as a common basis on which aristocratic institutions might rest. That
they could have rights was as little conceived as that inanimate sticks
and stones could have them; to enfranchise them--to surrender to them
the reins of government--such an idea the veriest madness would have
started from. Philosophy was blind to it; religion was abhorrent to it;
the common people themselves were as far from entertaining it as cattle
in the fields are to-day. Christ's sayings--Love one another--Do as ye
would be done by--struck at the root of all arbitrary power, and
furnished the clew to all possible emancipations; but their infinite
meaning has even yet been grasped but partially. A thousand years are
but as yesterday in the counsels of the Lord. The early Christians were
indeed a democracy; but they were common people to begin with, and the
law of love suggested to them no thought of altering their condition in
that respect. The only liberty they dreamed of claiming was liberty to
die for their faith; and that was accorded to them in full measure.
Indeed, an apprenticeship, the years of which were centuries, must be
served before they could be qualified to realize even that they could
become the trustees of power.
Their simple priesthood, beginning by sheltering them from physical
violence, ended by subjecting them to a yet more enslaving spiritual
tyranny. Philosophers could frame imaginative theories of human
liberty; but the people could be helped only from within themselves.
Wiclif, giving them the Bible in a living language, and intimating that
force was not necessarily right, began their education; and Luther, in
his dogma of justification by faith alone, forged a tremendous weapon
in their behalf. Beggars could have faith; princes and prelates might
lack it; of what avail was it to gain the whole world if the soul must
be lost at last? The reasonings and discussions to which his dogma gave
rise called into existence two world-covering armies to fight for and
against it. Peace has not been declared between them yet; but there has
long ceased to be any question as to who shall have the victory.
When the battle began, however, the other side had the stronger
battalions, and there would have been little chance for liberty, but
for the timely revelation of the western continent. And, inevitably, it
was the people who went, and the aristocrats who stayed behind; because
the new idea favored the former and menaced the latter. Inevitably,
too, it was the man who had the future in him that was the exile, and
the man of the past who drove him forth. And whenever we find a man of
the aristocratic order emigrating to the colonies, we find in him the
same love of liberty which animates his plebeian companion, graced by a
motive even higher, because opposed to his inherited interests and
advantages. Thus the refuge of the oppressed became by the nature of
things the citadel of the purest and soundest civilization.
Luther, Calvin, and Jonathan Edwards were in the line of succession one
from the other; each defined the truth more nearly than his
predecessor, but left it still in the rough. The whole truth is never
revealed at one time, but so much only as may forge a sword for the
immediate combat. Faith alone was a good blade for the first downright
strokes of the battle; predestination had a finer edge; and Edwards's
dialectical subtleties on the freedom of the will sharpen logic to so
fine a point that we begin to perceive that not logic but love is the
true weapon of the Christian: the mystery of God is not revealed in
syllogisms. But each fresh discrimination was useful in its place and
time, and had to exist in order to prepare the way for its successor.
The Puritans would have been less stubborn without their background of
spiritual damnation. That awful conscience of theirs would have
faltered without its lake of fire and brimstone to keep out of; and if
it had faltered, the American nation would have been strangled in its
cradle.
America, then, having no permanent attractions as a residence for any
of the upper classes of European society, became the home of the common
people, in whom alone the doctrine of liberty could find a safe
anchorage, because in them alone did the need for it abide. The
philosophy, the religion, the tolerance, the civil forms, which are
broad enough to suit the common people, must be nearly as broad as
truth itself, and therefore as unconquerable. But the broader they
appear, the more must they be offensive to the orthodox and
conventional, who by the instinct of self-preservation will be impelled
to attack them. There was never a more obvious chain of cause and
effect than that which is revealed in the history of the United States;
and having shown the conditions which led to the planting in the
wilderness of the elements which constitute our present commonwealth,
we shall now proceed to trace the manner in which they came to be
wrought into a united whole. They were as yet mainly unconscious of one
another; the opportunity for mutual knowledge had not yet been
presented, nor had the causes conducive to crystallization been
introduced. Oppression had awakened the colonists to the value of their
religious and civic principles; something more than oppression was
requisite to mold them into independent and homogeneous form. This was
afforded, during the next eighty years, by their increase in numbers,
wealth, familiarity with their country, and in the facilities for
intercommunication; and also, coincidently, by the French and Indian
wars, which apprised them of their strength, trained them in arms,
created the comradeship which arises from common dangers and aims, and
developed vast tracts of land which had otherwise been unknown. A
country which has been fought for, on whose soil blood has been shed,
becomes dear to its inhabitants; and the heroism of the Revolution
gathered heart and perseverance from the traditions and the graves of
the soldiers of the Intercolonial wars.
