By an Associate.
Continuing the narrative that began here.
Meanwhile, the victories at Ticonderoga and Boston had changed the perception of the conflict throughout the colonies. It was a war now, and it seemed possible that it might be a war that could be won. The popular sentiment now favored a complete and permanent break with Great Britain, and Washington himself had come around to the idea and now embraced it enthusiastically.
“The time has long passed,” he declared at dinner one afternoon, “when we could expect King George and his ministers to see their own folly and redress our grievances in a forthright and responsible manner. We have grown too distant from England for that; we have our own interests, and I may be so bold as to say that we have preserved the true spirit of English government, which has been lost in the mother country. I believe it is our destiny to found a new kingdom on the American continent, a kingdom which, as it is already greater in extent, must soon be greater in wealth, population, and power. Of course it will be necessary, in order to have a kingdom, that we should have a king.”
“Perhaps one of the exiled Stuarts,” Parson Weems suggested.
“But the last Stuart king was even more tyrannical than George III,” I objected.
“That is true,” Washington concurred. “I believe that the founder of a new American dynasty ought to be one of our own people: a man born on our soil, and one widely known in the colonies; a man of stature, you might say, who would naturally be looked to as a leader. It might also be of use in easing our transition to full independency if he bore a name already in accustomed use as the name of kings, so that it came naturally to the tongues of the people. A good uniform would also be a desideratum, as kings look well in uniforms. I say no more for the present, but I shall be ready with my suggestions when the time comes.”
Much later, after Washington had gone upstairs to bed, Susanna asked, “Shall we really trade one imbecile for another?”
“Washington,” I said rather too warmly, “is a man with a great heart and the most thoroughly honest nature I have ever known. If we must have a king, let it be such a king as that.”
“Besides,” added Parson Weems, “imbecility has never been thought a detriment in kings.”
“But why must we have a king at all?” Susanna asked, and to that I could think of no very good answer.
The next day we received messengers from Philadelphia, who informed us that the question of independence was to be brought up in the Congress. It was not possible that Washington should leave the command of the army, but he did earnestly desire to have a report of the debates.
“You go, Gist,” he told me. “There’s no one I trust more than you, and if I cannot be spared, I should at least like to have you there to hear what is said, and to make my sentiments in favor of independency known.”
“I am honored by your trust,” I replied.
“Take Phillips with you,” Washington added. “He has a sharp mind, that man. He might be useful if difficult questions come up, especially in matters of arithmetic. I have found him extraordinarily useful in matters of arithmetic, especially when the numbers go above twelve. I am not very good at numbers above twelve.”
All at once I was paralyzed by indecision. If I had to go to Philadelphia, how much more pleasant it would be to have the divine Susanna with me! Yet it would expose me to great and terrible temptations of the sort Parson Weems had not been able to resist. Ought I not, therefore, to suggest that she stay with Washington? But that would deprive me of her company, and of the possibility of yielding to temptation, which could be very pleasant if Susanna were equally tempted. If not, I might end up with a blackened eye, as Parson Weems had done, and if I behaved as he had behaved then I would certainly deserve that fate.
Thus buffeted by conflicting desires, I said nothing; and because I said nothing, Washington’s will was done.
We were to go to Philadelphia by ship—something of a risk, but not too much of one, as the British did not yet have the capacity to blockade our ports. I would like to tell you a thrilling sea-tale, but in fact we had calm weather and no danger of any description, except the danger to my self-mastery incident to traveling with a lady whose charms seemed to captivate me more every hour. I behaved as a gentleman the whole way, and I still regard that as one of my proudest achievements.
Susanna, of course, excited some comment, the more so as she was still in uniform; but the letters from General Washington answered all questions. If the General stated that a colored woman was a lieutenant named Phillips, then so it must be.
We arrived in Philadelphia to find the city miserably hot. Susanna and I lodged at the same inn where Washington and I had stayed months before, and indeed Susanna slept in the same room Washington had occupied. The innkeeper was a little baffled by the arrangement: he accepted the letters from Washington as proof enough of her right to wear the uniform, but still persisted in assuming that I must have brought her along for immoral purposes. I fear I must have used some language with him that was strong in proportion to the temptation I was resisting, for the poor man after that was never quite able to decide whether to treat her as an officer or as a lady. But at any rate he treated her with respect, mingled with a certain amount of fear.
