ſomething muſt be yielded up to make the whole ſecure. In this view of things, we gain by what we give, and draw an annual intereſt greater than the capital.—I ever feel myſelf hurt when I hear the union, that great palladium of our liberty and ſafety, the leaſt irreverently ſpoken of. It is the moſt ſacred thing in the conſtitution of America, and that, which every man ſhould be [291] moſt proud and tender of. Our citizenſhip in the United ſtates is our national character. Our citizenſhip in any particular ſtate, is only our local diſtinction. By the latter, we are known at home, by the former to the world. Our great title is, AMERICANS—our inferior one varies with the place.

So far as my endeavours could go, they have all been directed to conciliate the affections, unite the intereſts, and draw and keep the mind of the country together; and the better to aſſiſt in this foundation work of the revolution, I have avoided all places of profit or office, either in the ſtate I live in, or in the United States; kept myſelf at a diſtance from all parties and party connections, and even diſregarded all private and inferior concerns: and when we take into view the great work we have gone through, and feel as we ought to feel, the juſt importance of it, we ſhall then ſee, that the little wranglings, and indecent contentions of perſonal party, are as diſhonourable to our characters, as they are injurious to our repoſe.

It was the cauſe of America that made me an author. The force with which it ſtruck my mind, and the dangerous condition of the country appeared to me in, by courting an impoſſible and unnatural reconciliation with thoſe who were determined to reduce her, inſtead of ſtriking [292] out into the only line that could cement and ſave her, A DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE, made it impoſſible for me, feeling as I did, to be ſilent: and if, in the courſe of more than ſeven years, I have rendered her any ſervice, I have likewiſe added ſomething to the reputation of literature, by freely and diſintereſtedly employing it in the great cauſe of mankind, and ſhewing there may be genius without proſtitution.

Independence always appeared to me practicable and probable; provided the ſentiment of the country could be formed, and held to the object; and there is no inſtance in the world, where a people ſo extended, and wedded to former habits of thinking, and under ſuch a variety of circumſtances, were ſo inſtantly and ineffectually pervaded, by a turn in politics, as in the caſe of independence, and who ſupported their opinon, undiminiſhed, through ſuch a ſucceſſion of good and ill-fortune, till they crowned it with ſucceſs.

But as the ſcenes of war are cloſed, and every man preparing for home and happier times, I therefore take my leave of the ſubject. I have moſt ſincerely followed it from beginning to end, and through all its turns and windings: and whatever [293] country I may hereafter be in, I ſhall always feel an honeſt pride at the part I have taken and acted, and a gratitude to Nature and Providence for putting it in my power to be of ſome uſe to mankind.

COMMON SENSE.
Notes
*
Common Senſe and American Criſis.
*
Anſwer to the Proclamation of General Gage, Auguſt 9, 1775.
*
The preſent winter is worth an age, if rightly employed: but if loſt, or neglected, the whole continent will partake of the evil: and there is no puniſhment that man does not deſerve, be he who, or what, or where he will, that may be the means of ſacrificing a ſeaſon ſo precious and uſeful.
*
I have ever been careful of charging offences upon whole ſocieties of men, but as the paper referred to is put forth by an unknown fet of men, who claim to themſelves the right of repreſenting the whole; and while the whole ſociety of Quakers admit its validity by a ſilent acknowledgment, it is impoſſible that any diſtinction can be made by the public; and the more ſo, becauſe the New-York paper, of the 30th of December, printed by permiſſion of our enemies, ſays, that "the Quakers begin to ſpeak openly of their attachment to the Britiſh conſtitution." We are certain that we have many friends among them, and wiſh to know them.
*
As ſome people may doubt the truth of ſuch wanton deſtruction, I think it neceſſary to inform, that one of the people called Quakers, who lives at Trenton, gave me this information at the houſe of Mr. Michael Hutchinſon (one of the ſame profeſſion), who lives near to Trenton ferry, on the Pennſylvania ſide, Mr. Hutchinſon being preſent.
*
In this ſtate of political ſuſpenſe, the pamphlet Common Senſe, made its appearance, and the ſucceſs it met with does not become me to mention. Dr. Franklin, Mr. Samuel and John Adams were ſeverally ſpoken of as the ſuppoſed author: I had not, at that time, the pleaſure either of perſonally knowing or being known to the two laſt gentlemen. The favor of Dr. Franklin's friendſhip I poſſeſſed in England, and my introduction to this part of the world was through his patronage. I happened, when a ſchool boy, to pick up a pleaſing natural hiſtory of virginia, and my inclination from that day of ſeeing the weſtern ſide of the Atlantic never left me. In October, ſeventy-five, Dr. Franklin propoſed giving me ſuch materials as were in his hands, towards completing a hiſtory of the preſent tranſactions, and ſeemed deſirous of having the firſt volume out the next ſpring. I had then formed the outlines of Common Senſe, and finiſhed nearly the firſt part; and as I ſuppoſed the Doctor's deſign in getting out a hiſtory, was to open the new year with a new ſyſtem. I expected to ſurpriſe him with a production on that ſubject, much earlier than he thought of; and without informing him of what I was doing, got it ready for the preſs as faſt as I conveniently could, and ent him the firſt pamphlet that was printed off.
*
Steward of the king's houſhold.
Formerly General Townſend at Quebec, and late Lord Lieutenant of Ireland.
*
General Clinton's letter to Congreſs.
*
Whitehead's New Year's Ode, 1776.
Ode at the inſtallation of lord North, for chancellor of the Univerſity of Oxford.
*
This is taking the higheſt number that the people of England have been, or can be rated at.
*

The following is taken from Dr. Price's ſtate of the taxes of England, pages 96, 97, 98.

