“He prayeth best who loveth bestAll things both great and small.”
“He prayeth best who loveth bestAll things both great and small.”
“He prayeth best who loveth bestAll things both great and small.”
“He prayeth best who loveth best
All things both great and small.”
Not only did Landseer rival some of the Dutch masters of the seventeenth century in painting fur and feathers, but he depicted animals with sympathy, as if he believed that “the dumb, driven cattle” possess souls. His dogs and other animals are so human as to look as if they were able to speak. The painter was the son of John Landseer, the engraver, and was born in London. He received art lessons from his father, and, when little more than a baby, would sketch donkeys, horses, and cows at Hampstead Heath. Some of these sketches, made when Landseer was five, seven, and ten years old, are at Kensington. He was only fourteen when he exhibited the heads of “A Pointer Bitch and Puppy.” When between sixteen and seventeen he produced “Dogs Fighting,” which was engraved by the painter’s father. Still more popular was “The Dogs of St. Gothard rescuing a Distressed Traveler,” which appeared when its author was eighteen. Landseer was not a pupil of Haydon, but he had occasional counsel from him. He dissected a lion. As soon as he reached the age of twenty-four he was elected A.R.A., and exhibited at the Academy “The Hunting of Chevy Chase.” This was in 1826, and in 1831 he became a full member of the Academy. Landseer had visited Scotland in 1826, and from that date we trace a change in his style, which thenceforth was far less solid, true and searching, and became more free and bold. The introduction of deer into his pictures, as in “The Children of the Mist,” “Seeking Sanctuary,” and “The Stag at Bay,” marked the influence of Scotch associations. Landseer was knighted in 1850, and at the French exhibition of 1855 was awarded the only large gold medal given to an English artist. Prosperous, popular, and the guest of the highest personages of the realm, he was visited about 1852 by an illness which compelled him to retire from society. From this he recovered, but the effects of a railway accident in 1868 brought on a relapse. He died in 1873, and was buried in St. Paul’s Cathedral. On the death of Sir Charles Eastlake, in 1865, he was offered the Presidentship of the Royal Academy, but this honor he declined. In the National Gallery are “Spaniels of King Charles’s Breed,” “Low Life and High Life,” “Highland Music” (a highland piper disturbing a group of five hungry dogs, at their meal, with a blast on the pipes), “The Hunted Stag,” “Peace,” “War” (dying and dead horses, and their riders lying amidst the burning ruins of a cottage), “Dignity and Impudence,” “Alexander and Diogenes,” “The Defeat of Comus,” a sketch painted for a fresco in the Queen’s summer house, Buckingham Palace. Sixteen of Landseer’s works are in the Sheepshanks Collection, including the touching “Old Shepherd’s Chief Mourner,” of which Mr. Ruskin said that “it stamps its author not as the neat imitator of the texture of a skin, or the fold of a drapery, but as the man of mind.”
The conditions under which the communities of the New World were established, and the terms on which they hitherto existed, have been unfavorable to Art. The religious and commercial enthusiasms of the first adventurers to her shores, supplying themes for the romancers of a later age, were themselves antagonistic to romance. The spirit which tore down the aisles of St. Regulus, and was revived in England in a reaction against music, painting and poetry, the Pilgrim Fathers bore with them in the “Mayflower” and planted across the seas. The life of the early colonists left no leisure for refinement. They had to conquer nature before admiring it, to feed and clothe before analyzing themselves. The ordinary cares of existence beset them to the exclusion of its embellishments. While Dryden, Pope and Addison were polishing stanzas and adding grace to English prose, they were felling trees, navigating rivers, and fertilizing valleys.… An enlightened people in a new land “where almost every one has facilities elsewhere unknown for making his fortune,” it is not to be wondered that the pursuit of wealth has been their leading impulse; nor is it perhaps to be regretted that much of their originality has been expended upon inventing machines instead of manufacturing verses, or that their religion itself has taken a practical turn. One of their own authors confesses that the “common New England life is still a lean, impoverished life, in distinction from a rich and suggestive one,” but it is there alone that the speculative and artistic tendencies of recent years have found room and occasion for development. Our travelers find a peculiar charm in the manly force and rough adventurous spirit of the Far West, but the poetry of the pioneer is unconscious. The attractive culture of the South has been limited in extent and degree. The hothouse fruit of wealth and leisure, it has never struck its roots deeply into native soil.… All the best transatlantic literature is inspired by the spirit of confidence—often of over-confidence—in labor. It has only flourished freely in a free soil; and for almost all its vitality and aspirations, its comparatively scant performance and large promise we must turn to New England. Its defects and merits are those of the national character as developed in the northern states, and we must seek for an explanation of its peculiarities in the physical and moral circumstances which surround them.
When European poets and essayists write of nature it is to contrast her permanence with the mutability of human life.We talk of the everlasting hills, the perennial fountains, the ever-recurring seasons.… In America, on the other hand, it is the extent of nature that is dwelt upon—the infinity of space, rather than the infinity of time, is opposed to the limited rather than to the transient existence of man. Nothing strikes a traveler in that country so much as this feature of magnitude. The rivers like rolling lakes, the lakes which are inland seas, the forests, the plains, Niagara itself, with its world of waters, owe their magnificence to their immensity; and by a transference, not unnatural, although fallacious, the Americans generally have modeled their ideas of art after the same standard of size. Their wars, their hotels, their language, are pitched on the huge scale of their distances. “Orphaned of the solemn inspiration of antiquity,” they gain in surface what they have lost in age; in hope, what they have lost in memory.
