The Crisis XII
Thomas Paine
[An open letter to the Earl of Shelburne; 29
October, 1782; from Philadelphia]
MY LORD, A speech, which has been printed in several of the British
and New York newspapers, as coming from your lordship, in answer to
one from the Duke of Richmond, of the 10th of July last, contains
expressions and opinions so new and singular, and so enveloped in
mysterious reasoning, that I address this publication to you, for
the purpose of giving them a free and candid examination. The speech
I allude to is in these words:
"His lordship said, it had been mentioned in
another place, that he had been guilty of inconsistency. To clear
himself of this, he asserted that he still held the same
principles in respect to American independence which he at first
imbibed. He had been, and yet was of opinion, whenever the
Parliament of Great Britain acknowledges that point, the sun of
England's glory is set forever. Such were the sentiments he
possessed on a former day, and such the sentiments he continued to
hold at this hour. It was the opinion of Lord Chatham, as well as
many other able statesmen. Other noble lords, however, think
differently, and as the majority of the cabinet support them, he
acquiesced in the measure, dissenting from the idea; and the point
is settled for bringing the matter into the full discussion of
Parliament, where it will be candidly, fairly, and impartially
debated. The independence of America would end in the ruin of
England; and that a peace patched up with France, would give that
proud enemy the means of yet trampling on this country. The sun of
England's glory he wished not to see set forever; he looked for a
spark at least to be left, which might in time light us up to a
new day. But if independence was to be granted, if Parliament
deemed that measure prudent, he foresaw, in his own mind, that
England was undone. He wished to God that he had been deputed to
Congress, that be might plead the cause of that country as well as
of this, and that he might exercise whatever powers he possessed
as an orator, to save both from ruin, in a conviction to Congress,
that, if their independence was signed, their liberties were gone
forever.
"Peace, his lordship added, was a desirable object, but it
must be an honorable peace, and not an humiliating one, dictated
by France, or insisted on by America. It was very true, that this
kingdom was not in a flourishing state, it was impoverished by
war. But if we were not rich, it was evident that France was poor.
If we were straitened in our finances, the enemy were exhausted in
their resources. This was a great empire; it abounded with brave
men, who were able and willing to fight in a common cause; the
language of humiliation should not, therefore, be the language of
Great Britain. His lordship said, that he was not afraid nor
ashamed of those expressions going to America. There were numbers,
great numbers there, who were of the same way of thinking, in
respect to that country being dependent on this, and who, with his
lordship, perceived ruin and independence linked together."
Thus far the speech; on which I remark - That his lordship is a
total stranger to the mind and sentiments of America; that he has
wrapped himself up in fond delusion, that something less than
independence, may, under his administration, be accepted; and he
wishes himself sent to Congress, to prove the most extraordinary of
all doctrines, which is, that independence, the sublimest of all
human conditions, is loss of liberty.
In answer to which we may say, that in order to know what the
contrary word dependence means, we have only to look back to those
years of severe humiliation, when the mildest of all petitions could
obtain no other notice than the haughtiest of all insults; and when
the base terms of unconditional submission were demanded, or
undistinguishable destruction threatened. It is nothing to us that
the ministry have been changed, for they may be changed again. The
guilt of a government is the crime of a whole country; and the
nation that can, though but for a moment, think and act as England
has done, can never afterwards be believed or trusted. There are
cases in which it is as impossible to restore character to life, as
it is to recover the dead. It is a phoenix that can expire but once,
and from whose ashes there is no resurrection. Some offences are of
such a slight composition, that they reach no further than the
temper, and are created or cured by a thought. But the sin of
England has struck the heart of America, and nature has not left in
our power to say we can forgive.
Your lordship wishes for an opportunity to plead before Congress
the cause of England and America, and to save, as you say, both from
ruin.
That the country, which, for more than seven years has sought our
destruction, should now cringe to solicit our protection, is adding
the wretchedness of disgrace to the misery of disappointment; and if
England has the least spark of supposed honor left, that spark must
be darkened by asking, and extinguished by receiving, the smallest
favor from America; for the criminal who owes his life to the grace
and mercy of the injured, is more executed by living, than he who
dies.