The English Revolution benefited the colonies, though to a less extent
than might have been expected. William of Orange was the logical
consequence, by reaction, of James II. The latter had so corrupted and
confused the kingdom, that William, whose connection with England arose
from his marriage with Mary, James's daughter, was invited to usurp the
throne by Tories, Whigs and Presbyterians--each party from a motive of
its own. The people were not appealed to, but they acquiesced. The
Roman Catholics were discriminated against, and the nonconformists were
not requited for their services; but out of many minor injustices and
wrongs, a condition better than anything which had preceded it was soon
discernible. The principle was established that royal power was not
absolute, nor self-continuing; it could be created only by the
representatives of the people, who could take it away again if its
trustee were guilty of breach of contract. The dynastic theory was
disallowed; kings were to come by election, not succession. The
nobility were recognized as the medium between the king and the people,
but not before they had conceded to the commons the right to elect a
king for life; and presently there came into existence a new
power--that of the commercial classes, the moneyed interest, which, in
return for loans to government, received political consideration.
Ownership of land ceased to be the sole condition on which a candidate
could appeal to the electors; and merchants were raised to a position
where they could control national policies. Merchants might not be
wiser or less selfish than the aristocracy; but at all events they were
of the people, and the more widely power is diffused, the less likely
is any class to be oppressed. It was no longer possible for freemen to
be ruled otherwise than by governments of their own making, and subject
to their approval. Freedom of the press, which means liberty to
criticise all state and social procedure, was established, and public
opinion, instead of being crushed, was consulted. The aristocracy could
retain its ascendency only by permitting more weight to the middle
class, whose influence was therefore bound gradually to increase.
Popular legislatures were the final arbiters; and the advantages which
the English had obtained would naturally be imparted to the colonies,
which, in addition, were unhampered by the relics of decaying systems
which still impeded the old country.
[Illustration: Arresting a Woman Charged with Witchcraft]
William cared little for England, nor were the English in love with
him; but he was the most far-seeing statesman of his day, and his
effect was liberalizing and beneficial. He kept Louis XIV. from working
the mischief that he desired, and prevented the disturbance of
political equilibrium which was threatened by the proposed successor to
the extinct Hapsburg dynasty on the Spanish throne. William was
outwardly cold and dry, but there was fire within him, if you would
apply friction enough. He was under no illusions; he perfectly
understood why he was wanted in England; and for his part, he accepted
the throne in order to be able to check Louis in his designs upon the
liberties of Holland. In defending his countrymen he defended all
others in Europe, whose freedom was endangered.
But if William's designs were large, they were also, and partly for
that reason, unjust in particulars. He was at war with France; France
held possessions in America; and it was necessary to carry on war
against her there as well as in Europe. The colonists, then, should be
made to assist in the operations; they must furnish men, forts, and, to
some extent at least, supplies. It was easy to reach this
determination, but difficult to enforce it under the circumstances. The
various colonies lacked the homogeneity which was desirable to secure
co-operative action from them; some of them were royal provinces, some
proprietary, some were in an anomalous state, or practically without
any recognizable form of government whatever. Each had its separate
interests to regard, and could not be brought to perceive that what was
the concern of one must in the end be the concern of all. But the
greatest difficulty was to secure obedience of orders after they had
been promulgated; the colonial legislatures pleaded all manner of
rights and privileges, under Magna Charta and other charters; they
claimed the privileges of Englishmen, and they stood upon their
"natural" rights as discoverers and inhabitants of a new country. They
were spread over a vast extent of territory, so that in many cases a
journey of weeks would be required, through pathless forests, across
unbridged rivers, over difficult mountains, by swamps and morasses--in
order to carry information of the commands of the government to no more
than a score or a hundred of persons. And then these persons would look
around at the miles of unconquerable nature stretching out on every
side; and they would reflect upon the thousands of leagues of salt
water that parted them from the king who was the source of these
unwelcome orders; and, finally, they would glance at the travel-stained
and weary envoy with a pitying smile, and offer him food and drink and
a bed--but not obedience. The colonists had imagination, when they
cared to exercise it; but not imagination of the kind to bring vividly
home to them the waving of a royal scepter across the broad Atlantic.
