Patrick Henry: “that overwhelming torrent”

Today is the birthday of Patrick Henry. The old firebrand! The old Virginian firebrand! What a hothead, what a motivator, what a fascinating man. A die-hard patriot, a slave-owner, who made perhaps the most famous speech in American history (second only to the Gettysburg Address, perhaps) – the “Give me liberty or give me death” speech – made at St. John’s Church in Richmond, Virginia on March 23, 1775.

I love how his glasses are on top of his head here.

Here is a brief biographical sketch of the man – truly one of the great people in our nation’s history. He was one of those people who could FRAME a debate. Like Tom Paine. A radical. There was nothing halfway about this guy. He was an extremist, he was a black-and-white kind of guy – and that was necessary, in those early days of the Revolution. It was not a time for moderation. Thank goodness we had some moderates, but without those like Patrick Henry – nothing would have ever gotten done at all. Whether or not you agreed with him, he was fearless in standing up, and being counted, and shouting (always, shouting) his opinion. And everyone says that he had a way with words. An oratorical gift. He could make a speech and move people to action.

The ‘give me liberty’ speech changed people’s lives. We have many eyewitness accounts of it – Thomas Jefferson was there, and it changed his life. Henry’s speech and Tom Paine’s book Common Sense were pretty much the two sparks which ignited the populace. People were forever changed after these events. Here is a description (how I wish I could have been there) of the lead-up to that speech, and Henry’s taking a starring role – but also a vivid description of Patrick Henry’s oratory on March 23, 1775 – this is from Paul Johnson’s great book History of the American People:

Next to religion, the concept of the rule of law was the biggest single force in creating the political civilization of the colonies. This was something they shared with all Englishmen. The law was not just necessary – essential to any civil society – it was noble. What happened in courts and assemblies on weekdays was the secular equivalent of what happened in church on Sundays. The rule of law in England, as Americans were taught in their schools, went back even beyond Magna Carta, to Anglo-Saxon times, to the laws of King Alfred and the Witanmagots, the ancient precursor of Massachusetts’ Assembly and Virginia’s House of Burgesses.

William the Conqueror had attempted to impose what Lord Chief Justice Coke, the great early 17th century authority of the law, had called ‘The Norman Yoke’. But he had been frustrated. So, in time, had Charles I been frustrated, when he tried to re-impose it, by the Long Parliament. Now, in its arrogance and complacency, the English parliament, forgetting the lessons of the past, was trying to impose the Norman Yoke on free-born Americans, to take away their cherished rule of law and undermine the rights they enjoyed under it with as much justice as any Englishman! Lord North would have been astonished to learn he was doing any such thing, but no matter: that is what many, most, Americans believed. So America now had to do what parliamentarians had to do in 1640. ‘What we did,’ said Jefferson later, ‘was with the help of Rushworth, whom we rummaged over for revolutionary precedents of those days.’ So, in a sense, the United States was the posthumous child of the Long Parliament.

But Americans’ fears that their liberties were being taken away, and the rule of law subverted, had to be dramatized – just as those old parliamentarians had dramatized their struggle by the Grand Remonstrance against Charles I and the famous ‘Flight of the Five Members’. Who would play John Hampden, who said he would rather die than pay Ship Money to King Charles?

Up sprang Jefferson’s friend and idol, Patrick Henry.

As a preliminary move towards setting up a united resistance of the mainland colonies to British parliamentary pretensions, a congress of colonial leaders met in Philadelphia, at Carpenters Hall, between September 5 and October 26, 1774. Only Georgia, dissuaded from participating by its popular governor, did not send delegates. Some fifty representatives from twelve colonies passed a series of resolutions, calling for defiance of the Coercive Acts, the arming of a militia, tax-resistance. The key vote came on October 14 when delegates passed the Declaration and Resolves, which roundly condemned British interference in America’s internal affairs and asserted the rights of colonial assemblies to enact legislation and impose taxes as they pleased.