But a thousand pleadings, even from your lordship, can have no
effect. Honor, interest, and every sensation of the heart, would
plead against you. We are a people who think not as you think; and
what is equally true, you cannot feel as we feel. The situations of
the two countries are exceedingly different. Ours has been the seat
of war; yours has seen nothing of it. The most wanton destruction
has been committed in our sight; the most insolent barbarity has
been acted on our feelings. We can look round and see the remains of
burnt and destroyed houses, once the fair fruit of hard industry,
and now the striking monuments of British brutality. We walk over
the dead whom we loved, in every part of America, and remember by
whom they fell. There is scarcely a village but brings to life some
melancholy thought, and reminds us of what we have suffered, and of
those we have lost by the inhumanity of Britain. A thousand images
arise to us, which, from situation, you cannot see, and are
accompanied by as many ideas which you cannot know; and therefore
your supposed system of reasoning would apply to nothing, and all
your expectations die of themselves.
The question whether England shall accede to the independence of
America, and which your lordship says is to undergo a parliamentary
discussion, is so very simple, and composed of so few cases, that it
scarcely needs a debate.
It is the only way out of an expensive and ruinous war, which has
no object, and without which acknowledgment there can be no peace.
But your lordship says, the sun of Great Britain will set whenever
she acknowledges the independence of America.- Whereas the metaphor
would have been strictly just, to have left the sun wholly out of
the figure, and have ascribed her not acknowledging it to the
influence of the moon.
But the expression, if true, is the greatest confession of disgrace
that could be made, and furnishes America with the highest notions
of sovereign independent importance. Mr. Wedderburne, about the year
1776, made use of an idea of much the same kind,- Relinquish
America! says he - What is it but to desire a giant to shrink
spontaneously into a dwarf.
Alas! are those people who call themselves Englishmen, of so little
internal consequence, that when America is gone, or shuts her eyes
upon them, their sun is set, they can shine no more, but grope about
in obscurity, and contract into insignificant animals? Was America,
then, the giant of the empire, and England only her dwarf in
waiting! Is the case so strangely altered, that those who once
thought we could not live without them, are now brought to declare
that they cannot exist without us? Will they tell to the world, and
that from their first minister of state, that America is their all
in all; that it is by her importance only that they can live, and
breathe, and have a being? Will they, who long since threatened to
bring us to their feet, bow themselves to ours, and own that without
us they are not a nation? Are they become so unqualified to debate
on independence, that they have lost all idea of it themselves, and
are calling to the rocks and mountains of America to cover their
insignificance? Or, if America is lost, is it manly to sob over it
like a child for its rattle, and invite the laughter of the world by
declarations of disgrace? Surely, a more consistent line of conduct
would be to bear it without complaint; and to show that England,
without America, can preserve her independence, and a suitable rank
with other European powers. You were not contented while you had
her, and to weep for her now is childish.
But Lord Shelburne thinks something may yet be done. What that
something is, or how it is to be accomplished, is a matter in
obscurity. By arms there is no hope. The experience of nearly eight
years, with the expense of an hundred million pounds sterling, and
the loss of two armies, must positively decide that point. Besides,
the British have lost their interest in America with the
disaffected. Every part of it has been tried. There is no new scene
left for delusion: and the thousands who have been ruined by
adhering to them, and have now to quit the settlements which they
had acquired, and be conveyed like transports to cultivate the
deserts of Augustine and Nova Scotia, has put an end to all further
expectations of aid.
If you cast your eyes on the people of England, what have they to
console themselves with for the millions expended? Or, what
encouragement is there left to continue throwing good money after
bad? America can carry on the war for ten years longer, and all the
charges of government included, for less than you can defray the
charges of war and government for one year. And I, who know both
countries, know well, that the people of America can afford to pay
their share of the expense much better than the people of England
can. Besides, it is their own estates and property, their own
rights, liberties and government, that they are defending; and were
they not to do it, they would deserve to lose all, and none would
pity them. The fault would be their own, and their punishment just.
