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 depends upon it; and where this point is not attended to,
the consequences will either be a 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 that 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 short-sighted
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
involuntarily 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 easy; for even misers, whom no public virtue can impress, would
become generous, could a heavy tax be laid upon covetousness.
The Tories have endeavored 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 on the other, and you stagger their Toryism; make
them more so, and you reclaim them; for their principle is to worship
the power which they are most afraid of.
This method of considering men and things together, opens into a large
field for speculation, and affords me an 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 that 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 100 L. in cash, and as many goods on hand as will
to-day sell for 20 L.; but not content with the present market price,
he raises them to 40 L. 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 market lowered cent. per cent., his goods would have
sold but for ten, but his hundred 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
which his goods sold for, is, by the general raise of the market 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 difference in value 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 this evil has
its origin in trade, it cannot be charged on those who are out of it.
But the grievance has 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 that 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 only be 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 independence 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 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 choose the latter, pay their quota in money, to be
excused from the former, or rather, it is 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 everything 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 everything 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 one hundred thousand
pounds, or more, if it is necessary, out of the estates and property
of the king of England's votaries, resident 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 to 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 resident 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 which 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
hope; and their obedience will only be according to the danger 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; for 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 which 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 neither can hear nor reply in any other
character."
If Britain cannot conquer us, it proves that she is neither able to
govern nor protect us, and our particular situation now is such, that
any connection with her would be unwisely exchanging a half-defeated
enemy for two powerful ones. Europe, by every appearance, 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
attaches them to our side; therefore, the only road to peace, honor and
commerce is Independence.
Written this fourth year of the UNION, which God preserve.
COMMON SENSE.
PHILADELPHIA, April 19, 1777.
THE CRISIS IV. (THOSE WHO EXPECT TO REAP THE BLESSINGS OF FREEDOM)
THOSE who expect to reap the blessings of freedom, must, like men,
undergo the fatigues of supporting it. The event of yesterday was 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, that we are defending,
and whether we defeat the enemy in one battle, or by degrees, the
consequences 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 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 be 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 ours are very different. He has everybody
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 him in any one place.
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 vigor; 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, in which 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 appears 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 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 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 valor. Our own interest and happiness call upon us to
give them every support in our power, and make the burden of the day, on
which the safety of this city depends, as light as possible. Remember,
gentlemen, that we have forces both to the northward and southward of
Philadelphia, and if the enemy be but stopped 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 upon 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 to 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 further 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 expense. We know the cause which we are engaged
in, and though a passionate fondness for it may make us grieve at every
injury which 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 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 case we are sure that we are
right; and we leave to you the despairing reflection of being the tool
of a miserable tyrant.
COMMON SENSE.
PHILADELPHIA, Sept. 12, 1777.
THE CRISIS. V. TO GEN. 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 medicine to the dead, or endeavoring 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 these honors,
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
in the 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 beholder why. Judas is as much known as John,
yet history ascribes their fame to very different actions.
Sir William has undoubtedly merited a monument; but of what kind, or
with 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 just as singular
in his exit, his monument and his epitaph.
The usual honors 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 of government here,
the grave is nevertheless a perfect republic. Death is not the monarch
of the 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 his dominions.
As a proper preliminary towards the arrangement of your funeral honors,
we readily admit of 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 honorary title could be more
happily applied! The ingenuity is sublime! And your royal master has
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 favors 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 outlived the science
of deciphering it. Some other method, therefore, must be thought of to
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 wrapped up and handed about in myrrh, aloes and
cassia. Less expensive odors will suffice; and it fortunately happens
that the simple genius of America has discovered the art of preserving
bodies, and embellishing them too, with much greater frugality than
the ancients. In balmage, sir, of humble tar, you will be as secure
as Pharaoh, 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 lieth" on your deceased honor, it must be mere affectation in you
to pretend concern at the humors 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 despite of 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 has undergone some extraordinary revolutions.
since his arrival in America. It is now fixed and known; and we
have nothing to hope from your candor or to fear from your capacity.
Indolence and inability have too large a share in your composition, ever
to suffer you to be anything more than the hero of little villainies 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 shown 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 call
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 which you pretend to suppress.
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 has branded with the unchangeable name of meanness. In
the list of human vices we find some of such a refined constitution,
they cannot be carried into practice without seducing some virtue to
their assistance; but meanness has 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, has 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 these states,
there were repeated advertisements of counterfeit money for sale, and
persons who have come officially from you, and under the sanction of
your flag, have been taken up in attempting to put them off.