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  Like Galloway, Dickinson was convinced that shattering political, social, and economic changes could best be prevented by remaining tied to Great Britain. In the absence of a rapid settlement of Anglo-American differences, Dickinson feared the war could have only two possible outcomes. Hostilities might end in a terrible defeat followed by brutal oppression and reprisals. Or, the exigencies of a desperate war would drive Congress to declare independence. If America won the war and achieved independence, Dickinson was certain that such an outcome would bring immeasurably greater tribulations than those threatened by the recent string of British ministries. An independent America would be a strife-filled land of democracy that bore little resemblance to its British past. Moreover, the fragile new American nation would be thrust onto the world stage before it was capable of defending itself against the “rapacious & ambitious Nations” of Europe.

  To prevent the horrors that he envisaged, Dickinson believed that Congress must emphasize to the king the colonists’ “Readiness & Willingness at all Times” to commit “our Lives and Fortunes to support, maintain & defend the Interests of his Majesty & and our Mother Country.” He hoped that Congress’s appeal to the Crown would be carried to London by agents of Congress who were empowered to negotiate a peace treaty leading to a constitutional settlement. A “treaty can do Us no Harm” and it “may do Us Good,” he believed.49

  Dickinson did not wait long before he opened the fight to appeal for the king’s intercession. Congress had started slowly, leisurely tending to organizational matters as it awaited the arrival of more delegates. Finally, after a “Number of Members arrived” on Monday, May 15, nearly a week behind schedule, Congress went into a committee of the whole to consider “the state of America.” Richard Henry Lee, as was often the case, was the first on the floor. He proposed the creation of a national army to replace the Grand American Army, which was composed entirely of soldiers from the four New England colonies. But this was too fast for some delegates. It was at this point, in fact, that John Rutledge raised the all-important question about the aim of the war: Was this a war for reconciliation or independence?50

  John Adams was still suffering from whatever had caused his collapse on the day of his journey to Lexington, but not too ill to enter the debate. He discoursed in what one delegate thought, no doubt correctly, was an “Argumentative” manner. Adams spoke at length, though the essence of what he said was simple. America was not fighting for independence. Nor was it fighting for what the First Congress had sought. In the Declaration of Rights and Grievances adopted the previous October, Congress had recognized Parliament’s power to regulate American trade. That no longer was acceptable. Parliament’s decision to make war on America had changed everything. The colonists could no longer recognize Parliament’s authority in any way, shape, or form. America’s aim was reconciliation with the mother country, but the only British authority the colonists could recognize was that of the king.

  The minute Adams concluded, Dickinson was on his feet. If Adams had been contentious, Dickinson likely answered in the combative manner that had long been his custom in floor debates in the Pennsylvania assembly. What is certain is that he aired at least some of his views on patching up differences with the mother country. Like Adams, Dickinson saw reconciliation as the object of the war, but he wished to restore the Anglo-American relationship that had existed prior to 1763, before there were parliamentary taxes and a British army in America in peacetime—a time when the colonists happily acquiesced in Parliament’s regulation of American trade.

  With the conflict less than a month old, Congress was divided over what it was fighting for. Some were also put off by what they saw as Yankee extremism in Adams’s remarks. Some from New England, on the other hand, found that Dickinson’s stance “gives … disgust.”51 This spelled trouble, and at the very moment that word was reaching Congress of urgent military issues that needed tending. Congress postponed further debate on America’s war aims for a week, hoping that passions might cool in the interim.

