Independence (18 page)

Nothing that occurred in this Congress threw a greater scare into the hard-line delegates than Galloway’s proposal. In fact, John Adams later said it was “the most alarming” obstacle “in the way of effective and united action” prior to independence. Galloway’s motion was seconded by John Jay of New York. It won the endorsement of some congressmen from New England and South Carolina—Edward Rutledge of Charleston called it “almost a perfect Plan”—and it was defended by nearly every delegate from the mid-Atlantic colonies. In fact, it may actually have been favored by a majority of those in attendance—twenty-four of the fifty-five congressmen came from the four mid-Atlantic colonies, some southern and even New England delegates joined with them in support of Galloway’s plan—but what counted was the vote of the twelve colonies. A motion to table Galloway’s plan until another day was carried by one vote—six colonies against five—while Rhode Island’s two congressmen divided and did not cast a vote.
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No one reason can account for the opposition to Galloway’s plan. Most delegates wanted relief for Boston as rapidly as possible. A constitutional debate in Congress, and possibly in London as well, would have interminably dragged out a resolution of the crisis. In addition, years earlier the hard-liners had come to believe that Parliament had no authority over America. They had no wish to revisit that issue. Some congressmen wanted more autonomy for America than would have existed under Galloway’s plan. Others longed for their colony to be nearly self-governing and were loath to surrender authority to a national congress. Given the multiplicity of reservations, Galloway faced an uphill climb from the outset, an ascent made even steeper by his soiled reputation. That the vote to table Galloway’s plan was so close was due in part to his political skills, which included his supposedly radical speech early in Congress and his superb timing in offering his compromise solution. But mostly the narrowness of his defeat stemmed from the fear on the part of many delegates that an undiluted American response would make war inevitable.

With Galloway’s proposal shelved, the pace of Congress quickened. During the next three weeks, the delegates rapidly moved through a breathtaking series of substantive decisions. Furthermore, while there were heated moments, the earlier rancor subsided considerably. Indeed, the realization that Galloway’s plan had been tabled, not voted down, and that it would eventually come up for a final vote, may have made the hard-liners more amenable to joining hands with their moderate colleagues.

Another reality also haunted the more radical New Englanders. It was readily apparent, as John Adams noted, not only that “absolute Independency” was an idea “which Startles People here” but also that the feeling was so widespread that should Massachusetts provoke “a Rupture with the [British] Troops all is lost.” In other words, if Yankee hotheads were thought to have started a war, American unity would be shattered. Every mid-Atlantic colony, and perhaps others as well, would abandon New England. Similarly, should Massachusetts push for steps that many congressmen believed were certain to lead to war, that too would likely destroy American unity. Most members of Congress were “fixed against Hostilities” unless the British fired the first shot, Adams continued. Even then, many anguished that should war come, it “would light up … the whole Continent” with flames “which might rage for twenty year, and End, in the Subduction of America, as likely as in her Liberation.”
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In the more conciliatory—even genial—mood that prevailed by early October, Congress voted to prohibit all exports to Great Britain, Ireland, and the British West Indies, though it agreed that non-exportation must be delayed for one year, until September 1, 1775. Congress also agreed to non-consumption, under which British goods already ordered or acquired by American merchants could be sold for five more months, until March 1. A few days later Congress created the Continental Association, the mechanism for enforcing the trade embargo. Under its provisions, every city, town, and county in the colonies was to create a committee to assure adherence to the boycott. The committees were to be elected by “those who are qualified to vote for representatives” in the provincial assembly. Congress also vowed to boycott trade with any colony that refused to adhere to the Association.
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While the bargaining over the boycott played out, Congress dealt with the Declaration of Colonial Rights and Grievances brought in by the Grand Committee a few days prior to Galloway’s presentation. Congress tinkered with the document, adding here, subtracting there. It finally agreed on a statement in mid-October. Much of the document repeated, sometimes verbatim, the declarations adopted by various colonies going back to the Virginia Resolves nine years earlier. It denied that Parliament could legislate for America “in all cases of taxation and internal polity,” and it specifically denounced Admiralty Courts, the Intolerable Acts, the deployment of the British army in America in peacetime, and the Quebec Act, which it disingenuously assailed not as an economic grievance but as having established “the Roman Catholic religion in … Quebec.” But while it denied much of Parliament’s power over America, the Declaration was leavened with the statement that the colonists from “necessity … and a regard to the mutual interests of both countries … cheerfully consent” to Parliament’s “regulation of our external commerce.”
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The question of whether Parliament could regulate American trade was the stumbling block that had tied up the Grand Committee for three long weeks. The mid-Atlantic colonies insisted on Parliament’s regulatory power—as Dickinson had asserted years before—because they had enjoyed nearly uninterrupted profits through imperial commerce, deriving credit from London’s lending houses, protection on the high seas from the Royal Navy, reduced overhead costs through marine insurance available in the metropolis, and invaluable assistance provided in foreign ports by British diplomats. New England had not wanted to recognize any powers of Parliament, but it relented yet again, and John Adams, who took his marching orders from Samuel Adams at the First Congress, wrote the section on commerce that made possible the passage of the Declaration of Rights.
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If the hard-liners had once again bowed to the moderates, one further matter came before Congress on which most from New England and Virginia were unwilling to yield. Both Massachusetts and Virginia wanted Congress to order military preparations, and Lee brought it up early in October. In as much as a huge British army was in America, Lee said, the colonies must be ready to defend themselves. Therefore, each colony should raise a militia, and Congress should furnish arms and ammunition to these citizen soldiers. Lee’s motion touched off the last angry debate in this Congress. South Carolina’s John Rutledge denounced the motion as both beyond the scope of why Congress had been called to meet and a “Declaration of Warr.” Lee’s colleague from Virginia, Benjamin Harrison, spoke against it as well, contending that it would inflame passions, whereas “Our Business is to reconcile.” After several delegates from the middle colonies had taken a similar stance, Patrick Henry, a hot mass of feelings, jumped in with the most candid remarks offered during the roiling debate: If the trade boycott failed to secure redress, a resort to arms would be the only course left to America. In fact, there was a strong likelihood that the British army might attack even before the embargo had an opportunity to work. Given the gloomy road ahead, Henry emphasized that military preparedness was essential. “Arms are Necessary, & … Necessary Now.”
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(Half a century later, John Adams remarked that of all the delegates to the First Continental Congress, Henry best understood “the Precipice or rather the Pinnacle on which he stood, and had candour and courage enough to acknowledge it.”)
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As military preparedness hung in the balance, Paul Revere arrived in Philadelphia after yet another long ride. This time he brought word that General Gage had ordered the construction of military fortifications in Boston. Revere reported that many feared that Gage was taking this step in preparation for unleashing his army, while others worried that the ramparts built by the soldiers would sever all communication and trade between Boston and the hinterland. This crisis brought Samuel Adams from the shadows. Speaking at last, Adams proposed that Congress inform Gage that it considered his action to be a provocation that threatened “all America [with] the Horrors of a civil War” that would open a “Wound which would never be heald.” Both Lee’s call for arming the provincial militias and Adams’s advocacy of a harsh response to Gage were too drastic for Congress. Instead, with Lee raging privately that the timorous “majority had not the spirit” to prepare for war, Congress adopted a temperate response to Gage. Claiming that it was pursuing “every dutiful and peaceful measure to procure … reconciliation,” Congress appealed to Gage to do nothing that would take on “so hostile an appearance” that it might “irritate & force a free people … into hostilities.” Congress further temporized by merely requesting the colonies to ready their militia; it took no steps to provision the militiamen. Before adjourning, however, Congress—without spelling out the details of what it had in mind—resolved to support Massachusetts militarily in the event that it was attacked.
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In the waning days of Congress, a move was made to bring Galloway’s compromise scheme up for a vote. But Congress wanted no more of it. Galloway’s plan was not just left on the table; all record of its existence was expunged from Congress’s published journal.
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The congressmen had been away from home—and in about a third of the cases, away from their legal practices—for upwards of two months. They were eager to wrap things up, especially as they knew that the substantive business of this Congress was now complete. When the committees charged with preparing an address to the king and separate addresses to the people of Britain, Quebec, and America reported in October, the delegates approved the drafts rapidly and with few meaningful changes, though the congressional editing was not devoid of niggling.