At dinner we discovered that two of the members of the Congress were staying at the same inn: Mr. Harrison and Mr. Jefferson, both from Virginia. When he saw the divine Susanna, Mr. Jefferson gave obvious signs of admiration; I thought his eyeballs might tumble out of his head, so eagerly did he devour the sight of her. My jealousy was naturally inflamed, but as I had made no declaration to Susanna, I could but watch and fume silently, meanwhile treating Jefferson with scrupulous, if not over-scrupulous, politeness.
“I believe the question will be settled in the next few days,” Jefferson said when I asked about the debate on independence. “We require a unanimous vote; Mr. Franklin has some clever saying about the necessity for unity, which I have forgotten at the moment, though it has something to do with hanging, believe it or not, but that’s Franklin’s sense of humor. At the moment Georgia and Delaware are holding out. It goes without saying that Massachusetts and Virginia have stood for independence from the beginning. The other colonies have fallen into line one after another, but Georgia is waiting for the silkworm issue to be addressed before making a decision. As for Delaware, I believe the whole colony has no more than three men in it, and the two sitting in the Congress now are of opposite opinions. The third went home with a headache some time ago, but we may have to send for him to get a decision from Delaware. Meanwhile, I have been asked to draft a proclamation or declaration showing the causes why we must break the bonds which connect us with England, on which I should be happy to have your opinion.”
“Oh, I’d be very interested in seeing that,” said Susanna.
“Dear lady, nothing would delight me more. If you would come to my chamber, we can peruse it together as long as we like, and—”
“Why don’t we bring it down here to the front parlor?” I suggested quickly, “—so that the three of us have room to peruse it together.”
Jefferson was visibly disappointed when Susanna eagerly assented to my suggestion, but it was too obviously reasonable to admit of any objection. Accordingly, after dinner, we sat in the parlor and heard Mr. Jefferson read the text he had written, after which he invited our opinions and suggestions.
“The beginning might perhaps be a little more dignified,” I said.
“Do you think so? I wondered about that. I was aiming for a colloquial directness, but you say that ‘When you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go’ leans too far in that direction?”
“It ought,” said Susanna, “to begin with a few resounding phrases, easily remembered but impressive and tending to emphasize the seriousness of the occasion.”
“How about something like ‘We, the people of the thirteen United States of America,’ and go on from there?”
“I don’t think that quite fits,” said Susanna. “It sounds well, and you should keep it in mind for something in the future, but for the present we need something that places us firmly in the flow of history, so that the world knows that we are justified not only by facts but by precedent. Something like ‘When in the course of events’ to start with, and then a brief statement of what we are compelled to do.”
“By heaven, dear lady, I think you’ve hit on something there,” Jefferson said, hurriedly dipping his quill in the ink-pot and scribbling her suggestion at the top of his first sheet.
“You have quite a list of complaints against King George,” I remarked.
“Yes, it seemed necessary to make the list long and detailed, so that we should not seem to be revolting for light and whimsical reasons.”
“Some of them,” I continued, “I do not quite understand. For instance, ‘He has made us eat spinach.’ ”
“Somebody made me eat my spinach,” said Jefferson. “Mother always said, ‘Eat your spinach for King George.’ ”
“Ah, I see.”
“I don’t like spinach,” Jefferson added.
“What about the slave trade?” Susanna added.
“The slave trade?”
“The slave trade,” she repeated, her dark eyes blazing; “that wicked and murderous trade in the human species, which condemns the more fortunate of its victims to a miserable death on unspeakably filthy ships where they are stacked like cordwood, and the less fortunate to a life of unending servitude under the whip of a master whose cruelty is unchecked by law, and against whose foul lusts the women have no defense; the children from such unions, the only consolations afforded to the victims, being ripped from the arms of their wailing mothers and callously sold to buy a few trifling luxuries for the man who calls himself their owner. What have you to say to King George about the slave trade?”
“By God, madam, I shall have something to say about it!” Jefferson said, his pen scratching frantically. “Where, madam, did you learn such eloquence?”
“My father, sir—my adoptive father, for I was left on his doorstep—was a minister of God, with a library of a few well-chosen books. One of them was the Bible.”
“Oh, yes—the Bible. I’ve always meant to read it, but every time I start I think what an awful lot of words there are to get through. I have always thought it would attract more readers if it were condensed into the form of a small octavo of a few dozen pages. When I have leisure, I shall undertake the work.”
