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Negotiating British Imperialism: Gov. Francis Bernard and the Stamp
Act Crisis, 1764-67
Colonial Society of Massachusetts, Boston 20 Dec. 2012
© Colin Nicolson
Introduction
Francis Bernard, governor of colonial Massachusetts, had a great deal to say about the
origins of the American Revolution. This is the second of a projected five volumes of
correspondence and personal papers. It is the work no genius, one of the internal reviewers quipped
(thankfully referring to the subject's letters rather than editor's commentaries) yet grips the reader's
imagination in a way that a genius perhaps never could. As a commentator on the Stamp Act Crisis,
Gov. Bernard was a candid and self-effacing narrator with a penchant for revelation and a talent for
dramatization; his " intelligent but far from profound mind gives us a Doctor Watson, a Sancho
Panza, an Edward Waverley, intellectually outclassed by [both] the Americans he sought to govern"
and his deputy, Thomas Hutchinson. Therein, perhaps, lies the central historical problem of
Bernard's administration: understanding how Bernard's readers responded to his dramatic reports
on events unfolding in Massachusetts and Boston.
Historiographically, this is potentially hazardous terrain. Bernard's colonial opponents would
not have recognized themselves in the portraits that the governor dispatched to London; that much
is certain from the treasure trove of Patriot biographies and studies of the colonial protest
movement against British policies. The governor's critics never had opportunity to read the
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governor's letters on the Stamp Act Crisis, not even in 1769 when Bernard's enemies purloined then
published some of his later correspondence. Had the colonists read what their governor was writing
about them between late 1765 and late 1767, they would have found a narrator visceral and
vengeful; that much is probable. But Bernard, of course, was not writing for the colonists. What he
wrote about them was intended for friends, officials, and the king's ministers in Britain; Bernard's
letters were also read in Parliament and in the king's Privy Council and (we must assume) were
discussed at cabinet meetings. What substantive influence, if any, Bernard's correspondence had on
British politicians is far from clear, however. Leading historian Peter DG Thomas and most others
who have published on British responses emphasize—right up until 1774—that, on the whole,
British policy was essentially "moderate" in terms of how ministers sought to exercise power and
deliver objectives—in marked contrast to some of the things that some of the governors were
recommending.
Historians of the Imperial Crisis generally tend to minimize the impact of colonial governors'
reports on British colonial policymaking. Governor's letters, while providing valuable accounts of
events in America, did not (nor could not) in themselves prompt policy changes, for policy was
driven principally by imperatives in British politics and government. But navigating that process is
nonetheless problematic. The fractious relationship between Gov. Bernard and the colonists during
his nine-year administration as Massachusetts governor I explored in my book The 'Infamas Govener'
(Boston, 2000) In a wider sense, the book illustrated that British "rule" is something of a misnomer:
British imperialism in North America, as it was elsewhere in the Globe, depended upon consensus,
cooperation, and collaboration; imperial power and authority had to be negotiated—always. As
crown-appointees who reported directly to the secretary of state and the Board of Trade, governors
were the prime agents for negotiating the maintenance of British imperialism. Their office may not
have conferred much political power in America; it conferred instead the power influence to British
perceptions of America. Looking north-eastward from Boston, Bernard 's surveys of Maine
presented both Britons and New Englanders with an imperial dream of a wilderness to be
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conquered. But in the contested space of Boston's congested streets, Bernard's sensibilities proved
altogether dangerous for colonists worried about the consequences of their actions in defying the
Stamp Act and imperial law.
The Bernard Papers series constitutes a historical map illustrating in far greater detail than
my earlier monograph how British imperialism was negotiated in the years before the Revolution. It
aids understanding of the imperial nexus connecting protesting colonists, anxious governors, and the
arrogant politicians who huffed and puffed through London's corridors of power. As a historical
record, the Papers are rich in accounts of major events, not least the Stamp Act riots. As a historical
dialogue, Bernard's correspondence invites modern readers to consider how contemporary readers
in Britain might have reacted to the governor's claims that British imperialism was fast
disintegrating. For in the ten years following the Stamp Act Crisis, Americans' modulated responses
to British policy led them first to undermine imperial government, then, beginning in Massachusetts
in the late summer of 1774, to overthrow it.