“That untraveled world whose margin fadesForever and forever when they move,”
“That untraveled world whose margin fadesForever and forever when they move,”
“That untraveled world whose margin fadesForever and forever when they move,”
“That untraveled world whose margin fades
Forever and forever when they move,”
is all their own; and they have the area and the expectation of a continent to set against the culture and the ancestral voices of a thousand years. Where Englishmen remember, Americans anticipate. In thought and action they are ever rushing into empty spaces. Except in a few of the older states, a family mansion is rarely rooted to the same town or district; and the tie which unites one generation with another being easily broken, the want of continuity in life breeds a want of continuity in thought. The American mind delights in speculative and practical, social and political experiments, as Shakerism, Mormonism, Pantagamy; and a host of authors from Emerson to Walt. Whitman, have tried to glorify every mode of human life from the transcendental to the brutish. The habit of instability, fostered by the rapid vicissitudes of their commercial life and the melting of one class into another drifts away all their landmarks but that of temporary public opinion; and where there is little time for verification and the study of details, men satisfy their curiosity with crude generalizations. The great literary fault of the Americans has thus come to beimpatience. The majority of them have never learned that “raw haste is half-sister to delay,” that “works done least rapidly, art most cherishes.” The make-shifts which were first a necessity with the northern settlers have grown into a custom. They adopt ten half measures instead of one whole one; and, beginning bravely like the grandiloquent preambles to their Constitutions end sometimes in the sublime, and sometimes in the ridiculous.
The critics of one nation must, to a certain extent, regard the works of another from an outside point of view. Few are able to divest themselves wholly of the influence of local standards; and this is preëminently the case when the early efforts of a young country are submitted to the judgment of an older country, strong in its prescriptive rights, and intolerant of changes the drift of which it is unable or unwilling to appreciate. English critics are apt to bear down on the writers and thinkers of the new world with a sort of aristocratic hauteur; they are perpetually reminding them of their immaturity and their disregard of the golden mean. Americans, on the other hand, are impossible to please. Ordinary men among them are as sensitive to foreign, and above all to British censure, as theirritable genusof other lands. Mr. Emerson is permitted to impress home truths on his countrymen, as “your American eagle is all very well, but beware of the American peacock.” Such remarks are not permitted to Englishmen; if they point to any flaws in American manners or ways of thinking, with an effort after politeness, it is “the good natured cynicism of a well-to-do age;” if they commend transatlantic institutions or achievements, it is, according to Mr. Lowell, “with that pleasant European air of self-compliment in condescending to be pleased by American merit which we find so conciliating.” Now that the United States have reached their full majority, it is time that England should cease to assume the attitude of their guardian, and time that they should cease to be on the alert to resent the assumption. Foremost among the more attractive features of transatlantic literature is itsfreshness. The authority which is the guide of old nations constantly threatens to become tyrannical; they wear their traditions like a chain; and in the canonization of laws of taste, the creative powers are depressed. Even in England we write under fixed conditions; with the fear of critics before our eyes, we are all bound to cast our ideas into similar moulds, and the name of “free-thinkers” has grown into a term of reproach. Bunyan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress” is perhaps the last book written without a thought of being reviewed. There is a gain in the habit of self-restraint fostered by this state of things; but there is a loss in the consequent lack of spontaneity, and we may learn something from a literature which is ever ready for adventure. In America the love of uniformity gives place to impetuous impulses; the most extreme sentiments are made audible; the most noxious “have their day and cease to be;” and truth being left to vindicate itself, the overthrow of error, though more gradual, may at last prove more complete. A New England poet can write with confidence of his country as the land
“Where no one suffers loss or bleedsFor thoughts that men call heresies.”
“Where no one suffers loss or bleedsFor thoughts that men call heresies.”
“Where no one suffers loss or bleedsFor thoughts that men call heresies.”
“Where no one suffers loss or bleeds
For thoughts that men call heresies.”
Another feature of American literature is itscomprehensiveness; what it has lost in depth it has gained in breadth. Addressing a vast audience it appeals to universal sympathies.—Abridged from “American Literature” in Encyclopædia Britannica.
Literature is a positive element of civilized life; but in different countries and epochs it exists sometimes as a passive taste or means of culture, and at others as a development of productive tendencies. The first is the usual form in colonial societies, where the habit of looking to the fatherland for intellectual nutriment as well as political authority is the natural result even of patriotic feeling. The circumstances, too, of young communities, like those of the individual, are unfavorable to original literary production. Life is too absorbing to be recorded otherwise than in statistics. The wants of the hour and the exigencies of practical responsibility wholly engage the mind. Half a century ago, it was usual to sneer in England at the literary pretensions of America; but the ridicule was quite as unphilosophical as unjust, for it was to be expected that the new settlements would find their chief mental subsistence in the rich heritage of British literature, endeared to them by a community of language, political sentiment, and historical association. And when a few of the busy denizens of a new republic ventured to give expression to their thoughts, it was equally natural that the spirit and the principles of their ancestral literature should reappear. Scenery, border-life, the vicinity of the aborigines, and a great political experiment were the only novel features in the new world upon which to found anticipations of originality; in academic culture, habitual reading, moral and domestic tastes, and cast of mind, the Americans were identified with the mother country, and, in all essential particulars, would naturally follow the style thus inherent in their natures and confirmed by habit and study. At first, therefore, the literary development of the United States was imitative; but with the progress of the country, and her increased leisure and means of education, the writings of the people became more and more characteristic; theological and political occasions gradually ceased to be the exclusive moulds of thought; and didactic, romantic, and picturesque compositions appeared from time to time. Irving peopled “Sleepy Hollow” with fanciful creations; Bryant described not only with truth and grace, but with devotional sentiment, the characteristic scenes of his native land; Cooper introduced Europeans to the wonders of her forest and seacoast; Bancroft made her story eloquent; and Websterproved that the race of orators who once roused her children to freedom was not extinct. The names of Edwards and Franklin were echoed abroad; the bonds of mental dependence were gradually loosened; the inherited tastes remained, but they were freshened with a more native zest; and although Brockden Brown is still compared to Godwin, Irving to Addison, Cooper to Scott, Hoffman to Moore, Emerson to Carlyle, and Holmes to Pope, a characteristic vein, an individuality of thought, and a local significance is now generally recognized in the emanations of the American mind; and the best of them rank favorably and harmoniously with similar exemplars in British literature; while, in a few instances, the nationality is so marked, and so sanctioned by true genius, as to challenge the recognition of all impartial and able critics. The majority, however, of our authors are men of talent rather than of genius; the greater part of the literature of the country has sprung from New England, and is therefore, as a general rule, too unimpassioned and coldly elegant for popular effect. There have been a lamentable want of self-reliance, and an obstinate blindness to the worth of native material, both scenic, historical, and social. The great defect of our literature has been a lack of independence, and too exclusive a deference to hackneyed models; there has been, and is, no deficiency of intellectual life; it has thus far, however, often proved too diffusive and conventional for great results.—Henry T. Tuckerman.
