THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE.--A MYSTERY.
THE fame of Benjamin Franklin now filled America. On the continent of
Europe he was held to be the first citizen of America. In France he was
ranked among the sages and philosophers of antiquity, and his name
associated with the greatest benefactors of the human race. It was his
electrical discovery that gave him this solid and universal fame, but
his Poor Richard's proverbs, which had several times been translated
into French, were greatly quoted on the continent of Europe, and made
his popularity as unique as it was general.
The old Boston schoolmaster who probably taught little Ben to flourish
with his pen could have little dreamed of the documents of state to
which this curious characteristic of the pen would be attached. Four of
these documents were papers that led the age, and became the charters of
human freedom and progress and began a new order of government in the
world. They were the Declaration of Independence, the Alliance with
France, the Treaty of Peace with England, and the draft of the
Constitution of the United States.
In his service as agent of the colonies and as a member of the
Continental Congress his mind clearly saw how valuable to the American
cause an alliance with France and other Continental powers would be.
While in Europe as an agent of the colonies he gave his energy and
experience to assisting a secret committee to negotiate foreign aid in
the war. It was a time of invisible ink, and Franklin instructed this
committee how to use it. He saw that Europe must be engaged in the
struggle to make the triumph of liberty in America complete and
permanent.
It was 1776. Franklin was now seventy years old and was in America. The
colonies had resolved to be free. A committee had been chosen by the
Continental Congress in Philadelphia to prepare a draft for a formal
Declaration of Independence, a paper whose principles were destined to
emancipate not only the united colonies but the world. The committee
consisted of Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin, John Adams, Robert R.
Livingston, and Roger Sherman. Mr. Jefferson was appointed by this
committee to write the Declaration, and he made it a voice of humanity
in the language of the sages. He put his own glorious thoughts of
liberty into it, and he made these thoughts trumpet tones, and they,
like the old Liberty Bell, have never ceased to ring in the events of
the world.
When Jefferson had written the inspired document he showed it to
Franklin and Adams, and asked them if they had any suggestions to offer
or changes to make.
Franklin saw how grandly and adequately Jefferson had done the work. He
had no suggestion of moment to offer. But the composition was criticised
in Congress, which brought out Franklin's wit, as the following story
told by an eye-witness will show:
"When the Declaration of Independence was under the consideration of
Congress, there were two or three unlucky expressions in it which gave
offense to some members. The words 'Scotch and other foreign
auxiliaries' excited the ire of a gentleman or two of that country.
Severe strictures on the conduct of the British king in negativing our
repeated repeals of the law which permitted the importation of slaves
were disapproved by some Southern gentlemen, whose reflections were not
yet matured to the full abhorrence of that traffic. Although the
offensive expressions were immediately yielded, these gentlemen
continued their depredations on other parts of the instrument. I was
sitting by Dr. Franklin, who perceived that I was not insensible to
('_that I was writhing under_,' he says elsewhere) these mutilations.
"'I have made it a rule,' said he, 'whenever in my power, to avoid
becoming the draughtsman of papers to be reviewed by a public body. I
took my lesson from an incident which I will relate to you. When I was a
journeyman printer, one of my companions, an apprenticed hatter, having
served out his time, was about to open shop for himself. His first
concern was to have a handsome signboard, with a proper inscription. He
composed it in these words, _John Thompson, Hatter, makes and sells Hats
for ready Money_, with a figure of a hat subjoined. But he thought he
would submit it to his friends for their amendments. The first he showed
it to thought the word _hatter_ tautologous, because followed by the
words _makes hats_, which showed he was a hatter. It was struck out. The
next observed that the word _makes_ might as well be omitted, because
his customers would not care who made the hats; if good and to their
mind they would buy, by whomsoever made. He struck it out. A third said
he thought the words _for ready money_ were useless, as it was not the
custom of the place to sell on credit. Every one who purchased expected
to pay. They were parted with; and the inscription now stood, 'John
Thompson sells hats.' '_Sells_ hats?' says his next friend; 'why, nobody
will expect you to give them away. What, then, is the use of that word?'
It was stricken out, and _hats_ followed, the rather as there was one
painted on the board. So his inscription was reduced ultimately to _John
Thompson_, with the figure of a hat subjoined.'"