  But Congress did not put off the debate strictly from fear of divisions. These were experienced politicians. None expected unanimity on every issue. Nor did they anticipate debates that were free of rancor. They were simply overwhelmed with the number of things they had to deal with. “Such a vast Multitude of Objects, civil, political, commercial and military, press and crowd Us so fast, that We know not what to do first,” John Adams remarked without exaggeration.52

  Congress knew that it first must deal with a series of military issues that simply could not be ignored or postponed. It was common knowledge that London was sending reinforcements across the Atlantic, and many believed the destination of some troops would be New York. On May 15 Congress received an inquiry from resistance leaders in New York City asking how the colony should respond if threatened with a landing by the British army. Congress put together a committee—which included George Washington—to consider the matter, and within a few days New York was directed not to resist the redcoats. They were to use force only if the soldiers attacked or invaded homes or businesses.53

  Hard on the heels of the New York issue came word of military actions taken by Massachusetts and Connecticut. Fearing a British invasion from Canada, those two colonies, each acting without knowledge of what the other was doing, had raised military forces to seize the British-held installation of Fort Ticonderoga on Lake Champlain in New York. Colonel Benedict Arnold commanded the Massachusetts force. Ethan Allen was in charge of the army raised by Connecticut, a band of rowdy frontiersmen who called themselves the Green Mountain Boys. The two small armies set off at about the same time and ran into each other in western Massachusetts. Thereafter, they more or less cooperated in a joint campaign to take the fort. On May 10, the day that Congress reconvened, Allen and Arnold led their men on the last leg of the expedition, a half-mile march along a narrow path that hugged Lake Champlain. They moved with stealth through the early morning darkness, bringing their force to the south side of the British installation. When the men were ready, Allen gave the order to attack. The Yankees charged out of the black night and into the fort, screaming at the top of their lungs. They encountered next to no resistance. The British had posted only two sentries, and both were thoroughly surprised by Allen, who roared that the colonial force was taking Fort Ticonderoga “in the name of the great Jehovah, and the Continental Congress.” The remaining redcoats, forty-two in all, were sound asleep. They were awakened and taken captive, along with twenty-four women and children, and all were herded into the stockade. The entire operation lasted less than ten minutes. Flushed with success, the Americans also took Crown Point, another British fort twelve miles farther north. By the time Congress learned about these actions, it also discovered that Arnold was talking wildly of going after the British post at St. Johns on the Richelieu River, not far from Montreal.54

  Fort Ticonderoga may have been seized in the name of the Continental Congress, but the action had not been taken with Congress’s authorization. In fact, the members of Congress were surprised to learn of the campaign. The authorities in New York were even more astonished, as they had never been consulted by Massachusetts and Connecticut about an operation on their soil. The whole affair raised several troubling questions. As both Massachusetts and Connecticut claimed to lack the resources for garrisoning the captured forts, who was to take on that commitment? Should Arnold be permitted to campaign in Canada? What should be done with the British supplies that were captured in the two installations? Were individual colonies to be permitted to take military initiatives without congressional authorization? But two larger questions loomed over and beyond these matters. One was the question of who was responsible for running this war. An infinitely more thorny question concerned America’s relationship with London while the war was being waged.

  (Gary J. Antonetti, Ortelius Design)

  Congress first tackled the questions that required an immediate resolution, though in a preview of how slow this deliber
ative body could be, nearly two weeks were required for it to reach its decisions. By the end of May, Congress had directed Arnold to take no further action, ordered the removal of some provisions from the recently seized forts—lest the British army come from Canada and retake them—and asked Connecticut and New York to provide the troops for garrisoning Forts Ticonderoga and Crown Point.55 (Congress was presented with some of the trophies, including a captured drum and flags, which soon adorned one wall of its chamber in the Pennsylvania State House.)

  On Saturday, May 20, the congressmen dined together at the City Tavern, as they had done the previous Saturday evening. When they resumed their deliberations on Monday, they took up Dickinson’s proposal, labeled by one delegate, “shall we treat.”56 In other words, should Congress petition the king?