The British army in America care not how long the war lasts. They
enjoy an easy and indolent life. They fatten on the folly of one
country and the spoils of another; and, between their plunder and
their prey, may go home rich. But the case is very different with
the laboring farmer, the working tradesman, and the necessitous poor
in England, the sweat of whose brow goes day after day to feed, in
prodigality and sloth, the army that is robbing both them and us.
Removed from the eye of that country that supports them, and distant
from the government that employs them, they cut and carve for
themselves, and there is none to call them to account.
But England will be ruined, says Lord Shelburne, if America is
independent.
Then I say, is England already ruined, for America is already
independent: and if Lord Shelburne will not allow this, he
immediately denies the fact which he infers. Besides, to make
England the mere creature of America, is paying too great a
compliment to us, and too little to himself.
But the declaration is a rhapsody of inconsistency. For to say, as
Lord Shelburne has numberless times said, that the war against
America is ruinous, and yet to continue the prosecution of that
ruinous war for the purpose of avoiding ruin, is a language which
cannot be understood. Neither is it possible to see how the
independence of America is to accomplish the ruin of England after
the war is over, and yet not affect it before. America cannot be
more independent of her, nor a greater enemy to her, hereafter than
she now is; nor can England derive less advantages from her than at
present: why then is ruin to follow in the best state of the case,
and not in the worst? And if not in the worst, why is it to follow
at all?
That a nation is to be ruined by peace and commerce, and fourteen
or fifteen millions a-year less expenses than before, is a new
doctrine in politics. We have heard much clamor of national savings
and economy; but surely the true economy would be, to save the whole
charge of a silly, foolish, and headstrong war; because, compared
with this, all other retrenchments are baubles and trifles.
But is it possible that Lord Shelburne can be serious in supposing
that the least advantage can be obtained by arms, or that any
advantage can be equal to the expense or the danger of attempting
it? Will not the capture of one army after another satisfy him, must
all become prisoners? Must England ever be the sport of hope, and
the victim of delusion? Sometimes our currency was to fail; another
time our army was to disband; then whole provinces were to revolt.
Such a general said this and that; another wrote so and so; Lord
Chatham was of this opinion; and lord somebody else of another.
To-day 20,000 Russians and 20 Russian ships of the line were to
come; to-morrow the empress was abused without mercy or decency.
Then the Emperor of Germany was to be bribed with a million of
money, and the King of Prussia was to do wonderful things. At one
time it was, Lo here! and then it was, Lo there! Sometimes this
power, and sometimes that power, was to engage in the war, just as
if the whole world was mad and foolish like Britain. And thus, from
year to year, has every straw been catched at, and every
Will-with-a-wisp led them a new dance.
This year a still newer folly is to take place. Lord Shelburne
wishes to be sent to Congress, and he thinks that something may be
done.
Are not the repeated declarations of Congress, and which all
America supports, that they will not even hear any proposals
whatever, until the unconditional and unequivocal independence of
America is recognised; are not, I say, these declarations answer
enough?
But for England to receive any thing from America now, after so
many insults, injuries and outrages, acted towards us, would show
such a spirit of meanness in her, that we could not but despise her
for accepting it. And so far from Lord Shelburne's coming here to
solicit it, it would be the greatest disgrace we could do them to
offer it. England would appear a wretch indeed, at this time of day,
to ask or owe any thing to the bounty of America. Has not the name
of Englishman blots enough upon it, without inventing more? Even
Lucifer would scorn to reign in heaven by permission, and yet an
Englishman can creep for only an entrance into America. Or, has a
land of liberty so many charms, that to be a doorkeeper in it is
better than to be an English minister of state?
But what can this expected something be? Or, if obtained, what can
it amount to, but new disgraces, contentions and quarrels? The
people of America have for years accustomed themselves to think and
speak so freely and contemptuously of English authority, and the
inveteracy is so deeply rooted, that a person invested with any
authority from that country, and attempting to exercise it here,
would have the life of a toad under a harrow. They would look on him
as an interloper, to whom their compassion permitted a residence. He
would be no more than the Mungo of a farce; and if he disliked that,
he must set off. It would be a station of degradation, debased by
our pity, and despised by our pride, and would place England in a
more contemptible situation than any she has yet been in during the
war. We have too high an opinion of ourselves, even to think of
yielding again the least obedience to outlandish authority; and for
a thousand reasons, England would be the last country in the world
to yield it to. She has been treacherous, and we know it. Her
character is gone, and we have seen the funeral.