A common American political consciousness was taking shape, and delegates began to speak with a distinctive national voice. At the end of it, Patrick Henry marked this change in his customary dramatic manner: ‘The distinctions between Virginians and New Englanders are no more. I am not a Virginian but an American.’ Not everyone agreed with him, as yet, and the Continental Congress, as it called itself, voted by colonies rather than as individual Americans. But this body, essentially based on Franklin’s earlier proposals, perpetuated its existence by agreeing to meet again in May 1775. Before that could happen, on February 5, 1775, parliament in London declared Massachusetts, identified as the most unruly and contumacious of the colonies, to be in a state of rebellion, thus authorizing the lawful authorities to use what force they thought fit. The fighting had begun. Hence when the Virginia burgesses met in convention to instruct their delegates to the Second Continental Congress, Henry saw his chance to bring home to all the revolutionary drama of the moment.

Henry was a born ham actor, in a great age of acting – the Age of Garrick. The British parliament was full of actors, notably [William] Pitt himself (‘He acted even when he was dying’) and the young [Edmund] Burke, who was not above drawing a dagger, and hurling it on the ground to make a point. But Henry excelled them all. He proposed to the burgesses that Virginia should raise a militia and be ready to do battle. What was Virginia waiting for? Massachusetts was fighting. ‘Our brethren are already in the field. Why stand we her idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have?’

Then Henry got to his knees, in the posture of a manacled slave, intoning in a low but rising voice: ‘Is life so dear, our peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God!’ He then bent to the earth with his hands still crossed, for a few seconds, and suddenly sprang to his feet, shouting, ‘Give me liberty!’ and flung wide his arms, paused, lowered his arms, clenched his right hand as if holding a dagger at his breast, and said in sepulchral tones: ‘Or give me death!’ He then beat his breast, with his hand holding the imaginary dagger.

There was silence, broken by a man listening at the open window, who shouted: “Let me be buried on this spot!’

Henry had made his point.

Here’s a painting of Henry making his point:

Here, in full, is Patrick Henry’s speech that he made on that day:

No man, Mr. President, thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism, as well as abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who have just addressed the House. But different men often see the same subject in different lights; and, therefore, I hope it will not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen if, entertaining as I do opinions of a character very opposite to theirs, I shall speak forth my sentiments freely and without reserve. This is no time for ceremony. The question before the House is one of awful moment to this country. For my own part, I consider it as nothing less than a question of freedom or slavery; and in proportion to the magnitude of the subject ought to be the freedom of the debate. It is only in this way that we can hope to arrive at truth, and fulfill the great responsibility which we hold to God and our country. Should I keep back my opinions at such a time, through fear of giving offense, I should consider myself as guilty of treason towards my country, and of an act of disloyalty toward the Majesty of Heaven, which I revere above all earthly kings.

Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see not, and, having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth; to know the worst, and to provide for it.

I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the House. Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation; the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves. Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne! In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free– if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending–if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained–we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of hosts is all that is left us!

They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. The millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable–and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come.

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace– but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!

Here are Jefferson’s brief thoughts on Henry’s speech.

I am not sure that even Patrick Henry would have thought that his predictions would so soon come true. Within less than a month, on April 19, the tension exploded in Boston, leading to the Lexington and Concord battles. Boston was now under siege. The Continental Congress met on May 10, and in just one month – had authorized the formation of an army, and elected George Washington as Commander in Chief.

Regardless of the huge role Henry played in the lead-up to the American Revolution, he didn’t really take a part in the aftermath. He was elected governor of Virginia, true … but when it came time to the Constitutional Congress, and the forging of a brand-new government … he did not play a leading role at all.

It’s interesting – there’s a great description of acting: “Acting is like a sculpture carved in snow.” Obviously, this was from the time of stage acting. Movies now can capture the “sculpture” before it melts. But that quote always makes me think of Patrick Henry. Nobody alive today can ever see his oratorical skills. There are no video tapes, tape recordings. We just have to take the word of those who were THERE. So while no “record” exists, and his speeches were, indeed, “carved in snow” … a whiff of the power of them comes down to us regardless. It’s like the acting of Edmund Kean, or David Garrick, or Mrs. Siddons – these great great actors of the past. We can never see their work, their performances were “sculptures carved in snow” … but they must have been extraordinary. Too many people left records – in diaries, letters, newspaper columns … for it to be discounted.

