The Treaty of Peace signed at Paris, Feb. 10, 1763, terminated the prolonged struggle between England and France, for supremacy in the New World. For seven long years it had lasted, and its cost had been treasure and blood. Justly proud were the British Colonies of the martial success of their mother country, a goodly part of which they had valorously won themselves.

During the war, and at its close, England had been generous in remitting to the Colonial Treasuries large sums in partial liquidation of the war expenses advanced by them; but subsequently it was esteemed wise, by a majority of her statesmen, to gradually replace such sums in the royal coffers, by a system of colonial taxation very similar to modern methods of raising war revenues. In the abstract this fact was not particularly disagreeable to the colonists, for the necessity was admitted, but the arbitrary method of levying those taxes was bitterly contested.

England's Parliament claimed the right to tax the distant Colonies even as it taxed the neighboring Boroughs, and as a commencement of its financial plan enacted a Stamp Act, so called, to take effect Nov. 1, 1765, similar in intent and working, to the modern revenue stamp of our Government. These stamps were to be purchased of the Crown's officers and affixed to certain articles of merchandise and in denominations according to a schedule of taxable value.

The opposition to this Act was immediate, continuous, and bitter in the extreme, and the result was that it was repealed March 18, 1766.

The next move on the part of the Mother Country was the passage of a Military Act which provided for the partial subsistence of armed troops on the Colonies. Violent opposition to this was also immediate and general, but without avail. In Boston one result was a conflict between the troops and the inhabitants on March 5, 1770, and now referred to as the Boston Massacre.

In June, 1767, another Act was passed, taxing tea and other commodities, which was repealed April 12, 1770, on all articles except the tea. Large consignments were sent to America. Ships thus laden that arrived in New York were sent back with their full cargoes. At Charleston the tea was landed but remained unsold. At Boston, a party disguised as Indians threw it from the ship into the sea.[1] Parliament in consequence passed the Boston Port Bill, March 7, 1774, closing Boston as a commercial port, and removing the Custom House to Salem in another harbor a dozen miles or more northward up the coast.

This Act went into effect June 1, 1774, and was immediately felt by all classes, for all commerce ceased. Boston merchants became poor, and Boston poor became beggars. The hand of relief, however, was extended, even from beyond the sea. The City of London in its corporate capacity subscribed £30,000[2]. In America the assistance was liberal and speedy. George Washington headed a subscription paper with £50[3].

These severe measures of Parliament, with their natural effect of ruin and starvation among the people of America, served to stimulate a feeling of insubordination, and hatred of the Mother Country, from which crystalized the First Continental Congress which assembled at Philadelphia, Sept. 5, 1774, soon followed by the First Provincial Congress of Massachusetts which met at Salem, Oct. 7, of the same year.

On the question of Colonial Government Great Britain and her American colonies were not divided by the Atlantic Ocean, for on the American side the Crown had its ardent supporters, while on the other side friends of the American cause were almost as numerous as were the oppressors. We have seen how the great City of London contributed liberally to the Bostonians, shut off from the world by the Port Bill, and on the floor of Parliament many gifted orators espoused the American cause.

With prophetic eloquence the Lord Mayor, Mr. Wilkes, exclaimed:

"This I know, a successful resistance is a revolution, not a rebellion.... Who can tell, sir, whether in consequence of this day's violent and mad Address to his Majesty, the scabbard may not be thrown away by them as well as by us?... But I hope the just vengeance of the people will overtake the authors of these pernicious councils, and the loss of the first province of the empire be speedily followed by the loss of the heads of those ministers who advised these wicked and fatal measures."[4]

Lord Chatham in his motion to withdraw the troops from Boston, said:

"As an American I would recognize to England her supreme right of regulating commerce and navigation: as an Englishman by birth and principle I recognize to the Americans their supreme unalienable right in their property; a right in which they are justified in the defence of to the last extremity."[5]

The Corporation of the City of London passed a vote of thanks to Chatham, and to those who supported him for having offered to the House of Lords a plan to conciliate the differences with America.[6]

When Lord North's unfriendly proposition for conciliating America was introduced, it naturally found an advocate in the loyal and courtly Gen. Burgoyne—courtly but courageous; loyal ever to his King but not blind to the merits of the claims of the Colonists. While modestly pledging his loyalty to the Crown, he could not refrain from adding:

"There is a charm in the very wanderings and dreams of liberty that disarms an Englishman's anger."[7]

In the debate on the bill for restraining the Trade and Commerce of the English Colonies, Lord Camden asked:—

"What are the 10,000 men you have just voted out to Boston? Merely to save General Gage from the disgrace and destruction of being sacked in his entrenchments. It is obvious, my Lords, that you cannot furnish armies or treasure, competent to the mighty purpose of subduing America.... It is impossible that this petty island can continue in dependence that mighty continent."[8]

Continuing, he drew a picture of American union and American courage, that in the end would prevail.

The Earl of Sandwich replied:—

"Suppose the colonists do abound in men, what does that signify? They are raw, undisciplined, cowardly men. I wish instead of 40 or 50,000 of these brave fellows, they would produce in the field at least 200,000, the more the better, the easier would be the conquest; if they did not run away, they would starve themselves into compliance with our measures."[9]

And the Bill was passed.

One has but to read the stirring debates of that memorable year in Parliament, over the Petitions for Redress of Grievances from America; over the Petitions for Reconciliation from the Merchants of Bristol and of London; over the Resolutions offered by its own members; and over the addresses to them by their King;—to realize that the great question of American rights had almost as many, and surely as eloquent advocates, there as here.