Surely she loves to fish in troubled waters, and drink the cup of
contention, or she would not now think of mingling her affairs with
those of America. It would be like a foolish dotard taking to his
arms the bride that despises him, or who has placed on his head the
ensigns of her disgust. It is kissing the hand that boxes his ears,
and proposing to renew the exchange. The thought is as servile as
the war is wicked, and shows the last scene of the drama to be as
inconsistent as the first.
As America is gone, the only act of manhood is to let her go. Your
lordship had no hand in the separation, and you will gain no honor
by temporising politics. Besides, there is something so exceedingly
whimsical, unsteady, and even insincere in the present conduct of
England, that she exhibits herself in the most dishonorable colors.
On the second of August last, General Carleton and Admiral Digby
wrote to General Washington in these words: "The resolution of
the House of Commons, of the 27th of February last, has been placed
in Your Excellency's hands, and intimations given at the same time
that further pacific measures were likely to follow. Since which,
until the present time, we have had no direct communications with
England; but a mail is now arrived, which brings us very important
information. We are acquainted, sir, by authority, that negotiations
for a general peace have already commenced at Paris, and that Mr.
Grenville is invested with full powers to treat with all the parties
at war, and is now at Paris in execution of his commission. And we
are further, sir, made acquainted, that His Majesty, in order to
remove any obstacles to this peace which he so ardently wishes to
restore, has commanded his ministers to direct Mr. Grenville, that
the independence of the Thirteen United Provinces, should be
proposed by him in the first instance, instead of making it a
condition of a general treaty."
Now, taking your present measures into view, and comparing them
with the declaration in this letter, pray what is the word of your
king, or his ministers, or the Parliament, good for? Must we not
look upon you as a confederated body of faithless, treacherous men,
whose assurances are fraud, and their language deceit? What opinion
can we possibly form of you, but that you are a lost, abandoned,
profligate nation, who sport even with your own character, and are
to be held by nothing but the bayonet or the halter?
To say, after this, that the sun of Great Britain will be set
whenever she acknowledges the independence of America, when the not
doing it is the unqualified lie of government, can be no other than
the language of ridicule, the jargon of inconsistency. There were
thousands in America who predicted the delusion, and looked upon it
as a trick of treachery, to take us from our guard, and draw off our
attention from the only system of finance, by which we can be
called, or deserve to be called, a sovereign, independent people.
The fraud, on your part, might be worth attempting, but the
sacrifice to obtain it is too high.
There are others who credited the assurance, because they thought
it impossible that men who had their characters to establish, would
begin with a lie. The prosecution of the war by the former ministry
was savage and horrid; since which it has been mean, trickish, and
delusive. The one went greedily into the passion of revenge, the
other into the subtleties of low contrivance; till, between the
crimes of both, there is scarcely left a man in America, be he Whig
or Tory, who does not despise or detest the conduct of Britain.
The management of Lord Shelburne, whatever may be his views, is a
caution to us, and must be to the world, never to regard British
assurances. A perfidy so notorious cannot be hid. It stands even in
the public papers of New York, with the names of Carleton and Digby
affixed to it. It is a proclamation that the king of England is not
to be believed; that the spirit of lying is the governing principle
of the ministry. It is holding up the character of the House of
Commons to public infamy, and warning all men not to credit them.
Such are the consequences which Lord Shelburne's management has
brought upon his country.
After the authorized declarations contained in Carleton and Digby's
letter, you ought, from every motive of honor, policy and prudence,
to have fulfilled them, whatever might have been the event. It was
the least atonement that you could possibly make to America, and the
greatest kindness you could do to yourselves; for you will save
millions by a general peace, and you will lose as many by continuing
the war.
COMMON SENSE.
P. S. The manuscript copy of this letter is sent your lordship, by
the way of our head-quarters, to New York, inclosing a late pamphlet
of mine, addressed to the Abbe Raynal, which will serve to give your
lordship some idea of the principles and sentiments of America.
|
|
