Читать книгу: «The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 10, No. 58, August, 1862», страница 6
Among the disagreeable people who make a profession of religion, probably many are purely hypocrites. But we willingly believe that there are people, in whom Christianity appears in a wretchedly stunted and distorted form, who yet are right at the root. It does not follow that a man is a Christian, because he turns up his eyes and drawls out his words, and, when asked to say grace, offers a prayer of twenty minutes' duration. But, again, it does not follow that he is not a Christian, though he may do all these things. The bitter sectary, who distinctly says that a humble, pious man, just dead, has "gone to hell," because he died in the bosom of the National Church, however abhorrent that sectary may be in some respects, may be, in the main, within the Good Shepherd's fold, wherein he fancies there are very few but himself. The dissenting teacher, who declared from his pulpit that the parish clergyman (newly come, and an entire stranger to him) was "a servant of Satan," may possibly have been a good man, after all. Grievous defects and errors may exist in a Christian character, which is a Christian character still. And the Christian, horribly disagreeable and repulsive now, will some day, we trust, have all that purged away. But I do not hesitate to say, that any Christian, by so far as he is disagreeable and repulsive, deviates from the right thing. Oh, my reader, when my heart is sometimes sore through what I see of disagreeable traits in Christian character, what a blessed relief there is in turning to the simple pages, and seeing for the thousandth time The True Christian Character,–so different! Yes, thank God, we know where to look, to find what every pious man should be humbly aiming to be: and when we see That Face, and hear That Voice, there is something that soothes and cheers among the wretched imperfections (in one's self as in others) of the present,–something that warms the heart, and that brings a man to his knees!
The present writer has a relative who is Professor of Theology in a certain famous University. With that theologian I recently had a conversation on the matter of which we have just been thinking. The Professor lamented bitterly the unchristian features of character which may be found in many people making a great parade of their Christianity. He mentioned various facts, which had recently come to his own knowledge, which would sustain stronger expressions of opinion than any which I have given. But he went on to say, that it would be a sad thing, if no fools could get to heaven,–nor any unamiable, narrow-minded, sour, and stupid people. Now, said he, with great force of reason, religion does not alter idiosyncrasy. When a fool becomes a Christian, he will be a foolish Christian; a narrow-minded man will be a narrow-minded Christian; a stupid man, a stupid Christian. And though a malignant man will have his malignity much diminished, it by no means follows that it will be completely rooted out. "When I would do good, evil is present with me." "I find a law in my members, warring against the law of my mind, and enslaving me to the law of sin." But you are not to blame Christianity for the stupidity and unamiability of Christians. If they be disagreeable, it is not the measure of true religion they have got that makes them so. In so far as they are disagreeable, they depart from the standard. You know, you may make water sweet or sour,–you may make it red, blue, black; and it will be water still, though its purity and pleasantness are much interfered with. In like manner, Christianity may coexist with a good deal of acid,–with a great many features of character very inconsistent with itself. The cup of fair water may have a bottle of ink emptied into it, or a little verjuice, or even a little strychnine. And yet, though sadly deteriorated, though hopelessly disguised, the fair water is there, and not entirely neutralized.
And it is worth remarking, that you will find many persons who are very charitable to blackguards, but who have no charity for the weaknesses of really good people. They will hunt out the act of thoughtless liberality done by the scapegrace who broke his mother's heart and squandered his poor sisters' little portions; they will make much of that liberal act,–such an act as tossing to some poor Magdalen a purse filled with money which was probably not his own; and they will insist that there is hope for the blackguard yet. But these persons will tightly shut their eyes against a great many substantially good deeds done by a man who thinks Prelacy the abomination of desolation, or who thinks that stained glass and an organ are sinful. I grant you that there is a certain fairness in trying the blackguard and the religionist by different standards. Where the pretension is higher, the test may justly be more severe. But I say it is unfair to puzzle out with diligence the one or two good things in the character of a reckless scamp, and to refuse moderate attention to the many good points about a weak, narrow-minded, and uncharitable good person. I ask for charity in the estimating of all human characters,–even in estimating the character of the man who would show no charity to another. I confess freely that in the last-named case the exercise of charity is extremely difficult.