The address to the king was couched in humble tones. “[Y]our majesty’s faithful subjects … beg leave to lay our grievances before the throne,” it began. After reciting the grievances, it prayed that “Your royal indignation … will rather fall on those designing and dangerous men” responsible for attempting to sunder the liberties that the colonists had always enjoyed “under the auspices of your royal ancestors.” It concluded with the statement, “We ask but for peace, liberty, and safety. We wish not [to] … solicit any new right.” And it implored the monarch to use his “royal authority and interposition … for our relief.” It was signed by each member of Congress.
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What in the long run was most memorable about the address to the monarch was that it had been drafted by John Dickinson. As was its custom, Pennsylvania conducted its annual elections early in October. The results were striking. In district after district, the Assembly Party went down to defeat. Once the assembly met, it deposed Joseph Galloway as speaker and elected Dickinson to Congress. Dickinson took his seat on October 17, nine days before Congress adjourned and just in time to be given this one important assignment. The meaning of what had occurred in Pennsylvania was lost on no one. The election outcome was “a most compleat and decisive Victory in favour of the American Cause,” declared John Adams. He added that it would “change the Balance” in the next Congress, which the delegates voted to open on May 10, 1775, unless the imperial crisis had been resolved in the interim.
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“This day the Congress dissolved,” a delegate noted in his diary on October 26. Fifty-two days after its initial session, the First Continental Congress was at an end. Defeated in his bid for a compromise settlement, Galloway went home to nearby Trevose. Suffused with despair, he bristled that those of “Violent Temper” had won out, the “Spirit of American Independency breathing throughout all of them.” He was certain that their victory made war unavoidable. Samuel Adams must have been buoyant as he returned home from Philadelphia. Nearly all that he had dared to hope for from a continental congress had been realized. But whereas Galloway presumed that war would result because he had failed, Adams appears to have believed that hostilities would occur because he had succeeded. Already, Samuel Adams was writing that the colonists must “provide themselves without Delay with Arms & Ammunition [and] get well instructed in the military Art” so that “they may be ready in Case they are called to defend themselves against the violent Attacks of Despotism.”
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CHAPTER 4

“I
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