Henry refused to be a delegate to the Constitutional Congress in 1787. He was a big states-rights man, for all his revolutionary fervor. Catherine Drinker-Bowen, in Miracle at Philadelphia explains why:

Patrick Henry was conspicuous by his absence. Named to the Convention, he refused, saying he “smelt a rat.” Fifty-one years old, a member of his local legislature, Henry was still a powerful factor in state politics. For all his celebrated rhetoric (“I am not a Virginian but an American”), he was the most Virginian of them all. At the moment, state politics to him were paramount. Madison said outright that Henry had stayed home to look after Virginia’s interests along the Mississippi — a matter of life and death to the back settlements, with Spain in control of New Orleans. Samuel Admas too remained in Boston. He had not been named to the Convention; he was suspicious, he said, “of a general revision of the Confederation.” Though he came round in the end, Sam Adams was to oppose the new Constitution vigorously. “I stumble at the threshold,” he wrote. “I meet with a National Government instead of a Federal Union of sovereign States.”

Patrick Henry, Sam Adams — the old firebrands of ’76 were missing. The Violent Men, as they had been called, skillful and dedicated in revolution and the intrigues of revolution, but lacking the qualities to erect a government. Better hands at pulling down than building, as John Adams had said.

When it came time for ratification, Henry again took center stage. Drinker-Bowen describes the Virginia ratification convention as “a gathering studded with stars, with names and faces known throughout the state and beyond — well-speaking gentlemen on both sides, well-dressed, well born.”

Chief among anti-Federalists was Patrick Henry, tall, thin, stooped, and at fifty-two looking on himself as aged and broken in health. He wore spectacles, concealed his reddish-brown hair by a brown wig, not too well-fitting. His blue eye was still keen, his long face alive with feeling; the old magic waited to be called up at will. “I fear that overwhelming torrent, Patrick Henry,” wrote General Knox to Rufus King when the convention was well under way.

From the first day, Henry was the nerve center of the room. “The Henryites,” they called his followers. Every Federalist was girded against them. And the Federalist ranks were impressive. One of them, Judge Edmund Pendleton, served as presiding officer. White-haired, painfully crippled, he struggled to his feet on crutches; his hip had been dislocated by a fall from a horse. Pendleton’s dress was elegant; his infirmity only added somehow to the dignity of his bearing. “The Confederation did not carry us through the war,” he said. “Common danger and the spirit of America did that.”

What I would have given to be in that room. What a scene.

With such dramatis personae, the Virginia convention could not lack color. Always, one is conscious of the fourteen Kentuckians, sitting watchful, biding their time. Always, too, one remembers that out of one hundred and seventy members, the barest majority will carry the Constitution. It is a scene romantic, passionate, the very best “theater”. Yet all of it is true, factual, and seldom has American history shown a political scene more seriously enacted. Patrick Henry rose and hurled his bolts: “Whither is the spirit of America gone? Whither is the genius of America fled? … We drew the spirit of liberty from our British ancestors. But now, Sir, the American spirit, assisted by the ropes and chains of consolidation, is about to convert this country into a powerful and mighty empire … There will be no checks, no real balances, in this government. What can avail your specious imaginary balances, your rope-dancing, chain-rattling, ridiculous ideal checks and contrivances?”

Hm, Patrick. Tell us how you really feel.

Now listen, though, to the response of one of the people in that room. This is what I mean by the power of this man’s rhetoric – whether or not you agree with his sentiment. Henry must have been positively amazing to watch.

It was here, or hereabouts, that Mr. Best of Nansemound County, “an intelligent gentleman,” says Grigby, “involuntarily felt his wrists to assure himself that the fetters were not already pressing his flesh. The gallery on which he was sitting seemed to become dark as a dungeon.”

The true orator’s power possessed Patrick Henry. Even Madison confessed himself nonplussed, and said that when Mr. Henry stood up to reply to him, a pause, a shake of the head or a striking gesture would undo an hour’s work before a word was uttered.