THE SAM ADAMS REGIMENTS IN THE TOWN OF BOSTON
THE QUESTION OF REMOVAL
"God be praised! the troops are landed, and critically too," Commodore Hood said, after he had received from Lieutenant-Colonel Dalrymple an account of his entrance into Boston. The Commodore reflected, with infinite satisfaction, he wrote, that, in anticipation of a great emergency, he collected the squadron; that he was enabled to act the moment he received the first application for aid; and that he was prepared to throw forward additional force until informed that no more was wanted: and now, with an officer's pride, he advised George Grenville, that on the twenty-seventh day from the date at New York of the order of General Gage for troops, the detachment was landed at Boston. The two commanders were well satisfied with each other. Hood characterized Dalrymple as a very excellent officer, quite the gentleman, knowing the world, having a good address, and with all the fire, judgment, coolness, integrity, and firmness that a man could possess. Dalrymple wrote to Hood,–"My good Sir, you may rest satisfied that the arrival of the squadron was the most seasonable thing ever known, and that I am in possession of the town; and therefore nothing can be apprehended. Had we not arrived so critically, the worst that could be apprehended must have happened." Both were good officers and honorable men, who believed and acted on the fabulous relations of the Boston crown officials.
"Our town is now a perfect garrison," the Patriots said, after the troops were posted, and the rough experiment on their well-ordered municipal life had fairly begun. It galled them to see a powerful fleet and a standing army watching all the inlets to the town,–to see a guard at the only land-avenue leading into the country, companies patrolling at the ferry-ways, the Common alive with troops and dotted with tents, marchings and countermarchings through the streets to relieve the guards, and armed men occupying the halls of justice and freedom, with sentinels at their doors. Quiet observers of this strange spectacle, like Andrew Eliot, wondered at the infatuation of the Ministry, and what the troops were sent to do; while the popular leaders and the body of the Patriots regarded their presence as insulting. The crown officials and Loyalist leaders, however, exulted in this show of force, and ascribed to it a conservative influence and a benumbing effect. "Our harbor is full of ships, and our town full of troops," Hutchinson said. "The red-coats make a formidable appearance, and there is a profound silence among the Sons of Liberty." The Sons chose to labor and to wait; and the troops could not attack the liberty of silence.
The House of Representatives, on reviewing the period of the stay of the troops in Boston, declared that there resulted from their introduction "a scene of confusion and distress, for the space of seventeen months, which ended in the blood and slaughter of His Majesty's good subjects." The popular leaders, who repelled, as calumny, the Loyalist charge that they were engaged in a scheme of rebellion, said that to quarter among them in time of peace a standing army, without the consent of the General Court, was as harrowing to the feelings of the people, and as contrary to the constitution of Massachusetts, as it would be harrowing to the people of England, and contrary to the Bill of Eights and of every principle of civil government, if soldiers were posted in London without the consent of Parliament; in a word, that it was as violative of their local self-government as the Stamp Act or the Revenue Act, and was also an impeachment of their loyalty. They, therefore, as a matter of right, were opposed to a continuance of the troops in the town.
The question of removal now became an issue of the gravest political character, and of the deepest personal interest; and a steady pursuit of this object, from October, 1768, to March, 1770, gave unity, directness, and an ever-painful foreboding to the local politics, until the flow of blood created a delicate and dangerous crisis.
The crown officials and over-zealous Loyalists, during this period, resisted this demand for a removal of the troops. The officers urged that a military force was needed to support the King's authority; the Loyalists said that it was necessary to protect their lives and property; and the Ministry viewed it as vital to the success of their measures. Lord Hillsborough,–who was an exponent of the school that placed little account on public opinion as the basis of law, but relied on physical force,–in an elaborate confidential letter addressed to Governor Bernard, urged as a justification of this policy, that the authority of the civil power was too weak to enforce obedience to the laws, and preserve that peace and good order which are essential to the happiness of every State; and he directed the Governor punctually to observe former instructions, especially those of the preceding July, and gave now the additional instruction, to institute inquiries into such unconstitutional acts as had been committed since, in order that the perpetrators of them might, if possible, be brought to justice. It is worthy of remark, that there is nothing more definite in this letter as to what the Ministry considered to be unconstitutional acts.