America abounds in the material of poetry. Its history, its scenery, the structure of its social life, the thoughts which pervade its political forms, the meaning which underlies its hot contests, are all capable of being exhibited in a poetical aspect. Carlyle, in speaking of the settlement of Plymouth by the Pilgrims, remarks that, if we had the open sense of the Greeks, we should have “found a poem here; one of nature’s own poems, such as she writes in broad facts over great continents.” If we have a literature, it should be a national literature; no feeble or sonorous echo of Germany or England, but essentially American in its tone and object. No matter how meritorious a composition may be, as long as any foreign nation can say that it has done the same thing better, so long shall we be spoken of with contempt, or in a spirit of impertinent patronage. We begin to sicken of the custom, now so common, of presenting even our best poems to the attention of foreigners with a deprecating, apologetic air; as if their acceptance of the offering, with a few soft and silky compliments, would be an act of kindness demanding our warmest acknowledgements. If theQuarterly RevieworBlackwood’s Magazinespeaks well of an American production, we think that we can praise it ourselves, without incurring the reproach of bad taste. The folly we yearly practice, of flying into a passion with some inferior English writer, who caricatures our faults, and tells dull jokes about his tour through the land, has only the effect to exalt an insignificant scribbler into notoriety, and give a nominal value to his recorded impertinence. If the mind and heart of the country had its due expression, if its life had taken form in a literature worthy of itself, we should pay little regard to the childish tattling of a pert coxcomb, who was discontented with our taverns, or the execrations of some bluff sea-captain, who was shocked with our manners. The uneasy sense we have of something in our national existence which has not yet been fitly expressed, gives poignancy to the least ridicule launched at faults and follies which lie on the superficies of our life. Every person feels that a book which condemns the country for its peculiarities of manners and customs does not pierce into the heart of the matter, and is essentially worthless. If Bishop Berkeley, when he visited Malebranche, had paid exclusive attention to the habitation, raiment, and manners of the man, and neglected the conversation of the metaphysician, and, when he returned to England, had entertained Pope, Swift, Gay, and Arbuthnot, with satirical descriptions of the “complement extern” of his eccentric host, he would have acted just as wisely as many an English tourist, with whose malicious pleasantry on our habits of chewing, spitting, and eating, we are silly enough to quarrel. To the United States, in reference to the pop-gun shots of foreign tourists, might be addressed the warning which Peter Plymley thundered against Bonaparte, in reference to the Anti-Jacobin jests of Canning: Tremble, oh thou land of many spitters and voters, “for apleasantman has come out against thee, and thou shalt be laid low by a joker of jokes, and he shall talk his pleasant talk to thee, and thou shalt be no more!”
In order that America may take its due rank in the commonwealth of nations, a literature is needed which shall be the exponent of its higher life. We live in times of turbulence and change. There is a general dissatisfaction, manifesting itself often in rude contests and ruder speech, with the gulf which separates principles from actions. Men are struggling to realize dim ideals of right and truth, and each failure adds to the desperate earnestness of their efforts. Beneath all the shrewdness and selfishness of the American character, there is a smouldering enthusiasm which flames out at the first touch of fire,—sometimes at the hot and hasty words of party, and sometimes at the bidding of great thoughts and unselfish principles. The heart of the nation is easily stirred to its depths; but those who rouse its fiery impulses into action are often men compounded of ignorance and wickedness, and wholly unfit to guide the passions which they are able to excite. There is no country in the world which has nobler ideas embodied in more worthless shapes. All our factions, fanaticisms, reforms, parties, creeds, ridiculous or dangerous though they often appear, are founded on some aspiration or reality which deserves a better form and expression. There is a mighty power in great speech. If the sources of what we call our fooleries and faults were rightly addressed, they would echo more majestic and kindling truths. We want a poetry which shall speak in clear, loud tones to the people; a poetry which shall make us more in love with our native land, by converting its ennobling scenery into the images of lofty thought; which shall give visible form and life to the abstract ideas of our written constitutions; which shall confer upon virtue all the strength of principle, and all the energy of passion; which shall disentangle freedom from cant and senseless hyperbole, and render it a thing of such loveliness and grandeur as to justify all self-sacrifice; which shall make us love man by the new consecrations it sheds on his life and destiny; which shall force through the thin partitions of conventionalism and expediency; vindicate the majesty of reason; give new power to the voice of conscience, and new vitality to human affection; soften and elevate passion; guide enthusiasm in a right direction, and speak out in the high language of men to a nation of men.—E. P. Whipple.
