be uniformly opposed by the dissenting lords in one house, and a melioration of the American system urged in the other, on the strongest grounds of reason, justice, policy, and humanity; but a ministerial majority was astonishingly kept up in both, and on a division on every question relative to the colonies, the minority bore no proportion to the names in the other scale.
A war with America did not at this period appear to be the general wish of the nation at [282] large; but engaged in their own pleasures and pursuits, they seemed rather inattentive to the object in dispute, as a matter that very little concerned them. There was indeed some clamor among the great body of the merchants, on the total destruction of the American trade, and some of the manufacturing towns were disposed to be riotous on the occasion; but the danger of a foreign war, or a final dismemberment of the empire, was not generally apprehended by the people, though these consequences were predicted by some sagacious heads, and the hearts of the patriotic and compassionate were hurt by the anticipation of the impending evils.
Calling in the aid of foreigners, and introducing a large body of German mercenaries in British pay, to settle a domestic quarrel with the colonies, was mortifying to the pride and valor of every uncorrupted Englishman. But the torrent of secret influence was irresistible; the expensive system was precipitated: prerogative and conquest was the ministerial creed; power the princely object: and on the approbatory speech of the monarch, when all was at hazard, there appeared a coolness that bordered on apathy. Silence and submission were enjoined on the friends of America in the house of commons; and the liberty of writing their names, and witnessing their uneasiness by their own signature, was all the consolation of the [283] protesting lords, while these important questions were in agitation.*
The debates in parliament relative to colonial measures, the king’s speech, and the rejection of the late petition of the continental congress, arrived in America before the month of March, one thousand seven hundred and seventy-six. These were accompanied with the intelligence of the Hessian treaty, and that foreign auxiliaries from various other nations were to be employed in the compulsory system, and that the barbarous strangers were to assist in the entire subjugation of the colonies, if not otherwise reduced to unworthy submission.
On this information, the indignation of all ranks can scarcely be described. The king’s speech was condemned, and ordered to be burnt in the centre of the camp at Cambridge. The wavering were resolved, the timid grew bold, the placid and philosophic lovers of peace left the retired haunts of literary felicity, and beneath the helmet and the buckler, courted the post of danger:—vigorous action was now the [284] only line of conduct to be observed through every department. Previous to any other movement, it was judged important that the British forces should be immediately removed from their strong hold in the town of Boston, lest the work should be rendered more difficult on the arrival of fresh troops from Great Britain, now daily expected.
General Washington, sensible of this necessity, and that no more time was to be lost, opened a severe cannonade on the western side, not far distant from the town, on the evening of the fourth of March. This was designed rather to divert attention within the walls, than for any important consequences expected from this manoeuvre without. The Americans kept up a constant fire through the night, while several smaller works were erected for the annoyance of the besieged; but the principal effect was expected from the heights of Dorchester. By the greatest industry and dispatch, a strong battery, very unexpectedly to the enemy, appeared there on the morning of the fifth, from whence the Americans played their artillery with ease on the town. The assailants under the direction of general Thomas, erected and extended their works in such a judicious manner, as to command the peninsula leading to Boston, Castle-William, and at the same time a considerable part of the harbor.
[285] General Howe, mortified that such an advantageous post should have been so long neglected by himself, and astonished at the appearance of such strong and defensible works, rising as it were in a night, without noise or alarm in that quarter, did not long hesitate on the part necessary for him to act in this critical conjuncture. There remained no alternative between a bold and vigorous attempt to dislodge the Americans, or an immediate evacuation of the town. To fly on the first appearance of danger, was humiliating to the pride of the soldier, lessening his military honor, and sinking the dignity of the commander in chief.
A choice of difficulties lay before him. He was short of provisions; the soldiers had become discontented with the service, and fatigued with continual watching: an immediate retreat might appear to him less disgraceful, than the consequences of resistance under many apparent disadvantages. On the other hand, chagrined at the idea of drawing off seven or eight thousand of the best troops the king his master had in service, without striking a blow, and relinquishing the only American town they then had in possession, to the undisciplined peasantry of the country, was still a more humiliating thought. From these considerations he made all possible preparation to dislodge the American troops, the evening after they were discovered on the heights of Dorchester. But [286] the intervention of the elements disconcerted his operations: a tremendous storm of wind and rain prevented the dangerous enterprise, and saved the expense of much blood.
General Howe finding his design impracticable, in consequence of this disappointment, ordered an embarkation to begin as soon as the tempest should subside. But embarrassed by a crowd of refugees and other delinquents, who, conscious they could not rely on their country for safety, had thrown themselves on his protection; encumbered with women, children, furniture, soldiers, officers, and camp equipage; the inconveniences and dangers of a voyage at the equinoctial season; the sterility of the country* and the coldness of the clime to which he must repair, with a discontented army and a group of miserable, disappointed tories, rendered the situation of the British commander in chief truly pitiable. To add to the confusion of the scene, the strictest harmony did not exist between the officers of the army and navy; this increased the difficulty of accommodation on this unexpected emergency, when so many useless persons claimed protection and subsistence.
When the Americans saw the British troops about to depart, they did not offer to impede [287] their design in the smallest degree; the cannonade was suspended, and they beheld with an eye of compassion, the extraordinary emigration of some hundreds of disaffected Americans, whom they suffered to depart with the successless army, without a wish to retard their flight. These unhappy people took with them such of their effects as the hurry of the occasion and their military masters would permit. General Washington with a few troops entered Boston, with the ensigns of triumph displayed, and beheld the rear of the panic-struck army of Britain, precipitately flying from a town that had long been the object of ministerial vengeance.
This bloodless victory on the one side, and the disgraceful flight on the other, was viewed with pleasure and surprise, or with astonishment and grief, in proportion to the political hopes and fears that agitated the various parties, who all considered the transactions of the day replete with important consequences. Every mark of respect was externally shewn to general Washington, even by those who were not well affected to the cause in which he was engaged. Many of this class, more culpable than some who went off with the British army, chose to stay and cast themselves on the mercy of their countrymen, rather than to hazard the danger of a voyage, the loss of property, and a separation from their families.
Some, much less criminal than these, and many really inoffensive persons, suddenly struck [288] with imaginary fears, abandoned their habitations and their country, which by a little address they might quietly have possessed. Several very doubtful characters not only acted with decent civility and condescension, but confidently assumed merit to themselves as friends of the revolution: some of these were afterwards promoted to places and offices of high trust. Indeed the loyalists in general who stayed in Boston, and chose to run all hazards rather than quit their native country, experienced much clemency from the opposite party; yet, perhaps not in the full latitude that policy might have dictated: but the impressions of danger and insult to which the victors had long been exposed, operated more powerfully in the minds of many, than the laws of forgiveness, or the distant view of political consequences.
Thus