As American affairs were pondered, at this period, (October, 1768,) by Under-Secretary Pownall, a brother of Ex-Governor Pownall, Lord Barrington, and Lord Hillsborough, in the deep shading of the misrepresentations of the local officials of Boston, they appeared to be in a very critical condition. These officials had, however, the utmost confidence in the exhibition of British power, and in the wisdom of Francis Bernard. The letters which the Governor now received, both private and official, from these friends, were, as to his personal affairs, of the most gratifying character; and their congratulations on the landing of the troops were as though a crisis had been fortunately passed. Lord Hillsborough congratulated him, officially, "on the happy and quiet landing of the troops, and the unusual approbation which his steady and able conduct had obtained." Lord Barrington, in a private letter, said,–"There is only one comfortable circumstance, which is, that the troops are quietly lodged in Boston. This will for a time preserve the public peace, and secure the persons of the few who are well affected to the mother-country." Both these leading politicians–there were none at this time more powerful in England–expressed similar sentiments in Parliament from the Ministerial benches: Lord Hillsborough sounding fully the praise of the Governor, and Lord Barrington, in an imperial strain, terming the Americans "worse than traitors against the Crown, traitors against the legislature of Great Britain," and saying that "the use of troops was to bring rioters to justice."
The sentiment expressed as to the future was equally gratifying to the Governor. Lord Hillsborough, (November 15, 1768,) in an official letter, said,–"It will, I apprehend, be a great support and consolation for you to know that the King places much confidence in your prudence and caution on the one hand, and entertains no diffidence in your spirit and resolution on the other, and that His Majesty will not suffer these sentiments to receive any alterations from private misrepresentations, if any should come"; and in a private letter, by the same mail, the Secretary said,–"If I am listened to, the measure you think the most necessary will be adopted." It is not easy to see how a Government could express greater confidence in an agent than the Secretary expressed in Francis Bernard; and the talk in Ministerial circles now was, as it was confidentially reported to the Governor, that, as he had nothing to arrange with the faction, and nothing to fear from the people, he could fully restore the King's authority.
The tone of the Governor's letters and the object of his official action, by a thorough repudiation of the democratic principle, and a jealous regard for British dominion, were well calculated to inspire this confidence; for they came up to the ideal, not merely of the leaders of the Tory party, or of the Whig party, but of the England of that day. There was then great confusion in the British factions. Ex-Governor Pownall, after comparing this confusion to Des Cartes's chaos of vortices, remarked, (1768,) in a letter addressed to Dr. Cooper,–"We have but one word,–I will not call it an idea,–that is, our sovereignty; and it is like some word to a madman, which, whenever mentioned, throws him into his ravings, and brings on a paroxysm." The Massachusetts crown officials were continually pronouncing this word to the Ministry. They constantly set forth the principle of local self-government, which was tenaciously and religiously clung to by the Patriots as being the foundation of all true liberty, as a principle of independence; and they represented the jealous adherence to the local usages and laws, which faithfully embodied the popular instincts and doctrine, to be proofs of a decay of the national authority, and the cloak of long-cherished schemes of rebellion. And this view was accepted by the leading political men of England. They held, all of them but a little band of republican-grounded sympathizers with the Patriots, that the principles announced by the Patriots went too far, and that, in clinging to them the Americans were endangering the British empire; and the only question among the public men of England was, whether the Crown or the Parliament was the proper instrumentality, as the phrase was, for reducing the Colonies to obedience. Lord Barrington, in his speech above cited, laid most stress on the denial of the authority of Parliament: all who questioned any part of this authority were regarded as disloyal; and hence Lord Hillsborough's instructions to Governor Bernard ran,–"If any man or set of men have been daring enough to declare openly that they will not submit to the authority of Parliament, it is of great consequence that His Majesty's servants should know who and what they are."