Another cause of embarrassment to the king was the reluctance of
Parliament to pass laws inhibiting the reasonable liberties of the
colonies. The influence of the Lords somewhat preponderated, because
they controlled many of the elections to the Commons; but neither
branch was disposed to increase the power of the king, and they were,
besides, split by internal factions. It was not until the mercantile
interest got into the saddle that Parliament saw the expediency of
restricting the productive and commercial freedom of the colonies, and
the necessity, in order to secure these ends, of diminishing their
legislative license. Meanwhile, William tried more than one device of
his own. First, by dint of the prerogative, he ordered that each colony
north of Carolina should appoint a fixed quota of men and money for the
defense of New York against the common enemy; this order it was found
impossible to carry out. Next, he caused a board of trade to be
appointed in 1696 to inquire into the condition of the colonies, and as
to what should be done about them; and after a year, this board
reported that in their opinion what was wanted was a captain-general to
exercise a sort of military dictatorship over all the North American
provinces. But the ministry held this plan to be imprudent, and it fell
through. At the same time, William Penn worked out a scheme truly
statesmanlike, proposing an annual congress of two delegates from each
province to devise ways and means, which they could more intelligently
do than could any council or board in England. The plan was advocated
by Charles Davenant, a writer on political economy, who observed that
the stronger the colonies became, the more profitable to England would
they be; only despotism could drive them to rebellion; and innovations
in their charters would be prejudicial to the king's power. But this
also was rejected; and finally the conduct of necessary measures was
given to "royal instructions," that is, to the king; but to the king
subject to the usual parliamentary restraint. And none of the better
class of Englishmen wished to tyrannize over their fellow Englishmen
across the sea.
Under this arrangement, the appointment of judges was taken from the
people; Habeas Corpus was refused, or permitted as a favor; censorship
of the press was revived; license to preach except as granted by a
bishop was denied; charters were withheld from dissenters; slavery was
encouraged; and the colonies not as yet under royal control were told
that the common weal demanded that they should be placed in the same
condition of dependency as those who were. But William died in 1702,
before this arrangement could be carried out. Queen Anne, however,
listened to alarmist reports of the unruly and disaffected condition of
the colonies, and allowed a bill for their "better regulation" to be
introduced. It was now that the mercantile interest began to show its
power.
The old argument, that every nation may claim the services of its own
subjects, wherever they are, was revived; and that England ought to be
the sole buyer and seller of American trade. All the oppressive and
irritating commercial regulations were put in force, and all colonial
laws opposing them were abrogated. Complaints under these regulations
were taken out of the hands of colonial judges and juries, on the plea
that they were often the offenders. Woolen manufactures, as interfering
with English industry, were so rigorously forbidden, that a sailor in
an American port could not buy himself a flannel shirt, and the
Virginians were put to it to clothe themselves at all. Naturally, the
people resisted so far as they could, and that was not a little;
England could not spare a sufficient force to insure obedience to laws
of such a kind. "We have a right to the same liberties as Englishmen,"
was the burden of all remonstrances, and it was supported by councilors
on the bench and ministers in the pulpit. The revenues were so small as
hardly to repay the cost of management. It is hard to coerce a nation
and get a profit over expenses; and the colonies were a nation--they
numbered nearly three hundred thousand in Anne's reign--without the
advantage of being coherent; they were a baker's dozen of disputatious
and recalcitrant incoherencies. The only arbitrary measure of taxation
that was amiably accepted was the post-office tax, which was seen to be
productive of a useful service at a reasonable cost; and an act to
secure suitable trees for masts for the navy was tolerated because
there were so many trees. The coinage system was no system at all, and
led to much confusion and loss; and the severe laws against piracy,
which had grown to be common, and in the profits of which persons high
in the community were often suspected and sometimes proved to have been
participants, were less effective than they certainly ought to have
been; but they, and the bloody and desperate objects of them, added a
picturesque page to the annals of the time.
Concerning the condition of the several colonies during the years
following the Revolution of 1688, it may be said, in general, that it
was much better in fact than it was in theory. There were narrow and
unjust and short-sighted laws and regulations, and there were men of a
corresponding stamp to execute them; but the success such persons met
with was sporadic, uncertain, and partial. The people were grown too
big, and too well aware of their bigness, to be ground down and kept in
subjection, even had the will so to afflict them been steady and
virulent--which it cannot be said to have been. The people knew that,
be the law what it might, it could, on the whole, be evaded or
disregarded, unless or until the mother country undertook to enforce it
by landing an army and regularly making war; and England had too many
troubles of her own, and also contained too many liberal-minded men, to
attempt such a thing for the present. The proof that the colonies were
not seriously or consistently oppressed is evident from the fact that
they all increased rapidly in population and wealth, notwithstanding
their "troubles"; and it was not until England had settled down under
her Georges, and that Providence had inspired the third of that name
with the pig-headedness that cost his adopted subjects so dear, that
the Revolution became a possibility. Yet even now there was no lack of
talk of such an eventuality; the remark was common that in process of
time the colonies would declare their independence. But perhaps it was
made rather with intent to spur England to adopt preventative measures
in season, than from a real conviction that the event would actually
take place.