The literary history of the United States may be treated under three distinctly marked periods, viz.: a colonial, or ante-revolutionary period, during which the literature of the country was closely assimilated in form and character to that of England; a first American period (from 1775 to 1820) which witnessed the transition from a style for the most part imitative to one national or peculiar, as a consequence of the revolutionary struggle and the ideas generated by it; a second American (from 1820 to the present time), in which the literature of the country assumed a decided character of originality.
Though men of letters were found everywhere among the colonists, in New England alone, where the first printing press was established, was there any considerable progress made in literary culture, and the literature of the colonial period was chiefly confined to that locality or indirectly connected with it. The earliest development, owing to the religious character ofthe people, and to the fact that during the first century after the settlement of the country the clergy were the best informed and educated class, was theological. Some of the works, by Edwards and others, in defense of the dogmas of the church were very elaborate, and the positions taken maintained with much ability and acuteness of argument.
The influence of the great English essayists and novelists of the eighteenth century had, meanwhile, begun to affect the literature of the New World; and in the essays, the collection of maxims published under the title of “Poor Richard,” or “The Way to Wealth,” the scientific papers and autobiography of Benjamin Franklin, we have specimens of practical philosophy, or of simple narrative expressed in a style eminently clear, pleasing, and condensed; and not unfrequently embellished by the wit and elegance characteristic of the best writers of Queen Anne’s time. His investigations in electricity and other scientific subjects are not less felicitously narrated, and together with the works of James Logan, Paul Dudley, Cadwallader Colden and John Bartram, a naturalist, and one of the earliest of American travelers, constitute the chief contributions to scientific literature during the colonial period.
II. The earliest works produced during the first American period, commencing with the Revolution, are naturally associated with the causes which led to that event. The severance of the intellectual reliance of the colonies on the mother country followed as a consequence of their political independence, and as early as the commencement of the revolutionary struggle the high literary ability as well as practical wisdom evinced in the public documents of the principal American statesmen, were recognized by Lord Chatham, in whose opinion these productions rivaled the masterpieces of antiquity. Politics now gained a prominence almost equal to that enjoyed by theology in the preceding period. The discussions accorded thoroughly with the popular taste, and the influence of political writers and orators in giving a decided national type to American literature is unmistakable.
III. The last period of American literature presents a marked contrast with those which preceded in the national character, as well as in the variety and extent of its productions. In 1820 the poverty of American Literature was sneeringly commented upon by Sydney Smith in the EdinburghReview, but from that date, the political crisis being past, the intellectual development of the country has been commensurate with its social and material progress, until at the present day it can be said there is no department of human knowledge which has not been more or less thoroughly explored by American authors. In history, natural science, jurisprudence, and imaginative literature their efforts have not been exceeded by those of contemporary authors in any part of the world.
The catalogue of American books, many of them having rare excellence, published in the last half century would fill volumes.
Perhaps in her periodical literature, more than elsewhere, America excels. Her leading quarterlies and literary magazines are scarcely inferior to the best we get from Europe; while their number and circulation are matter of astonishment. The masses in America read far more than in other countries. They patronize 11,403 different periodicals, that have an aggregate circulation of 31,177,924. Of these 3,637,224 are received daily, making 148,451,110 papers a year. There are 19,459,107 papers published weekly, making 97,295,535 a year. Others are published semi-weekly, monthly, semi-monthly, or quarterly.—Abridged from American Cyclopædia.
For when a man is brought up honorably, he feels ashamed to act basely; every one trained to noble deeds blushes to be found recreant; valor may be taught, as we teach a child to speak, to hear those things which he knows not; such love as the child learns he retains with fondness to old age—strong incitements to train your children well.—Euripides.
For twelve years after the defeat of the French, the English colonists in America, though suffering many things, prospered. A patriotic, vigorous race had possession of the new world—men who loved liberty, knew their rights, and dared maintain them. Their civil institutions were founded on liberal principles, and the sovereignty of the people recognized. Time and conflicting interests had somewhat weakened the ties that bound them to the mother country. Already numbering near two millions, though nominally subject to the crown they had, for generations, managed their affairs with more hindrance than help from the ruling class in Great Britain. Agriculture was the chief industry, and the products had become extensive; but commerce hampered by many restrictions was carried on awkwardly, and often with little profit to the producers. Manufacturing enterprises were discouraged and hindered by arbitrary enactments respecting them. The colonists felt the wrongs they suffered, but endured them till the hindrances and burdens became intolerable. Their complaints unheeded and their petitions spurned, nothing could longer delay the bold, defiant assertion of their rights, or quell the spirit of indignant resentment. The most thoughtful had reluctantly come to regard war as inevitable, and resolutely prepared to meet the demands that would be made on them. The differences between the home government and the colonists were of long standing and about matters of such vital interest to the latter, they could make no compromise. The king and his ministers claimed the right to tax, at their pleasure, two millions of British subjects who were allowed no representation in Parliament. This was denied steadily and with emphasis—every attempt to enforce, however indirectly, the claim was watched and defeated. Enactments that were regarded oppressive were either evaded or openly set at naught. The duties required could not be collected. No matter how plain the law, governors who held office by the appointment of the king could not enforce it, and the recusant merchants and manufacturers, if arrested and tried, were not convicted. Applications to the courts for warrants to seize goods were resisted—and neither search nor seizure was found quite safe for those who attempted it.
