One might think that if Concord and Lexington left room for doubt that the American colonies were rebelling against Britain, the June 17 affair at Bunker Hill would have settled the question. American farmers inflicting more than a thousand casualties on Britain’s troops was a pretty strong signal of discontent. Moreover, the decision of the Continental Congress a few days later to appoint George Washington as Command-in-Chief of the Army said, “We aren’t fooling.”
But the Continental Congress was nothing if not cautious. Then, as now, legislators were reluctant to rush into war. They wanted to pursue every possible step to head off a revolutionary war. They understood that war would be fought on American soil against the best-trained army in the world. The chance of winning it was much smaller than the chance of being crushed by the British military and being subjected after such a defeat to forms of oppression that would make the so-called “Intolerable Acts” look like Valentines.
So, on July 5, 1775, Congress drew up a petition to King George III, “His most excellent Majesty” and “Most gracious sovereign.” No member of Congress believed George was either excellent or gracious, but, you know, protocol. Diplomacy.
This so-called “Olive Branch Petition” is not exactly a version of “We made a mistake, Please forgive us.” It runs almost 1,400 words and bears the signatures of 48 men, among whom are the people we recognize today as the ring-leaders of the revolution. John Hancock is first on the list. Samuel Adams, John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, John Jay, and Samuel Chase are there too.
Was it a ruse? Just something to show their fellow colonists that they had gone the extra mile? Or was it a serious effort to halt the hostilities before all hell broke loose?
From the text, it is hard to tell. The substance of the Petition commences with an evocation of how good things used to be. The “mild and just government” of the British benefited everyone and excited “the wonder and envy of other nations.”
But then things started to go off course, initially by the “envy of other nations” turning into interference, which resulted in the French and Indian War. The petition alludes to this conflict without naming it, and thanks the British armed forces for “the removal of ancient and warlike enemies to a great distance.” That is to say, the British pushed the Native American tribes west, mostly west of the Appalachian Mountains, and the colonists gained both military security and room to grow.
The gratitude of the colonists for British arms was unbounded, but the colonists also took some credit for their own part in this war and expected they would justly reap some of the benefits. But the colonists, to their surprise, were instead met with acts of Parliament that “alarmed” them, “filled their minds with the most painful fears and jealousies.”
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The petitioners, however, decline to say exactly what they objected to in Parliament’s actions. Perhaps that is because the complaints had already been voiced, and the Congress saw no need to repeat what the King had already heard and dismissed. They describe listing the Parliamentary acts as an “ungrateful task,” and leave it at that.
The Petitioners have thus far carefully cast the blame for the conflict on Parliament, not the King, but next they move to the more sensitive territory of “Your Majesty’s Ministers.” King George, you may not know this, but your closest advisors are either bumbling fools or malicious plotters. They have “engaged us in a controversy so peculiarly abhorrent to the affections of your still faithful colonists,” that, well you know, we loyal subjects may have “to use all the means in our power” to avert the “effusion of blood” that is bound to follow.
Get, your Majesty? We are ready to fight, but we’d much prefer it if you called off your dogs. Franklin to Hancock: ‘Can we turn it down a notch or two? We’re trying to persuade the dolt, not drive him into a rage.’ Hancock, ‘Ok. We’ll use diplomacy, Ben, but you know it is going to be war no matter how prettily we put it.’ Franklin, ‘just play along. Your time will come.’ Hancock: ‘How’s this for obsequiousness?’
Thus called upon to address your Majesty on affairs of such moment to America, and probably to all your dominions, we are earnestly desirous of performing this office, with the utmost deference for your Majesty; and we therefore pray, that your royal magnanimity and benevolence may make the most favourable construction of our expressions on so uncommon an occasion.
Franklin: ‘That’s the ticket. More of it. Lay it on thick.’
Attached to your Majesty’s person, family, and government, with all devotion that principle and affection can inspire, connected with Great Britain by the strongest ties that can unite societies, and deploring every event that tends in any degree to weaken them, we solemnly assure your Majesty, that we not only most ardently desire the former harmony between her and these colonies may be restored, but that a concord may be established between them upon so firm a basis as to perpetuate its blessings, uninterrupted by any future dissentions, to succeeding generations in both countries, and to transmit your Majesty’s Name to posterity, adorned with that signal and lasting glory, that has attended the memory of those illustrious personages, whose virtues and abilities have extricated states from dangerous convulsions, and, by securing happiness to others, have erected the most noble and durable monuments to their own fame.
Samuel Adams: ‘Gag me with a spoon. You can’t be serious.’ John Jay: ‘Yes, serious. A little more than that and we can call it a day.’
Diplomatic feints were nothing new in 1775, and they remain a vital part of the conduct of foreign affairs. President Trump’s recent efforts to negotiate a “nuclear deal” with Iran while planning to eradicate that country’s uranium enrichment facilities is a reminder that diplomacy is often more an instrument of war than an effort to avoid it.
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Author’s note: I have taken some liberties with the off-the-record discussion of the Petition, but it is true to the spirit of the occasion. It was, in fact, John Dickinson, from Philadelphia, the “Penman of the Revolution,” who wrote the Petition. In any case, the King rejected the Petition and responded by ordering Lord North to crush the rebellion.
Art by Beck & Stone