Fatigued by our journey, Susanna and I both retired early. The next morning I woke and dressed and came downstairs to find Jefferson nursing a blackened eye. I said nothing, and he was not as garrulous as he had been the evening before. When Susanna came down, and Jefferson was momentarily out of the room, I asked her, “Did Mr. Jefferson pay you a visit last night?”
“I took care of it,” she replied. She had no more to say on that subject.
As General Washington’s representatives, we were allowed to be present at the daily sessions of the Congress as silent observers. On that first morning, Jefferson presented his draft declaration, and debate began with the first line.
“I think you ought to specify what kind of events you mean,” said Mr. Whipple.
“What kind of events?” asked Mr. Jefferson.
“Say, ‘When in the course of human events.’ That makes it clear.”
Mr. Harrison interrupted. “Really, Whipple, what other kinds of events would we be talking about?”
“Well, equine events, for example. Or canine events. Things happen to horses and dogs all the time. It’s not just humans who have events.”
“Do you really want to complain that King George has trampled on the rights of horses and dogs?” asked Mr. Harrison.
“No,” said Mr. Whipple. “I wish specifically to remove the ambiguity and make it clear that we are not concerned with the rights of horses and dogs.”
“The word has been added,” said Mr. Jefferson. “When in the course of human events.”
“Which is absurdly redundant,” Mr. Harrison grumbled.
“But it will do,” said Mr. Jefferson.
“Why are we not concerned with the rights of horses and dogs?” asked Mr. Gerry; but he spoke in a soft voice, and thus was ignored as Mr. Reed rose to speak.
“Delaware,” said Mr. Reed, “has not declared for independency; but if she were to do so, her representatives could in no wise accept this condemnation of spinach-eating. Spinach-growing is one of our two main industries: that and picture postcards with sand dollars on them are the twin pillars of our prosperity.”
“It is removed, Mr. Reed,” said Mr. Jefferson, striking a line through the offending clause.
“Look here, Jefferson,” said Mr. Rutledge, “what’s all this intemperate language about slavery?”
“It hardly seems intemperate to me,” said Jefferson. “The language indeed seems hardly adequate to describe the human misery inflicted by the institution of slavery.”
“But you make human misery sound like a bad thing,” Mr. Rutledge complained. “Human misery is the foundation of our happiness in South Carolina. Misery is the divinely ordained condition of the African, so that by God’s providential arrangement the white man can have the leisure to glorify his Creator by drinking juleps and playing whist. That is why he gave the African such a hideously dark complexion.” And then, realizing that there was a lady present, he nodded to Susanna and said, “No offense intended, madam.”
She gave him a smile that would have frozen a volcano.
Here Dr. Franklin stood and, with an eye on Susanna, began to speak: “I wish to register my strong objection to Mr. Rutledge’s characterization of the African complexion as ‘hideous’—a characterization rendered nigh incomprehensible by the ample evidence to the contrary we all have right before our eyes. It is time to end this curse before it blights the hope of our nascent confederation. A stitch in time saves the mime. I support the condemnation of slavery and the slave trade as Mr. Jefferson wrote it, and I further condemn slave-owners as depraved and debauched men whose wickedness makes them hardly less than devils incarnate. No offense intended, Mr. Rutledge.”
Mr. Wythe spoke next: “But see here, Jefferson, you’re a slave-owner yourself.”
“Am I?” Mr. Jefferson responded with some surprise. “Why, so I am. I have so little to do with the slaves, you see. I have a manager for that purpose.”
“And who is your manager?” asked Mr. Rutledge.
“Oh, one of the slaves takes care of that. Well, then, gentlemen, I think we can strike the slavery clause, can’t we? Let’s move on to more important questions.”
Susanna’s right hand was clenched into a fearsome-looking fist, but she kept her seat.
Mr. Gwinnett spoke up. “The colony of Georgia is not likely to declare for independence unless the silkworm issue is addressed. We suggest a clause, perhaps replacing the slavery clause, along these lines: ‘He has failed to send the right species of mulberry for our silkworms.’ ”
We returned from the day’s debate somewhat dispirited, but nevertheless appeared dutifully to hear the next day’s session, which was taken up mostly with the silkworm question, until at last, by various whispered compromises, the Georgians were persuaded to declare for independence without a silkworm clause specifically so worded, but with the addition of a more general clause stating that “He has refused his assent to laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good,” which everyone agreed to understand as referring to the silkworm crisis.