Issue 1
When I last spoke to the Society we left Gov. Bernard on 15 Aug. 1765, ensconced in Castle
William in the harbor and staring at the glimmering bonfires on Boston's Fort Hill. He spent that
evening and much of the following day recounting the events of the previous thirty-six hours
wherein occurred the first of Boston's two Stamp Act riots. He pieced together in considerable detail
from his own brief observations and from the reports of Hutchinson and others, the protests and
processions that disturbed the peace on 14 Aug. and prompted the resignation of the stamp
distributor Andrew Oliver. As was his way and his obligation he sent two autograph letters to
London, identical in content: one to the Board of Trade, an advisory body to the British imperial
government, and one to the secretary of state in charge of colonial affairs, and to whom governors
were directly responsible. Bernard had been governor for five years, and while never roundly
popular—few governors ever were—had established a good working relationship with the assembly;
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biting criticism had come primarily from a disgruntled imperial official, John Temple. But when the
rioters took to the streets of Boston on the morning of 14 Aug. Bernard's nerve failed him and at
sunset he and his family left for the Castle. Bernard was not prompted to retreat by any specific
threat to his person but by anxiety for his family's wellbeing since this was probably his first
encounter with serious popular protest (in England or the colonies).
Bernard could not comprehend the complexities and parameters of crowd action that
modern historians have successfully reconstituted. His immediate reactions were typical of
authority-figures whose position was undermined by the moral authority of the people; he lashed
out at the mob accusing them of harboring murderous intentions. When reporting the second riot,
of 26 Aug., which culminated in the wrecking of Thomas Hutchinson’s mansion house, Bernard
offered a more terrifying dual prognosis of social conflict and imperial decline. The rioters had raised
the Devil of mob rule,” wherefrom beckoned a “War of Plunder” between “rich and poor” (No. 384).
In talking of barricading the Castle and deploying invalids in the last resort (No. 373) and in labeling
the riots “Insurrections” (No. 413) Bernard succumbed to the feverish anxieties of a beleaguered
imperialist. “At present I keep up the form of Government: but the thing has been over some time;
& will not be restored without Authority from home.” (No. 404.)
Issue 2
Bernard's reports are major narratives on the Stamp Act riots, his outrageous remarks on
colonial radicalism notwithstanding. In short, he struggled to comprehend how well-to-do citizens—
“abettors of Consequence” he called them (No. 368)—and those who organized the riots and
demonstrations could find common cause with the lower orders. This in itself is less important
historically than the nature of his coverage of events. For Bernard's account of the second riot
established a pattern in his letters home that dramatized his predicament and pushed for direct
British intervention.
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The single most important letter in this second volume of transcripts is that which Bernard
wrote to the earl of Halifax from Castle William on 31 Aug. 1765 (No. 384). Bernard crafted the letter
with Halifax in mind—as he did with all his missives during the troubles—though Halifax had left the
secretary of state's office on 10 Jul., when Prime Minister George Grenville resigned. (It was not until
mid-September at the earliest that Bernard learned of these “changes in the Ministry" (No. 390). It is
reasonable to suppose that his dramatization of events was for Halifax’s benefit. Bernard was
clawing for the secretary’s attention: having seen his reform plans ignored, his letters served notice
of London's folly in imposing direct taxation. Bernard’s letter to Halifax (No. 384)--which is the most
detailed surviving account of the violent second riot—arrived in London on 5 Oct., two days before
his account of the first riot set (No. 368). It would be fair to assume that the order in which these
letters arrived heightened ministers’ unease at the events unfolding in Boston, since it denied them
opportunity of considering how and why the protests had escalated. The cabinet certainly thought
about the pros and cons of sending in the troops.1 But Grenville's successor the marquess of
Rockingham did not panic: in the coming months he moved the repeal of the Stamp Act to assuage
colonial concerns while Secretary of State Henry Seymour Conway reiterated his confidence upon
governors to restore the status quo ante.
Bernard's messages during these troubles were decidedly mixed. He urged reform and his
own recall, while pondering the deployment of British Regulars and options for conciliation, and all
the while berating the colonists for condoning and aiding mob rule. The uncertainty and hostility
running through Bernard's correspondence was symptomatic of the fact that he was expected to reestablish imperial authority as best he might, without, as he rightly supposed the means to forge a
political consensus supportive of British colonial policy. The messages he broadcast in 1766 and
1
See Nicolson, The ‘Infamas Govener’, 139-140; John L Bullion, “British Ministers and American
Resistance to the Stamp Act, October-December, 1765,” WMQ 49 (1992): 89-107.
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1767, which are documented in the third volume of papers, spoke loudly of the futility of such
endeavors.