In 1763 officers were directed to confiscate all merchant vessels engaged in what was declared unlawful trade, and English war ships were sent to the American coast to enforce the order. This exasperating measure ruined for a time trade with the West Indies, but failed to intimidate. The next year the odious Stamp Act was passed requiring all deeds, articles of agreement, notes, receipts, checks and drafts to be written on paper bearing the government stamp, and taxed from three pence to six pounds sterling, according to the purpose for which it was prepared. Franklin, who labored hard to prevent the passage of the act, was sadly disappointed and wrote to a friend at home: “The sun of American liberty has set—we must now light the lamps of industry and economy.” “Be assured,” said the patriotic friend in reply, “we shall light torches of another sort.” And they did. The paper was manufactured and sent over in large quantities, but no market was found for it. In New York and Boston much of it was seized and publicly destroyed, while whole cargoes were carried back to England. The people were thoroughly aroused and indignant. Crowds of excited men collected in the towns, and acts of violence were committed against any who proposed submission. The ringing words of Patrick Henry in the Virginia legislature, and the resolutions sent out from that body boldly declaring that the colonists, as Englishmen, would never submit to be taxed without representation, startled the people. Some were alarmed, but most expressed hearty approval. About the same time similar action was taken by the New York and Massachusetts legislatures, and the question ofan American Congress, suggestive of a separate nationality, was agitated. The patriotic society known as “The Sons of Liberty” was now organized, the members being pledged to oppose tyranny and defend, with their lives, if necessary, the sacred rights of freemen. Merchants in the principal cities bound themselves to buy no more goods from English houses until the offensive act was repealed, while the people with wonderful unanimity resolved to deny themselves all imported luxuries. The storm that was seen to be gathering caused some hesitation in Parliament. The English manufacturers and merchants, whose products and merchandise remained in their storehouses, became alarmed, while a few eminent statesmen as Lord Camden, and Pitt in the House of Commons, espoused the cause of the colonists and denounced the folly of the administration. “You,” said Pitt in a powerful speech, “have no right to tax America. I rejoice that Americans have resisted.” The result was the necessitated repeal of the unwise measure. To cover their retreat from the position taken, and to conciliate the Tories, the act to repeal was accompanied with a declaration of “right to bind the colonists in all things whatsoever.” Nobody seemed to care much for their harmless declaration, and for a brief space there was quiet, if not peace.
A year later there was a change in the ministry, and, in an hour of unparalleled folly, another scheme was brought forward to levy a tax in a slightly different form—a duty on sundry specified articles, such as glass, paper, printers’ colors and tea. The resentment was immediate and indignant. It seemed like adding insult to injury, and denunciations of the attempt, both in popular assemblies and by the press, were prompt and bitter. Early in 1768 the legislature of Massachusetts adopted a circular calling on the other colonies for assistance in a determined effort to have redress. This, more than all that orators or editors could say, exasperated the British lords, who in the name of the king enjoined the legislature to at once rescind their action, that was pronounced treasonable, and to express regret for such hasty proceedings. The sturdy Massachusetts men, who had counted the cost, were not in a temper to do anything of the kind, but instead they almost unanimously re-affirmed their action; nor would they disperse at his bidding when the Tory governor, with authority dissolved the Assembly. They knew the peril of the situation, and their great disadvantage in having among them and over them civil officers appointed by the king, while his armies held all the forts and arsenals of the country. But there was no alternative. They must accept a servile condition or offer manly resistance and take the consequences. For this they were ready, and the people ready to sustain them. In opposition to the governor’s edict they communicated to their constituents and to the other colonies their unchanging determination to resist the unjust demands of their lordly oppressors. This hastened the crisis. The exasperated governor invoked the aid of the military. And his friend General Gage, commander of the British forces in America, ordered from Halifax two regiments of regulars to strengthen the governor’s police. It seemed a large force for the purpose, but even they were not sufficient to squelch the spirit of freedom. The civil authorities promptly refused to provide supplies or quarters for the troops for whose presence they had no occasion or need. They were encamped on the common, and, for the purpose of intimidation, a great display was made, but it only imbittered the feelings of the citizens. Mutual hatred between them and the hired soldiers, aggravated by insults and injuries on both sides, soon led to open hostilities. A small company of soldiers were attacked by a mob, and fired, killing some and wounding others. The rage of the people at the occurrence knew no bounds. They became so violent that it was thought advisable to withdraw the troops from the city. The squad implicated in the massacre was indicted for murder and had a fair trial. This was magnanimous. The keenest sense of the injuries received did not make true patriots forgetful of the personal rights of those who were the instruments of the oppression they suffered. At the trial of the soldiers John Adams and Josiah Quincy, both well known as stanch advocates of the people’s cause, appeared for the defense, and showed that the evidence could only convict of manslaughter, and as it seemed in self-defense, the punishment should be light.
Meanwhile full accounts of these disturbances were sent to England and caused intense excitement there. Parliament not only censured the colonists in strongly worded resolutions, but directed the governors to seize and transport to England for trial the leaders of disloyalty. The order was never carried out. Even after this some concessions were made to the demands of the colonists under the pressure of urgent appeals from English merchants who saw nothing but financial ruin to themselves in the loss of their trade with America. The duties on all articles imported from England were removed except on tea, and that, it was said, was retained simply to assert the sovereignty of the home government. This was an effort to conciliate those whom threats and military displays had failed to intimidate, but it too failed.