Another class of British observers, already referred to, of the school of Sidney and Milton, lovers of civil and religious liberty, saw in Boston and Massachusetts a state of things far removed from rebellion and anarchy. They looked upon the spectacle of a people in general raised by mental and moral culture into fitness for self-government and an appreciation of the higher aims of life, as a result at which good men the world over ought to rejoice, a result honorable to the common humanity. They pronounced the late Parliamentary acts affecting such a people to be grievances, the course of the Ministry towards them to be oppressive, and the claims set forth in their proceedings to be reasonable; they even went so far as to say that the equity was wholly on the side of the North-Americans. Thus this class, as they rose above a selfish jealousy of political power, fairly anticipated the verdict of posterity. Thomas Hollis, the worthy benefactor of Harvard College, was a type of this republican school. "The people of Boston and of Massachusetts Bay," he wrote in 1768, "are, I suppose, take them as a body, the soberest, most knowing, virtuous people, at this time, upon earth. All of them hold Revolution principles, and were to a man, till disgusted by the Stamp Act, the stanchest friends to the House of Hanover and subjects of King George III."
The representations made to the Ministry, at this time, (October, 1768,) by Bernard, Hutchinson, and Gage, were similar in tone. There was very little government in Boston, according to Gage; there was nothing able to resist a mob, according to Hutchinson; so much wickedness and folly were never before combined as in the men who lately ruled here, according to Bernard. The Commander-in-Chief and the Governor sent despatches to Lord Hillsborough on the same day (October 31, 1768). Gage informed the Secretary that the constitution of the Province leaned so much to the side of democracy that the Governor had not the power to remedy the disorders that happened in it; Bernard informed him that indulgence towards the Province, whence all the mischief had arisen, would ever have the same effect that it had had hitherto, led on from claim to claim till the King had left only the name of the government and the Parliament but the shadow of authority. There was nothing whatever to justify this strain of remark, but the idea which the people had grasped, that they had a right to an equal measure of freedom with Englishmen; but such a claim was counted rebellious. "I told Cushing, the Speaker, some months ago," the Governor says in this letter, "that they were got to the edge of rebellion, and advised them not to step over the line." The reply of the Speaker is not given, but he was constantly disclaiming, in his letters, any purpose of rebellion. Now that Bernard saw, what he had desired to see for years, troops in Boston, he was as ill at ease as before; and at the close of the letter just cited he says,–"I am now at sea again in the old weather-beaten boat, with the wind blowing as hard as ever."
The political winds, however, do not seem to have been damaging any body or thing but the Governor and his cause. During the month of October the crown officials urged the local authorities to billet the troops in the town; but this demand was quietly and admirably met by setting against it the law of the land as interpreted by just men. The press was now of signal service; and all through this period of seventeen months, though it severely arraigned the advocates of arbitrary power, yet it ever urged submission to the law. "It is always safe to adhere to the law," are the grand words of the "Boston Gazette," October 17, 1768, "and to keep every man of every denomination and character within its bounds. Not to do this would be in the highest degree imprudent. What will it be but to depart from the straight line, to give up the law and the Constitution, which is fixed and stable, and is the collected and long-digested sentiment of the whole, and to substitute in its place the opinion of individuals, than which nothing can be more uncertain?" These words were penned by Samuel Adams, and freedom never had a more unselfish advocate; they fell upon a community that was discussing in every home the gravest of political questions; and they were responded to with a prudence and order that were warmly eulogized both in America and England. This respect for Law, when Liberty was as a live coal from a divine altar, adhered to so faithfully for years, in spite, too, of goadings by those who wielded British power, but forgot American right, must be regarded as remarkable. Until the close of Bernard's administration, the town, to use contemporary words, was surprisingly quiet; but during the remainder of the period of the seventeen months, when selfish importers broke their agreement and set themselves against what was considered to be the public safety, they provoked disturbances and even mobs. Still, in an age when, to use Hutchinson's words, "mobs of a certain sort were constitutional," the wonder is, not that there were any, but that there were not more of them in Boston. Besides, the concern of the popular leaders to preserve order was so deep and their action so prompt, that disturbances were checked and suppressed without the use of the military on a single occasion; and hence the injury done both to persons and property was so small, when compared with the bloodshed and destruction by contemporary British mobs, that what Colonel Barré said of the June riots in Boston was true of the outbreaks at the close of this period, namely, that they but mimicked the mobs of the mother-country.