Incredible. The power! Here’s more description of Henry in action, from Drinker-Bowen:

At impassioned moments Henry would raise a hand and twirl his wig two or three times round his head. The galleries were always packed when Henry spoke; once he was on his feet for seven hours: “Who authorizes gentlemen to speak the language of We, the people, instead of We, the states? … The people gave them no power to use their name … Even from that illustrious man who saved us by his valor, I would have a reason for this conduct!” Advocates of the Constitution, said Henry, brought forward fears, awful prognostications of evils to come, should the Constitution fail of ratification. Yet had there been a single tumult in Virginia? Where was any disposition in this country to revolt against the dominion of laws?

The battle of ratification continued. At one point, Madison became so annoyed with Henry that he interrupted him a couple of times in a row … and following that, had to go to bed for three days. Tempers ran high. People who took notes at the Convention spent a lot of time underlining certain words, to show how emphatic the speakers were.

The turning point came when governor Edmund Randolph, a staunch anti-Federalist, switched sides.

On June fourth, the first day of full debate, the Governor rose and made his declaration. It took him some time to reach his point. Plainly on the defensive, Randolph said he had not come hither to apologize … He was not a candidate for popularity … If the Constitution were put before him as in Philadelphia — wholly to adopt or wholly to reject — he would again refuse his signature. But Massachusetts had urged amendments to be enacted by Congress after full ratification. For himself, he had originally been for previous amendments, to be approved by the several states before they ratified. But the postponement of this convention to so late a date made this impossible, “without inevitable ruin to the Union”. Eight states had adopted the Constitution; they could not recede. He stood then, to express his earnest endeavors for a firm, energetic government, and to concur in any practical scheme of amendments. Randolph, in short, was for the Constitution.

Almost brings tears to my eyes. The compromises these strong-willed men had to make (and for the most part, they all did). In the end, they believed in something greater than themselves. It was the “idea” of America, although their loyalties to their individual states remained rock-solid. It is those who had to COMPROMISE that I feel truly in debt to. It can’t have been easy.

Henry, naturally, did not go down without a fight.

The gentleman’s [Randolph’s] alteration of opinion, Henry said, “was very strange and unaccountable … Did he not tell us that he withheld his signature? He was not then led by the illumined, the illustrious few … What alterations have a few months brought about! … Something extraordinary must have operated so great a change in his opinions.”

Randolph and the convention understood Henry’s hints very well, with their implication that Washington’s persuasion — or worse, Washington’s promise of future favors under the new government — had brought about this change. Much later, when Washington named Randolph as United States Attorney Gedneral, Randolph would be at pains to defend himself from th is same charge. Furiously, Randolph answered Patrick Henry. He disdained the honorable gentleman’s aspersions and insinuations. “If our friendship must fall,” said Randolph, “let it fall like Lucifer, never to rise again! … He has accused me of inconsistency … Sir, if I do not stand on the bottom of integrity and pure love for Virginia, as much as those who can be most clamorous, I wish to resign my existence.”

Henry was staunch against amendments being made after the fact. He thought it was ridiculous to agree to something that was not yet finished.

Subsequent amendments, Henry said, were a novelty and an absurdity. To enter into a compact of government, and then afterward to settle the terms of this compact was an idea dreadful, abhorrent to his mind … If this plan were accepted by the convention, said Henry, he would conceive it his duty to have nothing more to do with the Constitution and to quit this assembly and go home.

Henry had come up with his own list of amendments, called “Henry’s Declaration of Rights”, which was read aloud to the Convention. Interestingly enough, they were almost exactly the same as the amendments that would eventually be added. But Randolph, also a big fighter, stood up and said that Henry’s words about “quit this assembly and go home” amounted to a threat of secession. Henry denied this vehemently. The thought of the states breaking up, of the Union dissolving, was a thought not to be contemplated for Henry. It was just that the Constitution, as it stood, terrified him.