The East India Company had large quantities of tea in their storehouses, and having no orders from merchants, and being assured that manyTories, as all officers and supporters of the king were called, would patronize them, made arrangements for carrying on the business through their own agents. The plan seemed to promise success. Their men were appointed and a number of vessels freighted and sent to America. But there were difficulties in the way. In New York and Philadelphia the consignees, though anxious for the gains promised them, became alarmed and dared not enter on the duties of their appointment; and the captains were obliged to return to England with their cargoes. In Boston the agents of the company refused to resign, though threatened for their contumacy. In the midst of the excitement three ships arrived with cargoes of tea. A large committee demanded that it should be taken away. Of course there could be no public, and the vigilance of the citizens prevented a secret landing. The shipmasters saw that the only safe course for them was to obey the will of the people, but when they would have departed the governor was obstinate and no clearance could be obtained without first landing the cargoes. Repeated meetings were held, the question fully discussed, when it was resolved to resist to the last extremity the landing of the tea. They were in mass meeting when the ultimatum of the governor refusing the passports was received. The deliberations were then at an end, and the enthusiasm knew no bounds. A man in the crowd suddenly gave the war whoop and a rush was made for the wharf. The disguised man was joined by others, perhaps twenty in number, who without damaging any other property emptied all the tea chests into the sea. The work was done speedily and without hindrance. When informed of these violent proceedings Parliament immediately passed the “Boston Port Bill,” and removed the custom house to Salem. At the same time two other acts were passed, that added fuel to the fire, one giving the appointment of all civil and judicial officers directly to the crown; the other providing that in any future trial for homicide or violent resistance of the lawfully constituted authorities, the governor might send the accused out of the colony for trial.
In 1774 General Gage was appointed governor instead of Hutchinson. Personally he was much preferred to his predecessor, but coming to enforce the Port Bill, and having military authority the people felt that he was their enemy, and were ready to obstruct any measures he might adopt. Though Gage, with his army of regulars, was in possession, the organization and training of the militia proceeded with great zeal. Soon twelve thousand were enrolled as “Minute Men,” or civilians ready for military service at a moment’s notice. In the other colonies much the same state of things existed. Thepeople organized, drilled and prepared materials of war for the common defense.
In September of this year Congress met in Philadelphia. Of the fifty-three members in attendance nearly all were men of high standing in society, and already known to the country as true patriots. They were not an assembly of political aspirants and adventurers who, for personal ends, had sought the high position they filled, but representative men who deeply felt that the best interests, if not the very existence of the communities they represented demanded of them measures as prudent and cautious as they were firm and uncompromising. They indorsed the action of the Massachusetts Convention; put forth a plain, well-considered declaration of colonial rights; enumerated instances in which these had been violated; effected a more efficient opposition to any trade with England until satisfaction could be obtained for injuries done.
The moderation yet firmness of Congress met with very general approval. A few were in sympathy with the government, and the Quakers condemned everything they thought might bring on the country the calamities of war. All other religious bodies, and especially the pastors of the New England churches, without hesitation lent all their influence to the cause of freedom. Parliament now decided on more violent coercive measures. The policy of Pitt was rejected. The colonial agents, Franklin and others, were refused a hearing, and large military reënforcements ordered to America. The crisis had come sooner than some, who thought it inevitable, expected, but the citizens, cut off from all their sources of prosperity and denounced as rebels, were ready. The British garrison in Boston was strong, but the suffering people were unawed, and the commander of the post learned with some concern of the vigorous preparations for the impending conflict that were progressing in all parts of the province. Arms and other war material were, with all possible speed, collected and stored in different places. It was soon learned that notwithstanding the presence of the army and vigilance of the officers, large quantities of arms and ammunition had been smuggled out of Boston and stored at Concord, some eighteen miles distant. General Gage thought the time had come to stop these movements that might cause him serious trouble, and eighteen hundred of his infantry were sent to seize the stores at Concord. The plan of that first raid was supposed to be entirely secret. But somehow, Dr. Warren, a prominent Boston patriot, became apprised of it and spread the intelligence through the country in time to have the stores in part removed to a safer place. The troops next morning on reaching Lexington, a few miles from Concord, found a company of militia under arms, who were ordered to disperse, a volley was fired and eight men killed. At Concord the minute men endeavored to keep possession of a bridge, but were charged and driven from it. The object of the raid was in part accomplished. Some stores that could not be removed in time to save them were destroyed, but nothing of value could be taken away. The “Minute Men” were, by this time, coming from all quarters, and a very hasty retreat was found necessary. They were exposed to a galling fire from riflemen concealed on both sides of the road, while others pressed hard on their rear. Many fell, and but for reënforcements sent out to meet them, the whole command might have been cut off or captured. They lost that day not far from three hundred men. British soldiers and their officers gained some new ideas of the metal of the untrained militia with whom they had to deal. The war was now begun, the first blood shed, and the call to arms was promptly answered in all parts of the province. In a short time there were more men gathered about Boston with their rifles and shotguns than could be employed. The city was besieged, and in the trenches, amidst intense excitement, there was enough brave talk of driving the British into the sea. Through all the southern and middle colonies the news of the opening of the campaign called forth the strongest expressions of sympathy and prompt assurances of support in the common cause. Everywhere the patriots organized for defense and for the seizure of such military funds and stores as might be found at posts not sufficiently guarded.
In May, 1775, Congress met again in Philadelphia and decided that as war had been commenced by the mother country the most active measures should be taken for defense. George Washington, of Virginia, was made commander-in-chief, and several Major and Adjutant Generals appointed.
In the meantime the forces that held Gage shut up in Boston rapidly increased in numbers. Stark, Putnam, Green and Arnold, with their militia, hastened to the scene of action, eager to avenge the wrongs of their fellow citizens.
