Bruce Alexander - An Experiment in Treason

Yet he did not at first accept it. “If it’s a summons to another interrogation, I shall not accept it, ” said he. “I no-w have all I can do preparing for the hearing before the Privy Council.”

“It is nothing of the sort. I’m to wait until you have read it and return with your message of compliance.”

“Compliance, is it? Well, we shall see about that.”

He then took it from me, broke the seal, and began to read the letter. He seemed notably more confident than the last time I had seen him — or, perhaps, not so much confident as determined. Yet Sir John’s words persuaded him of the seriousness of the situation.

“It says here that I am to go by coach to the hearing. These two — constables Queenan and Brede — are to take me there. These are the two who have been at the door? “

“Yes sir.”

“And you and Sir John will take me back to the coach when the hearing is done?”

“There will be other constables involved in your return.”

“Why is Sir John doing all this for me?” He seemed quite innocently puzzled.

“Because he feels that you are in danger, sir. If you wish to know more than that, you must ask him yourself. But now, please, do I have your assurance that you will cooperate with the arrangements that have been made?”

“Oh yes,” said he, “yes indeed. And please deliver to him my most profound thanks.”

We in the gallery of the Cockpit were ranged round the room at a height somewhat above the thirty-six members of the Privy Council. They had their places at a single table set against the far wall. Before them were the two featured players of the drama which was about to unfold before us — Alexander Wedderburn, the new solicitor general, and Benjamin Franklin, appearing as the agent for the Colony of Massachusetts and its legislature. They sat wide apart. Wedderburn, obviously uncomfortable, twitched about awkwardly in his chair like some marionette on strings; Dr. Franklin, in the company of a barrister named Dunning, sat close and conferred with him. Those in the gallery were noisy to the point of disorder; they had come to be entertained. And, finally, the members of the Privy Council waited in silence, evidently in no mood for amusement.

The varying temper of those there in the Cockpit seemed to reflect that of others outside. Sir John and I had waited for the arrival of the rented coach which brought Dr. Franklin. As we waited, I attempted to estimate the size of the crowd. It was in no wise large. There were no more than a hundred, and probably a good deal fewer — and all rather jolly — as I told Sir John. He, for his part, cautioned me that the hundred I saw could easily grow to a thousand in the next hour or two. “I am shocked,” said he, “to hear of so many here so early.” Then did the coach appear, driven by Mr. Brede; he pulled the horses up as near to the great door as possible, and Dr. Franklin exited the coach, attended by Constable Oueenan. Then was I surprised to hear hoots, and whistles, and hostile shouts from the crowd, which only moments before had seemed near festive in attitude. Sir John called for Constables Bailey and Rumford to go out and give young Oueenan a hand. There was no more difficulty after that.

All of that had come to pass over a quarter of an hour before the commencement of the hearing. After Dr. Franklin was situated in his place, we claimed our places in the gallery. There we waited for the open places at the long table to be filled and the hearing to begin.

Lord Gower banged away with his gavel and called the hearing to order. The text of the petition which Dr. Franklin had presented was read out, for that was the nominal purpose of the hearing. Then was the text of the Hutchinson letters also read aloud, for that was the true purpose of the hearing: to tar Franklin for his part in the publication of the letters. Thus it began, and it swiftly proceeded from the nominal to the true. Barrister Dunning argued, as he had been coached by Dr. Franklin, that the matter of the letters did not belong in consideration with the petition because they were essentially political in nature. As it happened, Mr. Dunning was not a well man. So weak was he that he could not stand for long without showing signs of tottering, and his voice was so weakened that he could scarcely speak above a whisper. Those in the gallery round us became restive, and then unruly. There were shouts of “louder ” and “speak up!” until at last Lord Gower was forced to wield his gavel once more, shouting for quiet as he sought to bring the rowdy crowd of noblemen and aristocrats under control. At last, they began to quiet down, and Mr. Dunning prepared to resume.

Before he could do so, Alexander Wedderburn leaped to his feet and began his attack. His reasoning: Since it was the Hutchinson letters which gave birth to the petition to replace the governor, then one is no less political than the other.

Yet that, reader, was the mere modicum of reasoning contained in the hour-long tirade to which he treated his audience. They had, as I said, come to be entertained, and he did entertain them. All the twitching energy I had seen in him before the hearing began, was now concentrated in this assault upon Dr. Franklin.

He talked of little but the purloined letters. He vilified Franklin as a common thief. He said, “Men will watch him with a jealous eye; they will hide their papers from him and lock up their escritoires. He will henceforth esteem it a libel to be called a man of letters.”

A chorus of laughter rang out round us at that. The fact that they could find humor in such vituperation quite astonished me.

Sir John leaned toward me. “This exceeds all bounds of propriety,” said he. “I have never before heard such from a member of His Majesty’s government.”

Nor did the solicitor general neglect to offer a reminder of what all now called the Boston Tea Party: “… the good men of Boston have lately held their meetings, appointed their committees, and with their usual moderation have destroyed the cargo of three British ships.”

And then, sudden as it had begun, Wedderburn’s attack ended. Had he exhausted the subject of Franklin’s treasonous acts? Or had he simply run out of breath and bile? Whatever the answer to that, the response of Benjamin Franklin was an eloquent silence. It would not have been his nature to rail, shout, and snarl, as Wedderburn had done. Had he chosen to do so, he would have lowered himself to the level of his attacker. It was impossible not to admire him as he sat in his chair, erect and unblinking, his face set in a mask of dignity. Nor was I the only one who saw it thus. A few of those in the gallery who had come to jibe and jest at the expense of Dr. Franklin fell silent as they watched him. I discovered later that more than one newspaper, reporting upon the event, counted it a moral victory for Franklin; they also hinted that Lord North, the prime minister, was displeased with Wedderburn. It remained for Sir John to make the most telling comment — and that was made directly to Dr. Franklin himself once the business was done.

We made our way down the stairs into the cockpit, and there stood Benjamin Franklin, still silent and now alone. Even his frail barrister had withdrawn from him. I saw a man go by, almost with-out stopping, and squeeze Franklin’s hand as he said not a word; then did he also hastily depart.

“You see how they run from me?” said Franklin to us as we approached. “As if I were a carrier of the plague.”

“We know not what waits for you outside. That is why we are here to see you back to Craven Street. Now, sir, if you will just follow me and Jeremy? “

“Indeed I shall, sir, and gladly.”

We set off down the long crowded hall, which led to the great door. Those passing us by gave us a wide berth, shrinking to one side, as if fearful of Franklin. He seemed to have achieved fame — of the wrong sort. Yet he seemed no-w to be eager to talk about the ordeal.