  Dickinson was among the first to speak. He began with a stark warning. If those who wished to raise a national army and undertake attendant military preparations were to get what they wanted, they must first agree to pursue reconciliation by appealing to the Crown. “We must know the one Measure will be taken before we assent to the other. If We [the more moderate delegates] will go on with Measures of War, They [the more radical congressmen] must go on with [a] Measure of Peace.” After he threw down the gauntlet, Dickinson took issue with John Adams’s view that the colonists no longer owed any allegiance to Parliament. Dickinson insisted that Congress must acknowledge Parliament’s right to regulate imperial commerce. In fact, he seemed to say, Congress should only deny Parliament’s right to tax the colonists, for on all other matters “They have the Power, We cant take it away.” Next he called on Congress to compensate the East India Company for the tea destroyed in the Boston Tea Party. Toward the end of a speech that must have consumed hours, Dickinson introduced three motions. He asked Congress to adopt a “humble & dutiful Petition to his Majesty, praying Relief from … the System of Colonial Administration adopted since [1763]”; to send agents to London to negotiate “an Accommodation”; and to inform General Gage of its petition to the monarch and request that he “forbear further Hostilities … untill an Answer can be received to our Answer & proposals.”57

  Dickinson privately said in advance that his remarks would doubtless “inflame” many of his colleagues. He could not have been more accurate. His speech on May 23 touched off the second raging debate within a week, both triggered by speeches that he had given. Most of the furor swirled about the issue of petitioning the king. America was “between Hawk and Buzzard,” John Adams muttered. It should not be wasting its time with a petition. It should be resolutely preparing for war, creating the national army that Lee had urged a week earlier and establishing a navy as well. Moreover, Adams and many others who hoped to receive aid from Britain’s enemies feared that an appeal to the monarch would send the wrong signal. It would make America appear weak in the eyes of the world. Furthermore, he feared that a petition would provide Lord North the “Opportunity … to sow divisions among the States and the People.” If all that was not enough, Adams and others were convinced that it was “fruitless” to beseech the king to end the war.58

  Nor was petitioning the king all that bothered some congressmen. Many thought that time had passed Dickinson by, that he spoke the language of yesteryear, a time before the colonists’ constitutional viewpoint had crystallized. To many, his views on the Anglo-American relationship must have seemed nearly identical to those of Galloway. Expressing shock at Dickinson’s stance, some of his longtime allies within the Pennsylvania delegation broke with him. Others were openly critical. Lee denounced any thought of yielding any American rights. Patrick Henry warned that natural rights “must never be receded from.” John Rutledge spoke of Dickinson’s proposal “with the utmost Contempt,” said one listener, and insisted that Congress never consider “any Concession” to the “Ultimatum” issued by the British ministry.59

  Dickinson had indeed inflamed delegates from every corner of America, and few supported his recommendation to consider modifying the rights that Americans were certain they possessed. But a majority in Congress was willing to make an entreaty to the king and, if the monarch was disposed to talk, to negotiate with him. Some, like Dickinson, anticipated success. Others thought it prudent, for even if the attempt failed, having made the effort would in the long run unify the colonists behind the war effort. No delegates were more viscerally opposed to approaching the king or to negotiation than those from New England, but they were painted into a corner. The Yankees knew that their jerry-built siege army might not last much longer. They also knew that they might not get a national army unless they conceded to Dickinson and his numerous allies.

  After two days of savage debate, Congress agreed to four resolutions. Three passed by unanimous votes. Congress blamed hostilities on Lord North’s ministry, which it said was seeking to “carry into execution, by force of arms, several unconstitutional and oppressive acts … for laying taxes in America … and for altering and changing the constitutional and internal police of … these colonies.” As the British army was responsible for having fired the first shot of the war, Congress resolved to immediately put “these colonies … into a state of defense.” It agreed to petition the king. Lastly, though many congressmen voted against the measure, it consented to “opening a Negotiation in order to accommodate the unhappy disputes.”60 Dickinson had won round one.