The day after that was consumed with fruitless wrangling: only Delaware held out, the two delegates still holding opposing opinions on independence. Thus, in fact, there was only one member left to be moved, but he was as immobile as the Alleghenies. It was finally decided that Mr. Rodney would have to be sent for to gain a clear majority one way or the other from Delaware. A rider was dispatched, with the hope that he would return with Mr. Rodney on the morrow.
In the evening we had supper with Dr. Franklin, who gave every evidence of being captivated by the charm of the divine Susanna. Indeed, I believe he must have given her some quite unmistakably clear evidence: for I had left the room to answer the call of nature, and when I returned Dr. Franklin was holding a wet rag over his eye. When I asked Susanna about it later, she would say only, “I accepted his apology.”
Mr. Rodney arrived in due time, and spent the hour after his arrival excoriating the Congress in general and his brethren from Delaware in particular for making him ride all the way up to Philadelphia with the most appalling headache ever suffered by mortal man. It was some time before he ran out of breath; but at last Mr. Hancock was able to put the question to him directly.
“Independence, Mr. Rodney: Aye or nay?”
“Oh, yes, by all means, let us have independence, and let us all be hanged as traitors and put out of our misery,” replied Mr. Rodney.
“Yes,” Dr. Franklin began, “we must all hang together, or—”
“Shut up, Franklin,” said Mr. Rodney, holding his head in both hands.
“So finally the question is decided by Delaware,” Mr. Wythe remarked.
“Which will doubtless be known for ever afterward as ‘The Last State,’ ” added Mr. Harrison.
But at last the Congress was unanimous: we should have independence, if General Washington and his army could procure it for us. There remained yet some few clauses in the Declaration which did not please everyone, and another few days were expended in debating them. But in the end the document had been drawn up in a form that, if it did not please all the delegates, was at least no longer worth fighting over.
“Now, gentlemen,” said Mr. Hancock on that memorable day, “what remains is for each of us to affix his signature to this Declaration, as a pledge that we shall all remain united in our determination to establish a permanent separation from the tyranny of King George.”
“Yes,” Dr. Franklin agreed, “we must all hang together, or we shall assuredly hang our heads in shame.”
“That one needs some work before it goes in the almanac,” said Mr. Clymer.
“Now, my friends,” Mr. Hancock continued, “let there be no jealousy over the order of the signatures. We shall simply start on my right with the delegation from Georgia, and then we may go around the room in an orderly fashion.”
“And if I may suggest,” added Mr. Harrison, “we ought to leave a good space near the center for General Washington to sign at the next opportunity.”
“Hear, hear,” Mr. Chase concurred. “The General was a member of this Congress until we ourselves committed the command of the continental army to his care. He more than anyone else has brought us to the point where independency can be considered by reasonable men. Centuries from now, when the infant nation born this day has grown to a mighty empire of perhaps as many as eighteen or nineteen states, our distant progeny will treasure this Declaration and will look eagerly for the name of Washington subscribed to it.”
Mr. Hancock looked a little sour, but all he said was, “Yes, of course; but first let us all sign it, so that the thing is finished and we are all pledged to independence.”
“Yes,” said Dr. Franklin, “for we must all hang loose, or we shall assuredly hang together.”
“Keep working on it, Franklin,” said Mr. Clymer.
Meanwhile the Georgian delegation had already subscribed, and then came the Carolinas, and so on from one end of the room to the other, until all but Mr. Hancock had signed.
“And now,” said Mr. Samuel Adams, “it remains only for our President to add his name to the roll.”
Mr. Hancock plunged the quill into the ink as if he meant it to soak up the whole pot.
“Don’t forget to leave a space for—” Mr. John Adams began; but Mr. Hancock was already applying the quill to the Declaration with vigorous motions of his whole arm, extending all the way up into his shoulder.
“Why, Mr. Hancock,” Mr. Gerry remarked after the President had lifted his hand from the paper with a final flourish, “you’ve left no room at all for General Washington’s name!”
“Oops,” said Mr. Hancock.
To be continued in Chapter VII. Or you can order the whole book now and spare yourself the wait.