The patience of the people was severely tried on the evening of the landing of the troops, as they filed into Faneuil Hall; and it was still more severely tried, as, on the next day, Sunday, they filed into the Town-House. The latter building was thus occupied under an order from Governor Bernard, who, it was said in the journals, had no authority to give such an order. The legislature and the courts of law held their sessions here, and, what was not known then elsewhere in the world, the General Court was public,–that is, the people were admitted to hear the debates, while in England the public was excluded; it was an offence to report the debates in Parliament, and a breach of privilege for a member to print even his own speech. In consequence of the political advance that had been made here, the galleries of the Hall of the House of Representatives, in December, 1767, for eighteen days in succession, were thronged with people, who listened to the discussion when the most remarkable state-paper of the time was under consideration, namely, the letter which the House addressed to their agent, Mr. De Berdt. It now provoked the people to see these halls, all except the chamber in which the Council held its sessions, occupied by armed men, and the field-pieces of the train placed in the street, pointing towards the building. The lower floor was used as an Exchange by the merchants, who were annoyed by being obliged daily to brush by the red-coats. All this was excessively irritating, and needed no exaggeration from abroad. Still it is but just to the men of that day to present all the circumstances under which they maintained their dignity. "Asiatic despotism," so says a contemporary London eulogy on their conduct, which was printed in the Boston journals, "does not present a picture more odious to the eye of humanity than the sanctuary of justice and law turned into a main guard." And on comparing the moderation in this town under such an infliction with a late effusion of blood in St. George's Fields, the writer says,–"By this wise and excellent conduct you have disappointed your enemies, and convinced your friends that an entire reliance is to be placed on the supporters of freedom at Boston, in every occurrence, however delicate or dangerous."
While the indignation of the Sons of Liberty, under such provocations, was as deep as Hutchinson says their silence was profound, there was, in the local press, the severest denunciation of this use of their forum. The building is called in print this year, (1768,) the Town-House, the State-House, the Court-House, and the Parliament-House. It may be properly termed the political focus of the Province, and it then bore to Massachusetts a similar relation to that which Faneuil Hall now bears to Boston. The goodly and venerable structure that still looks down on State Street and the Merchants' Exchange has little in it to attract the common eye, much less a classic taste; but there is not on the face of the earth, it has been said, a temple, however magnificent, about which circles a more glorious halo. There is much to relieve the remark of Mayor Otis from exaggeration. Its humble halls, for over a generation, had echoed to the appeals for the Good Old Cause made by men of whom it was said Milton was their great forerunner. Here popular leaders with such root in them had struggled long and well against the encroachments of Prerogative. Here the state-papers were matured that first intelligently reconciled the claims of local self-government with what is due to a protective nationality. Here intrepid representatives of the people, on the gravest occasion that had arisen in an American assembly, justly refused to comply with an arbitrary royal command. Here first in modern times was recognized the vital principle of publicity in legislation. Here James Otis, as a pioneer patriot, poured forth his soul when his tongue was as a flame of fire,–John Adams, on the side of freedom, first showed himself to be a Colossus in debate,–Joseph Hawley first publicly denied that Parliament had the right to rule in all cases whatsoever,–and the unequalled leadership of Samuel Adams culminated, when he felt obliged to strive for the independence of his country; and, in the fulness of time, the imperishable scroll of the Declaration, from this balcony, and in a scene of unsurpassed moral sublimity, was first officially unrolled before the people of the State of Massachusetts. Thus this relic of a hero age is fragrant with the renown of
"The men that glorious law who taught,
Unshrinking liberty of thought,
And roused the nations with the truth sublime."