An account of the money drawn from the public by taxes annually, being the medium of three years before the year 1776.

Amount of cuſtoms in England,£.2,528,275
Amount of the exciſe in England,4,649,892
Land tax at 3s.1,300,000
Land tax at 1s. in the pound,450,000
Salt duties,218,739
Duties on ſtamps, cards, dice, advertiſements, bonds, leaſes, newſpapers, almanacks, &c.280,788
Duties on houſes and windows,385,369
Poſt office, ſeizures, wine licence, hackney coaches, &c.250,000
Annual profits from lotteries,150,000
Expence of collecting the exciſes in England,297,887
Expence of collecting the cuſtoms in England,468,703
Carried over, £.10,979,633
Brought forward £.10,979,653
Intereſt of loans on the land tax at 4s. Expences of collection, militia, &c.250,000
Perquiſites, &c. on cuſtom houſe officers, &c. ſuppoſed250,000
Expence of collecting the ſalt duties in England, 10½ per cent27,000
Bounties on fiſh exported,18,000
Expence of collecting the duties on ſtamps, cards, advertiſements, &c. at 5¼ per cent.18,000
Total, £.11,542,653
*
I have made the calculations in ſterling, becauſe it is a rate generally known in all the ſtates, and becauſe, likewiſe, it admits of an eaſy compariſon between our expences to ſupport the war, and thoſe of the enemy. Four ſilver dollars and an half is one pound ſterling, and three pence over.
*
No. 11, The publiſhers have not been able to procure after the moſt diligent ſearch and enquiry in the principal cities and towns, &c. in America.
*
The ſame diligent ſearch and enquiry was made for the 13th as for the 11th number—without ſucceſs.
"Theſe are the times that try mens ſouls." Criſis No. 1, publiſhed December 19, 1776.
*

That the revolution began at the exact period of time beſt fitted to the purpoſe, is ſufficiently proved by the event—But the great hinge on which the whole machine turned is the UNION OF THE STATES: and this union was naturally produced by the inability of any one ſtate to ſupport itſelf againſt any foreign enemy without the aſſiſtance of the reſt.

Had the ſtates ſeverally been leſs able than they were when the war began, their united ſtrength would not have been equal to the undertaking, and they muſt, in all human probability have failed—And on the other hand, had they ſeverally been more able, they might not have ſeen, or what is more, might not have felt the neceſſity of uniting; and either by attempting to ſtand alone, or in ſmall confederacies, would have been ſeparately conquered.

Now, as we cannot ſee a time (and many years muſt paſs away before it can arrive) when the ſtrength of any one ſtate, or ſeveral united, can be equal to the whole of the preſent United States, and as we have ſeen the extreme difficulty of collectively proſecuting the war to a ſucceſsful iſſue, and preſerving our national importance in the world, therefore, from the experience we have had, and the knowledge we have gained, we muſt, unleſs we make a waſte of wiſdom, be ſtrongly impreſſed with the advantage, as well as the neceſſity of ſtrengthening that happy union which has been our ſalvation, and without which, we ſhould have been a ruined people.

While I was writing this note, I caſt my eye on the pamphlet COMMON SENSE, from which I ſhall make an extract, as it applies exactly to the caſe. It is as follows:

"I have never met with a man, either in England or America, who hath not confeſſed his opinion that a ſeparation between the countries would take place one time or other: And there is no inſtance in which we have ſhewn leſs judgment, than in endeavouring to deſcribe, what we call, the ripeneſs or fitneſs of the continent for independence.

"As all men allow the meaſure, and differ only in their opinion of the time, let us, in order to remove miſtakes, take a general ſurvey of things, and endeavour, if poſſible, to find out the VERY TIME. But we need not go far, the enquiry ceaſes at once, for, THE TIME HATH FOUND US. The general concurrence, the glorious union of all things prove the fact.

"It is not in numbers, but in a union, that our great ſtrength lies. The continent is juſt arrived at that pitch of ſtrength, in which no ſingle colony is able to ſupport itſelf, and the whole when united, can accompliſh the matter; and either more or leſs than this, might be fatal in its effects."

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TextGrid Repository (2016). TEI. 3325 The American crisis and a letter to Sir Guy Carleton on the murder of Captain Huddy and the intended retaliation on Captain Asgill of the Guards By Thomas Paine. University of Oxford Text Archive. University of Oxford, License: Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/]. https://hdl.handle.net/11378/0000-0005-D126-4