The Eve of the Revolution | Page 4

have also ventured to resort frequently to the literary device (this, I
know, gives the whole thing away) of telling the story by means of a
rather free paraphrase of what some imagined spectator or participant
might have thought or said about the matter in hand. If the critic says
that the product of such methods is not history, I am willing to call it by
any name that is better; the point of greatest relevance being the truth
and effectiveness of the illusion aimed at--the extent to which it
reproduces the quality of the thought and feeling of those days, the
extent to which it enables the reader to enter into such states of mind
and feeling. The truth of such history (or whatever the critic wishes to
call it) cannot of course be determined by a mere verification of
references.
To one of my colleagues, who has read the entire manuscript, I am
under obligations for many suggestions and corrections in matters of
detail; and I would gladly mention his name if it could be supposed that
an historian of established reputation would wish to be associated, even
in any slight way, with an enterprise of questionable orthodoxy.
Carl Becker.
Ithaca, New York, January 6, 1918.

CONTENTS
I. A PATRIOT OF 1768 II. THE BURDEN OF EMPIRE III. THE
RIGHTS OF A NATION IV. DEFINING THE ISSUE V. A LITTLE
DISCREET CONDUCT VI. TESTING THE ISSUE
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
THE EVE OF THE REVOLUTION
CHAPTER I.
A Patriot Of 1763
His Majesty's reign...I predict will be happy and truly
glorious.--Benjamin Franklin.
The 29th of January, 1757, was a notable day in the life of Ben
Franklin of Philadelphia, well known in the metropolis of America as
printer and politician, and famous abroad as a scientist and Friend of
the Human Race. It was on that day that the Assembly of Pennsylvania
commissioned him as its agent to repair to London in support of its
petition against the Proprietors of the Province, who were charged with
having "obstinately persisted in manacling their deputies [the
Governors of Pennsylvania] with instructions inconsistent not only with
the privileges of the people, but with the service of the Crown." We
may, therefore, if we choose, imagine the philosopher on that day,
being then in his fifty-first year, walking through the streets of this
metropolis of America (a town of something less than twenty thousand
inhabitants) to his modest home, and there informing his "Dear Debby"
that her husband, now apparently become a great man in a small world,
was ordered immediately "home to England."
In those leisurely days, going home to England was no slight
undertaking; and immediately, when there was any question of a great
journey, meant as soon as the gods might bring it to pass. "I had agreed
with Captain Morris, of the Pacquet at New York, for my passage," he
writes in the "Autobiography," "and my stores were put on board, when
Lord Loudoun arrived at Philadelphia, expressly, as he told me, to

endeavor an accommodation between the Governor and the Assembly,
that his Majesty's service might not be obstructed by their dissentions."
Franklin was the very man to effect an accommodation, when he set his
mind to it, as he did on this occasion; but "in the mean time," he relates,
"the Pacquet had sailed with my sea stores, which was some loss to me,
and my only recompence was his Lordship's thanks for my service, all
the credit for obtaining the accommodation falling to his share."
It was now war time, and the packets were at the disposal of Lord
Loudoun, commander of the forces in America. The General was good
enough to inform his accommodating friend that of the two packets
then at New York, one was given out to sail on Saturday, the 12th of
April--"but," the great man added very confidentially, "I may let you
know, entre nous, that if you are there by Monday morning, you will be
in time, but do not delay longer." As early as the 4th of April,
accordingly, the provincial printer and Friend of the Human Race,
accompanied by many neighbors "to see him out of the province," left
Philadelphia. He arrived at Trenton "well before night," and expected,
in case "the roads were no worse," to reach Woodbridge by the night
following. In crossing over to New York on the Monday, some
accident at the ferry delayed him, so that he did not reach the city till
nearly noon, and he feared that he might miss the packet after all--Lord
Loudoun had so precisely mentioned Monday morning. Happily, no
such thing! The packet was still there. It did not sail that day, or the
next either; and as late as the 29th of April Franklin was still hanging
about waiting