On the 15th of October, General Gage, with a distinguished staff, came to Boston to provide quarters for the troops, and was received at a review on the Common with a salute of seventeen guns by the train of artillery, when, preceded by a brilliant corps of officers, he passed in a chariot before the column. The same journals (October 20) which contained a notice of this review had extracts from London papers, by a fresh arrival, in which it was said,–"The town of Boston meant to render themselves as independent of the English nation as the crown of England is of that of Spain"; and that "the nation was treated by them in terms of stronger menace and insult than sovereign princes ever use to each other."
The journals now announced that two regiments, augmented to seven hundred and fifty men each, were to embark at Cork for Boston; and General Gage informed the local authorities that he expected their arrival, and asked quarters for them, when the subject was considered in the Council. This body now complied so far as, in the words printed at the time, to "advise the Governor to give immediate orders to have the Manufactory House in Boston, which is the property of the Province, cleared of those persons who are in the present possession of it, so that it might be ready to receive those of said regiments who could not be conveniently accommodated at Castle William." This building, as already remarked, stood in what is now Hamilton Place, near the Common, and for twelve years had been hired by Mr. John Brown, a weaver, who not only carried on his business here, but lived here with his family; and hence it was his legal habitation, his castle, "which the wind and the rain might enter, but which the King could not enter."
Mr. Brown, having before declined to let the troops already in town occupy the building, now, acting under legal advice, declined to comply with the present request to leave it; whereupon it was determined to take forcible possession. Accordingly, on the 17th of October, at two o'clock in the afternoon, Sheriff Greenleaf, accompanied by Chief-Justice Hutchinson, went to the Manufactory House for this purpose, but was denied entrance by Mr. Brown, who had fastened all the doors. He appeared, however, at a window, when the Sheriff presented the Governor's order; but Mr. Brown replied, that he never had had any lawful warning to leave the house, and did not look upon the power of the Governor and Council as sufficient to dispossess him; and finally told the Sheriff that he would not surrender his possession to any till required by the General Court, under whom he held, or till he was obliged to do it by the law of the Province, or compelled by force: whereupon the Sheriff and the Chief-Justice retired.
On the nest morning, at ten o'clock, Sheriff Greenleaf, attended by his deputies, again appeared before the house, and again found the doors shut. They, however, entered the cellar by a window, that was partly opened, it is said to let out an inmate,–when, after a scuffle, Mr. Brown declared that the Sheriff was his prisoner; upon which the Sheriff informed the commanding officer of the regiment on the Common of his situation, who sent a guard for his protection. Sentinels were now placed at the doors, two at the gate of the yard, and a guard of ten in the cellar; and as the people gathered fast about the gate, an additional company was ordered from the Common. Any one was allowed to come out of the house, but no one was allowed to go in. The press now harped upon the cries of Mr. Brown's children for bread.
This strange proceeding caused great excitement, and at this stage there was (October 22) a meeting of the Council to consider the subject, when seven of the members waited on the Governor to assure him that nothing could be farther from their intention, when they gave their advice, than to sanction this use of force; and about seven o'clock that evening most of the troops were taken away, leaving only one or two soldiers at a window and a small guard in the cellar. In a few days afterwards all the guards were removed, and finally Mr. Brown was left in quiet possession. The whole affair lasted seventeen days. Shortly after, Mr. Brown prosecuted the Sheriff for trespass, when the Council declined to be accountable for these official doings. He soon announced to the public in a card a resumption of his business. His tombstone bears a eulogy on the bravery which thus long and successfully resisted an attempt to force a citizen from his legal habitation. "Happy citizen," the stone reads, "when called singly to be a barrier to the liberties of a continent!"