The day ended with Patrick Henry prophesying the “awful immensity of the dangers with which [the new system] was pregnant” and envisioning “the angels on high, looking down and reviewing America’s future.” It was at this opportune moment that a thunderstorm arose, the hall grew dark, lightning glared, rain dashed against the windows. Doors slammed, says Grigsby, like a peal of muskitry. Men rushed from their seats to the center of the room, and the meeting adjourned.

It is that one detail that makes me in love with American history. It certainly did seem to be that massive universal forces were at work here, and they all knew it.

A couple of days later, after more debate, and more hashing out of the amendments, that it came time to vote. And here is what I think was Patrick Henry’s greatest hour – out of all of his great hours.

On Wednesday, June 25th, Edmund Pendleton, from the chair, ordered Wythe’s original motion be put to the question. Shortly before the vote was taken, Patrick Henry spoke his last word. If he should find himself in the minority, he would have, he said, those painful sensations which arise from a conviction of being overpowered in a good cause. But he would be a peaceful citizen. “I wish not to go to violence, but will wait with hopes that the spirit which predominated in the Revolution is not yet gone, nor the cause of those who are attached to the Revolution not yet lost. I shall therefore wait in expectation of seeing that government changed, so as to be compatible with the safety, liberty, and happiness of the people.”

It was generous, it had a touch of magnificence. Randolph spoke next, very briefly, and his last word did not equal Henry’s. Randolph spoke solely in self-justification. His part in the Federal Convention, he said, had been inspired by strongest affection for the Union. The objections which he then had to the Constitution still stood. Yet the accession of eight states reduced deliberation to the single question of Union or no Union. Should some future annalist desire to vilify his name, let him state those truths.

And then came time for the vote.

By 89 to 79 the Constitution won. It had been close, very close indeed. That night angry Antifederalists, determined to create measures for resisting the new system, held a mass meeting in Richmond, with Patrick Henry presiding. But Henry told his wrathful colleagues that he had done his best against the Constitution “in the proper place [the Convention].” The question, said Henry, was now settled; “as true and faithful republicans you had all better go home.”

Amazing. The debate had occurred “in the proper place”, and once the vote went down … it was time to be a “peaceful citizen” again, and a “true and faithful republican”. I can think of a few folks out there right now who would do well to follow Patrick Henry’s great example.

And here, again from Drinker-Bowen, is a reiteration of a point I made a day or so ago. It was those who OPPOSED the Constitution who were so instrumental in bringing it about, and hammering it into a form that people could agree to. Complete agreement would have been a disaster, and people like Randolph, people like Henry, were those who could provide a frame for the debate. Their objections were good ones, in the context of the times, but the path of history did not go in their direction. And so they chose the greater good, but making damn sure that their objections were in the record.

Henry’s admirers claim that he was probably more responsible than any or all others for the adoption of the first ten amendments to the Constitution — the Bill of Rights. And there is no doubt that Henry’s part in this went beyond mere rhetorical challenges and thunderbolts. In final form the Constitution was the product of both sides, pro and anti. The opposition’s part is difficult to assess, though none can question its value. Even Washington conceded it. “Upon the whole,” he wrote, “I doubt whether the opposition to the Constitution will not ultimately be productive of more good than evil; it has called forth, in its defence, abilities which would not perhaps have been otherwise exerted that have thrown new light upon the science of Government, they have given the rights of man a full and fair discussion, and explained them in so clear and forcible a manner, as cannot fail to make a lasting impression.”

It’s a good reminder, too, to those people in our country who can’t stand dissenting opinions to the majority, and basically think anyone who disagrees is stupid, unpatriotic, and an asshole. You show me monolithic agreement and I will show you a totalitarian society.

His one speech where he shouted “Give me liberty or give me death” makes me think of the idea that America was supposed to be a “city on a hill” for others to see. Whether or not we always live up to that is kind of irrelevant. No “idea” is perfect. But when I saw Chinese kids holding up banners with those very words on it in Tieneman Square, I thought of Patrick Henry. I thought of the “city on the hill”. What the Founding Fathers dreamt of had indeed, with all its inherent problems and fits and starts and failures, come to pass.