In another quarter the eccentric Ethan Allen, with a company of Vermont mountaineers, made a dash as daring and successful as any during the war. The attention of the patriotic leaders was turned to the fortress at Ticonderoga, where immense stores were collected for the use of the British army. Allen resolved to surprise the garrison and capture the place. They reached the shore of the lake opposite Ticonderoga without being discovered, but found the means of transportation so limited that only eighty men succeeded in crossing. To delay was to fail, and the attack must be made at once. Allen and Arnold, who had joined the expedition as a private, rushed into the gateway of the fort, driving, and entering with the sentinel, closely followed by their men. The shouts of the audacious assailants, already within the fort, were such as few garrisons had heard. Not a gun had been discharged, but Allen’s men faced the barracks, while he rushed to the quarters of the commandant, and shouted, “Surrender this fort immediately.” “By what authority?” inquired the astounded officer, suddenly roused from his slumbers. “In the name of the Great Jehovah and of the Continental Congress,” said Allen. And there seemed to be no alternative. A fortress that cost England millions of dollars was captured in ten minutes by that little band of patriots. Twenty cannon and a vast quantity of all kinds of military stores fell into the hands of the Americans.
In May of this year Generals Howe, Clinton, and Burgoyne arrived at Boston with reënforcements that increased the army holding the place to more than ten thousand men. General Gage, thus strengthened, became arrogant, issued his proclamation, denouncing those in arms as rebels, but offering pardon to any who would submit, excepting Adams and Hancock. These two, when delivered up or taken, were to suffer the penalty for treason.
There were evident preparations for some movement from Boston—rumor said to burn the neighboring towns, and lay waste the country. To prevent this the Americans determined to seize and fortify Bunker Hill, which commanded the peninsula over which their enemies would seek to pass. On the night of the 16th of June, Colonel Prescott was sent with a thousand men to occupy the hill. The movement was skilfully carried out, and a position a little farther down the peninsula than that contemplated, and within easy cannon range of the city was fortified, the men working diligently till morning in digging trenches and constructing their fort. When the astonished general discovered what was done, he said: “We must take those works immediately.” After a fierce cannonade, that did little harm, the attack was made by General Howe, with three thousand regulars, determined to carry the works on the hill by assault. As the column moved forward in fine order, all the batteries within range opened fire on the intrenchments of the Americans, who were only about fifteen hundred in number, and having wrought all night, and till three p. m., were suffering from hunger and fatigue. Happily the gunners did not get the range, or much disturb those in the trenches, who reserved their fire till the head of the column was within one hundred and fifty feet, when, at the command of Prescott, every gun was discharged with deliberate aim. The shock wasterrible. Hundreds fell, and there was a precipitate retreat. At the foot of the hill they were re-formed, and made a second fierce assault, with a like result, the men in the trenches reserving their fire till the enemy were close at hand. The destruction was so terrible that nearly all the officers fell, and the shattered column returned in disorder. General Clinton, who had witnessed the unexpected repulse, hastened to the field with reinforcements, and the third attempt was more successful. The provincials had but little ammunition left, and were unable to repel the fresh assailants. Some had already leaped over the breastworks, and the brave defenders of the fort withdrew. In the retreat the lamented Warren fell. Though defeated it was a glorious day for the patriots. Generals Howe and Clinton had gained a victory, but at fearful cost. Two more such would have nearly blotted out that splendid army.
They dared not venture into the country, but returned to Boston and were still closely besieged by Washington and his army. The siege was so pressed that it was difficult to subsist the army there, and to save the city from destruction they were allowed to embark the whole army on transports, taking with them many Tories who had been too open in their friendship for the Royalists to be safe if left behind. Of that class there were some in almost all communities, and during the bloody years that followed they both suffered much and caused much suffering. In some sections where they were numerous the citizen conflicts between Whigs and Tories, or Patriots and Loyalists were characterized by great bitterness and unmitigated cruelty on both sides. Hundreds were slain not in battle, but by the hands of assassins who were neighbors, and had been friends.
For nearly a year no decisive battles were fought, though there was much skirmishing and much suffering, destruction of property and loss of life. The colonists were in an anomalous condition, still confessing themselves British subjects, and in the Episcopal churches repeating prayers for the king, while doing all in their power to resist his authority and destroy his armies.
In June, 1776, a resolution similar to that passed by the Virginia Assembly, was discussed in Congress with much ability, and on the 4th of July the memorable Declaration of Independence, drawn up by Jefferson, with the assistance of Franklin and others, was adopted. The preamble, as remarkable for its finish as for clearness and strength, commences: “When in the course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bonds which have connected them with another, and to assume among the nations of the earth the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect for the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.” After such a beginning there follows a clear, succinct, forcible statement of the wrongs endured, and the contemptuous rejection of all petitions for redress. The conclusion reached is in the following words: “These united colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent States, that they are absolved from all allegiance to the British crown, and that all political connection between them and Great Britain is and ought to be totally dissolved.”
For the maintenance of this declaration the signers pledged their property, lives and sacred honor.
Hostilities were continued with, if possible, more determined energy on both sides. With some partial successes there followed a long series of disasters to the patriot cause, that at times seemed almost hopeless.
In August Washington, anticipating an attack on New York, sent Putnam with nine hundred men to defend the place. They were defeated with heavy loss on Long Island. The enemy, however, did not gain much from the victory, as the patriots quietly crossed the river to New York in the night, and the victors had but possession of the island, and nothing more. In the city Washington himself took command, and had a large part of his available forces there. When the British fleet, that was expected, entered the harbor, any attempt further to defend the place would have been useless, and the patriot forces were withdrawn. Fort Washington, a place of great natural and artificial strength, on Manhattan Island, five miles from the city, was for some reason not evacuated when the army left, and was some time after attacked and forced to surrender. The assailants suffered great loss, but took the fort, and the garrison of two thousand men were crowded into the filthy New York military prisons. Washington retreated through New Jersey, closely pursued, but by great vigilance and skill avoided a conflict for which he was not prepared. It often requires more real generalship to conduct a retreat safely, than to make a successful assault, and the great American general, with an army so inferior in numbers and equipments, had much to do in that line during the struggle for independence.