New York, at the time of William's accession, had been under the
control of Andros, who at that epoch commanded a domain two or three
times as large as Britain. Nicholson was his lieutenant; and on the
news of the Revolution Jacob Leisler, a German, who had come over in
1660 as a soldier of the Dutch West India Company, and had made a
fortune, unseated Nicholson and proclaimed William and Mary. Supported
by the mass of the Dutch inhabitants, but without other warrant, he
assumed the functions of royal lieutenant-governor, pending the arrival
of the new king's appointee. In the interests of order, it was the best
thing to do. But he made active enemies among the other elements of the
cosmopolitan population of New York, and they awaited an opportunity to
be avenged on him. This came with the arrival of Henry Sloughter in
1691, with the king's commission. Sloughter can only be described as a
drunken profligate. At the earliest moment, Leisler sent to know his
commands, and offered to surrender the fort. Sloughter answered by
arresting him and Milborne, his son-in-law, on the charge of high
treason--an absurdity; but they were arraigned before a partisan court
and condemned to be hanged--they refusing to plead and appealing to the
king. It is said that Sloughter did not intend to carry the sentence
into effect; but the local enemies of Leisler made the governor drunk
that night, and secured his signature to the decree. This was on May
14, 1691; on the 15th, the house disapproved the sentence, but on the
16th it was carried out, the victims meeting their fate with dignity
and courage. In 1695, the attainder was reversed by act of parliament;
but it remains the most disgraceful episode of William's government of
the colonies.
Meanwhile, Sloughter was recalled, and Fletcher sent out. He was not a
sodden imbecile, but he was ill-chosen for his office. He described the
New Yorkers of that day as "divided, contentious and impoverished" and
immediately began a conflict with them. His attitude may be judged from
a passage in his remarks to the assembly soon afterward: "There never
was an amendment desired by the council board but what was rejected. It
is a sign of a stubborn ill-temper.... While I stay in this government
I will take care that neither heresy, schism, nor rebellion be preached
among you, nor vice and profanity be encouraged. You seem to take the
power into your own hands and set up for everything." This last
observation was probably not devoid of truth; nor was a subsequent one,
"There are none of you but what are big with the privileges of
Englishmen and Magna Charta." That well describes the colonist of the
period, whether in New York or elsewhere. It had been said of New
Yorkers, however, that they were a conquered people, who had no rights
that a king was bound to respect; and the grain of truth in the saying
may have made the New Yorkers more than commonly anxious to keep out
the small end of the wedge. Bellomont's incumbency was mild, and
chiefly memorable by reason of his having commissioned a certain
William Kidd to suppress piracy; but Kidd--if tradition is to be
believed:--certainly his most unfair and prejudiced trial in London
afforded no evidence of it--found more pleasure in the observance than
in the breach, and became the most famous pirate of them all. There is
gold enough of his getting buried along the coasts to buy a modern
ironclad fleet, according to the belief of the credulous. A little
later, Steed Bonnet, Richard Worley, and Edward Teach, nicknamed
Blackbeard, had similar fame and fate. Their business, like others of
great profit, incurred great risks.
Of Lord Cornbury, the next governor, Bancroft remarks, with unwonted
energy, that "He joined the worst form of arrogance to intellectual
imbecility," and that "happily for New York, he had every vice of
character necessary to discipline a colony into self-reliance and
resistance." He began by stealing $1,500 appropriated to fortify the
Narrows; it was the last money he got from the various assemblies that
he called and dissolved, and the assemblies became steadily more
independent and embarrassing. In 1707, the Quaker speaker read out in
meeting a paper accusing him of bribe taking. Cornbury disappears from
American history the next year; and completed his career, in England,
as the third Earl of Clarendon.
Under Lovelace, the assembly refused supplies and assumed executive
powers; when Hunter came, he found a fertile and wealthy country, but
nothing in it for him: "Sancho Panza was but a type of me." He was a
man of humor and sagacity, and perceived that "the colonists are
infants at their mother's breasts, but will wean themselves when they
come of age." Before he got through with the New Yorkers, he had reason
to suspect that the weaning time had all but arrived.