  CHAPTER 6

  “PROGRESS MUST BE SLOW”

  JOHN ADAMS AND THE POLITICS OF A DIVIDED CONGRESS

  IT HAD BEEN NEARLY inevitable that John Dickinson would take charge among the delegates to the Second Congress who wished to follow a moderate course, but there was no such obvious leader for those who favored a harder line. Patrick Henry and Samuel Adams were the best-known among the congressmen who thought it wrongheaded to petition the king, but both lacked the attributes—and possibly the trust—needed to be an effective manager in a deliberative body. Henry’s great gift was his oratorical skills, while Adams was unsurpassed as an organizer and propagandist, but the members of Congress were not the sort to be swept up by a flamboyant speaker or an accomplished agitator.

  Perhaps because he understood early on that he could never hold sway at this level, Henry left Philadelphia for home only a few weeks after Congress reconvened, never again to be a major force in the national government. Samuel Adams remained in Congress until 1781 and never ceased to be an important figure, though he mostly stayed in the background, possibly somewhat by choice. He was aware that his reputation as a radical revolutionary led some to see as pernicious anything that he advocated. Besides, though not without ambition, Adams appears to have been less driven to win national accolades than most who played on that stage. From start to finish, Adams’s focus was on Massachusetts. He longed for autonomy for his province and battled for the preservation of the way of life that had long prevailed within the Bay Colony, free from the dictates of a strong central government, whether in London or Philadelphia. Loosening the shackles that North’s ministry envisaged for the colonies was paramount for Adams, and in the first fifteen months of this Congress he worked quietly to achieve his goal, leaving to others a more public role.

  Benjamin Franklin sat in the Second Congress, but standing front and center in an assembly had never been his style. Even when his Assembly Party dominated the Pennsylvania legislature in the 1750s and 1760s, Franklin had turned to Galloway to lead and manage the party’s business. Franklin was both a poor public speaker and never comfortable joining in the rancorous and fast-moving floor debates that were part of the day-to-day activity in an assembly. Franklin’s behavior as a congressman astonished some of his colleagues, who, aware of his widespread fame, expected a more flamboyant and outgoing personality. John Adams, for instance, was surprised to discover that Franklin was “composed and grave and … very reserved. He has not … affected to take the lead; but has seemed to choose that the Congress should pursue their own Principles and sentiments and adopt their own Plans.”1

  Frankli
n’s reserve in 1775 also stemmed from his protracted absence from America. Nearly every member of Congress was a stranger to him. He knew most in Pennsylvania’s delegation, but several of them had been political enemies when he had last been active in his province’s politics. He must have wished to remain in the background, at least for a time, to gain the lay of the land. Something else weighed on Franklin when he took his seat in Congress: Many of his fellow congressmen distrusted him. After all, he had been a resident of London for the past decade, where he had once publicly endorsed parliamentary taxation of America. Furthermore, Franklin had once advocated the royalization of Pennsylvania; the despised Galloway was his longtime political partner; and his son, William, was now the royal governor of New Jersey. Both Richard Henry Lee and Samuel Adams thought Franklin “a suspicious doubtful character.” Adams’s doubts increased when he learned of Franklin’s overnight visit with Galloway at Trevose. One deputy confided that some in Congress “entertain a great Suspicion that Dr. Franklin” had returned to America “rather as a spy than as a friend.” Some even thought he hoped “to discover our weak side & make his peace with [Lord North] by discovering it to him.”2 Seldom have fears been so badly misplaced.

  When Franklin sailed from London in March, he no longer thought Anglo-American reconciliation was likely or desirable. Still fuming over his despicable treatment in the Cockpit, Franklin acknowledged his lust for revenge, a sentiment for which he was “ashamed,” he said. But he was not especially dismayed to learn upon landing in America that hostilities had erupted during his Atlantic crossing. He was pleased by Massachusetts’s response to Gage’s attack. Even more, he rejoiced that Britain’s decision to begin the “cutting of throats” had only “more firmly united” the American people. Franklin delighted in regaling America’s friends in England with accounts of the action along Battle Road, writing sardonically that the regulars had made such a “vigorous Retreat” that “the feeble Americans … could scarce keep up with them.”3