"We must all hang together," said Mr. Hancock, when the draft had been
accepted and was ready to be signed.
"Or else we shall hang separately," Franklin is reported to have
answered.
John Hancock, President of the Congress, put his name to the document in
such a bold hand that "the King of England might have read it without
spectacles." Franklin set his signature with its looped flourish among
the immortals. In the same memorable month of July Congress appointed
Franklin, Jefferson, and Adams to prepare a national seal.
The plan submitted by Franklin for the great seal of the United States
was poetic and noble. It is thus described:
"Pharaoh sitting in an open chariot, a crown on his head and a sword in
his hand, passing through the divided waters of the Red Sea in pursuit
of the Israelites. Rays from a pillar of fire in the cloud, expressive
of the Divine presence and command, beaming on Moses, who stands on the
shore, and, extending his hand over the sea, causes it to overflow
Pharaoh. Motto: 'Rebellion to tyrants is obedience to God.'"
This device was rejected by Congress, which decided upon a more simple
allegory, and the motto _E Pluribus Unum_.
It was a time of rejoicing in Philadelphia now, and of the great events
Jefferson was the voice and Franklin was the soul.
The citizens, as we have shown, tore down all the king's arms and royal
devices from the government houses, courtrooms, shops, and taverns. They
made a huge pile of tar barrels and placed these royal signs upon them.
On a fiery July night they put the torch to the pile, and the flames
curled up, and the black smoke rose in a high column under the moon and
stars, and the last vestige of royalty disappeared in the bonfire.
Franklin heard the Liberty Bell ring out on the adoption of the
Declaration of Independence by Congress. He saw the bonfire rise in the
night of these eventful days, and heard the shouts of the people. He had
set his hand to the Declaration. He desired next to set it to a treaty
of alliance with France. Would this follow?
A very strange thing had happened in the colonies some seven months or
more before--in November, 1775. A paper was presented to Congress,
coming from a mysterious source, that stated that a stranger had arrived
in Philadelphia who brought an important message from a foreign power,
and who wished to meet a committee of Congress in secret and to make a
confidential communication.
Congress was curious, but it at first took no official notice of the
communication. But, like the Cumaean sibyl to Tarquin, the message came
again. It was not received, but it made an unofficial impression. It was
repeated. Who was this mysterious stranger? Whence came he, and what had
he to offer?
The curiosity grew, and Congress appointed a committee consisting of
John Jay, Dr. Franklin, and Thomas Jefferson to meet the foreigner and
to receive his proposition.
The committee appointed an hour to meet the secret messenger, and a
place, which was one of the rooms of Carpenters' Hall.
At the time appointed they went to the place and waited the coming of
the unknown ambassador.
There entered the room an elderly man of dignified appearance and
military bearing. He was lame; he may have been at some time wounded. He
spoke with a French accent. It was plainly to be seen that he was a
French military officer.
Why had he come here? Where had he been hiding?
The committee received him cautiously and inquired in regard to the
nature of his mission.
"His Most Christian Majesty the King of France," said he, "has heard of
your struggle for a defense of your rights and for liberty. He has
desired me to meet you as his representative, and to express to you his
respect and sympathy, and to say to you in secrecy that should the time
come when you needed aid, his assistance would not be withheld."
This was news of moment. The committee expressed their gratitude and
satisfaction, and said:
"Will you give us the evidence of your authority that we may present it
to Congress?"
His answer was strange.
"Gentlemen," said he, drawing his hand across his throat, "I shall take
care of my head."
"But," said one of the committee, "in an event of such importance we
desire to secure the friendly opinion of Congress."
"Gentlemen," making the same gesture, "I shall take care of my head." He
then said impressively: "If you want arms, you may have them; if you
want ammunition, you may have it; if you want money, you may have it.
Gentlemen, I shall take care of my head."
He went out and disappeared from public view. He is such a mysterious
character in our history as to recall the man with the Iron Mask. Did he
come from the King of France? None knew, or could ever tell.
Diplomacy employed secret messengers at this time. It was full of
suggestions, intrigues, and mysteries.
But there was one thing that this lame but courtly French officer did:
he made an impression on the minds of the committee that the colonies
had a friend in his "Most Christian Majesty the King of France," and
from him they might hope for aid and for an alliance in their struggle
for independence. Here was topic indeed for the secret committee.