On the 8th of December he crossed the Delaware, taking with him or destroying all the boats within reach, and thus baffled his pursuer. Cornwallis found it necessary to wait for the freezing of the river, and reluctantly put his army into winter quarters in the nearest towns and villages. Two thousand Hessians, commanded by Colonel Rahl, occupied Trenton, and the other detachments were arranged so that all might proceed against Philadelphia soon as the river was bridged with ice. During the month Washington saw and seized the opportunity to strike a blow for his disheartened country. He planned to cross the river Christmas night, in three divisions, and attack the portion of the army at Trenton before daylight. The division led by the General himself and Sullivan succeeded, not without great difficulty because of the floating ice, in crossing some miles above the town. The others failed. Though delayed beyond the time intended, and without the support expected, the attempt must be made. So dividing those that were over into two bands, that the assault might be made on both sides at once, they approached rapidly. The Hessians were completely surprised, their Colonel killed at the first volley, and the whole regiment, thinking themselves surrounded, threw down their arms and begged for quarter. They were made prisoners of war, and before night their captors had them safe beyond the river. This at the time, and under all the circumstances, was an event of great importance, as it encouraged the soldiers and gave new hope to the country.
Three days after, Washington with all his available force returned to Trenton, and on the day following, Cornwallis approached from Princeton with the main body of his army, determined to crush the resolute Americans. After much skirmishing Cornwallis attempted to force his way into the town, but was repulsed, and, as it was now evening, thought it prudent to wait for the morning. The position of the Americans, confronted with such superior numbers, was critical. To attempt to recross the Delaware was too hazardous, so it was promptly decided to withdraw quietly in the night, and by a circuitous route to strike the enemy at Princeton before his expectant antagonist could discover the movement. The baggage was safely removed, the campfires were lighted, and a guard left to keep them burning. The sentries walked their beats too, unconcernedly, till the morning light showed a deserted camp, and about the same time the roar of American cannon thirteen miles away told Cornwallis how he had been outgeneraled. A sharp battle was fought at Princeton, and Washington was again victorious, but the legions of the British army were within hearing. When they arrived the active enemy that had so annoyed and harmed them had departed, going northward. Again sadly disappointed, Cornwallis must needs hasten to New Brunswick, to protect the stores.
It is impossible here even to mention the important events that followed. For weary months and years the terribly destructive war continued. Many campaigns were planned and conducted with great energy. Battles were fought in whichthe carnage was fearful. Ships were burned or sunk—strongholds were taken by siege or assault, and the garrisons defending them cut to pieces, or, as in some instances, cruelly massacred after they were surrendered. Towns and hamlets were burned, and large sections of country laid waste. For a time the greatest destruction was in the East and North, but when the work of death fairly commenced in the South blood flowed not less freely. In 1779 the principal theater of the war was in Georgia and the Carolinas, and the heaviest engagements were adverse to the Americans. Savannah and Charleston were captured and the whole states overrun by detachments of British soldiers who at first met with but little opposition. Very soon, however, the patriots, though unable by reason of their losses to take the field in force, renewed the contest under Sumter, Marrion, Pickens, and other daring leaders who continually harassed not only the British, but also the Tories, of whom there were great numbers in that region.
In the North General Burgoyne, after two battles with General Gates, in both of which the Americans had the advantage, surrendered his whole army of seven thousand regulars, beside Indians and Canadians. This achievement, vastly important to the country, as it had influence in securing the powerful aid of France, gave Gates a standing higher than he deserved or could maintain. On account of his victory at Saratoga he was sent to recover South Carolina; but in his first encounter with Cornwallis at Camden, he was routed, with the loss of one thousand men, and with the remnant of his army fled to North Carolina.
After obtaining aid from France, though some serious disasters were suffered, and the faint-hearted were at times discouraged, the cause of the country gained strength till final success was assured.
In 1781, at Cowpens, S. C., on January 17th, General Morgan won a brilliant victory over the British under Tarleton; and the bloody battle at Eutaw Springs nearly terminated the war in South Carolina. In Virginia, Cornwallis, who was now opposed by La Fayette, Wayne and Steuben, had fortified himself at Yorktown, where he had a large army. Meanwhile, the American army of the North, under Washington, and the French army under Count de Rochambeau formed a junction on the Hudson which seemed to threaten an attack on Clinton in New York, and effectually prevented him from sending aid to the army shut up at Yorktown. By a sudden diversion, and before the movement was discovered, the allied armies, 12,000 strong, were far on their way toward Yorktown, and arrived without hindrance, on the 28th of September. The siege was but short. On the 19th of October Cornwallis surrendered, with his whole army of 7,000 men. This victory substantially terminated the conflict, and secured American independence. Thus ended the war which, in the language of Pitt, “Was conceived in injustice, nurtured in folly, and whose footsteps were marked with slaughter and devastation. The nation was drained of its best blood and its vital resources, for which nothing was received in return but a series of inefficient victories and disgraceful defeats; victories obtained over men fighting in the holy cause of liberty—defeats which filled the land with mourning for the loss of dear and valuable relations, slain in a detested and impious quarrel.”
During the seven years of blood Great Britain sent to the war she was waging to subdue her colonists 134,000 soldiers and seamen. The forces of the United States and their allies consisted of 230,000 regular soldiers, and some 56,000 militia. Those who perished in battle or otherwise, by reason of the war, reached some hundreds of thousands; other hundreds of thousands were made widows or orphans, while the cost in actual expenditures and property destroyed must be told by hundreds of millions. And yet, for America, the sacrifice was not too great. The heritage of freedom left us is more than worth it all.
[End of Required Reading for 1883-4.]