On the 26th of September, 1776, Congress elected three ambassadors to
represent the American cause in the court of France; they were Silas
Deane, Arthur Lee, and Benjamin Franklin. Before leaving the country
Franklin collected all the money that he could command, some four
thousand pounds, and lent it to Congress. Taking with him his two
grandsons, he arrived at Nantes on the 7th of December of that year,
and he received in that city the first of the many ovations that his
long presence in France was destined to inspire. He went to Paris, and
took up his residence at Passy, a village some two miles from the city,
on a high hill overlooking the city and the Seine. It was a lovely place
even in Franklin's day. Here have lived men of royal endowments--Rossini,
Bellini, Lamartine, Grisi. The arrival of Franklin there, where he lived
many years, made the place famous. For Franklin, as a wonder-worker of
science and as an apostle of human liberty, was looked upon more as a
god than a man in France--a Plato, a Cato, a Socrates, with the demeanor
of a Procion.
His one hope now was that he would be able to set the signature which he
had left on the Declaration of Independence on a Treaty of Alliance
between the States of America and his Most Christian Majesty the King of
France. Will he, O shade of the old schoolmaster of Boston town?
Jamie the Scotchman, the type of the man who ridicules and belittles
one, but claims the credit of his success when that one is successful,
was very old now. Fine old Mr. Calamity, who could only see things in
the light of the past, would prophesy no more. A young man with a
purpose is almost certain to meet men like these in his struggles. Not
all are able to pass such people in the Franklin spirit. He heard what
such men had to say, tried to profit by their criticism, but wasted no
time or energy in dispute or retaliation. The seedtime of life is too
short, and its hours are too few, to spend in baffling detraction. Time
makes changes pleasantly, and tells the truth concerning all men. A high
purpose seeking fulfillment under humble circumstances is sure to be
laughed at. It is that which stands alone that looks queer.
After Samuel Adams, Franklin was among the first of those leaders whose
heart sought the independence of the colonies. The resolution for
independence, passed on July 4, 1776, set ringing the Liberty Bell on
the State House of Philadelphia. Couriers rode with the great news of
the century and of the ages to Boston, which filled the old town with
joy.
They brought a copy of the Declaration with them, and a day was
appointed for the reading of it from the front window of the State
House, under the shadow of the king's arms, the classic inscription, and
the lion and the unicorn.
Old, tottering Jamie the Scotchman was among those who heard the great
news with an enkindled heart. He, who had so laughed at little Ben's
attempts for the public welfare, now claimed more and more to have been
the greatest friend of the statesman's youth. It was the delight of his
ninety or more years to make this claim wherever he went, and when the
courier brought the news of the Declaration, we may see him going to
Jane Mecom's house.
"You all know what a friend I was to that boy, and how I encouraged him,
a little roughly it may be, but I always meant well. Jane, on the day
the Declaration is read in public I want you to let me go with you to
hear it."
They go together; she a lusty woman in full years, and he who had long
outlived his generation.
The street in front of the old State House is filled with people. The
balcony window is thrown up, and out of the Council Chamber, now
popularly known as the Sam Adams room, there appears the representative
of Sam Adams and of five members of the Boston schools who had signed
the Declaration. The officers of the State are there, and over the
street shines the spire of the South Church and gleams the Province
House Indian. The children are there; aged idlers who loitered about the
town pump; the women patriots from Spring Lane. The New England flag, of
blue ground with the cross of St. George on a white field, floats high
over all.
A voice rends the clear air. It read:
"When in the course of human events," and it marches on in stately tones
above the silence of the people. At the words "all men are created free
and equal," the name of Franklin breaks upon the stillness. Jamie the
Scotchman joins in the rising applause, and he proudly turns to Jane
Mecom and says:
"Only to think what a friend I was to him, too!"
They return by the Granary burying ground. A tall, gray monument holds
their attention. It is one that the people loved to visit then, and that
touches the heart to-day. At the foot of the epitaph they read again, as
they had done many times before:
_"Their youngest son,_
_in filial regard to their memory,_
_places this stone."_
"His heart was true to the old folks," said Jamie.
It was the monument that Benjamin Franklin had erected to his parents.