Issue 3
Bernard's pessimism was symptomatic of three political developments. First, the Stamp Act
Crisis precipitated a major realignment in the Massachusetts which undermined political support for
his administration in the assembly. Second, Bernard's friends and patrons in England were largely
ineffective in preserving or advancing his interests. Third, the vagaries of British politics rendered
Bernard and other governors vulnerable to the whims of incoming ministers. Let me concentrate on
the third issue, since I have covered the first two in considerable detail elsewhere.
Three of the king’s secretaries of state for the American Colonies to whom Bernard reported
between 1766 and 1769 initially found reason to doubt his judgment. These ministers eventually
accepted his appraisal of colonial politics, albeit with varying degrees of enthusiasm and some
reluctance: Henry Seymour Conway was gracious where the earl of Shelburne was unpleasant, and
the earl of Hillsborough decisive where his predecessors dithered. Shelburne considered Bernard
expendable but political inertia in London determined that Bernard was kept in Boston (despite
requesting leave of absence) to continue the struggle to enforce imperial authority. By the end of
1767, Boston must have seemed a very lonely place indeed for any English governor who professed
“Reverence for the imperial State” (No. 508).
Bernard was one of the most experienced colonial governors, well versed in trying to
influence policymakers’ deliberations via his extended correspondence with agents, friends, officials,
and ministers. Understanding the arguments he delivered does not require a leap of the
imagination. Bernard was a beleaguered imperial official, and for all he exaggerated threats to civil
order and cried treason and sedition on many an occasion, he avoided rashly committing his
administration to uprooting a spectral revolution. But he planted the idea of colonial rebellion in
ministers’ minds, with care and deliberation. Ever the lawyer, Bernard furnished plenty of evidence,
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most of it circumstantial, little incriminating; he made deductions, offered interpretations, and
considered logical propositions. As a Crown servant, he made recommendations and advocated
solutions, and faithfully carried out instructions. Ever the politician, Bernard’s epistolary style could
also be opaque (as eighteenth-century political letters often were), with motive shrouded,
explanation coded in allusive metaphor, and purpose hidden—yet all knowingly understood by
recipient as well as author. Bernard’s letters are also replete with candid revelations, artfully
dropped into the epistolary dialogue, sometimes supported by evidence, and enticing English
readers to enter what for them must have seemed a political netherworld. Bernard’s
correspondence after the Stamp Act riots provide few unguarded moments, where the governor’s
voice can be heard free of bitterness and recrimination. Ultimately, Bernard was protecting his own
back. And he did so by trying to persuade the imperial government that he was countering a nascent
revolutionary movement.
Bernard crafted a case for direct British intervention in colonial affairs. Having first
championed the reform of colonial institutions and imperial administration, Bernard set out to
persuade ministers to cow his opponents by sending a regiment or two of Regulars to Boston. That
he succeeded in doing so by the summer of 1768 had enormous ramifications for British-colonial
relations, convincing many Americans that British hard-liners were in charge and predisposed to
ignore American aspirations and grievances. In Bernard’s correspondence of 1766 and 1767
historians will find explanation as to why British policymakers were prepared to take a firmer line
with the Americans in 1768.
Issue 4
Expect “the Worst,” Bernard cautioned the Rockingham administration (No. 431) when it
considered repealing the Stamp Act. To Secretary of State Henry Seymour Conway, he urged
The Stamp Act is become in itself a matter of Indifference; it is swallowed
up in the Importance of the Effects of which it has been the Cause. The
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taxing the Americans by the Parliament has brought their very Subjection
to the Crown of Great Britain in Question.
No American would ever have broached the prospect of independence in such a candid
manner as Bernard did in No. 447. Benjamin Franklin offered a similarly forthright assessment of
American affairs during his examination before the House of Commons on 13 Feb. 1766, when he
insisted that only by force of arms could Britain get the colonists to submit to the Stamp Act.
Bernard came to the same conclusion, albeit by a different route. But no American, including
Franklin, was in a position to lecture any minister, as Bernard did. And therein lay the colonists
predicament: how far could they push the governor?
Harsh words harshly spoken, Bernard supposed, might go down well with a military man
such as Conway. One day, he mused, he would surely require “orders & forces from England” to
subdue the colonists. “I should be glad that when they are taught that they have a superior, they
may know it effectually.” (No 436.) In fact, Conway had shied away from using the military during
the Stamp Act Crisis, and revealed to Bernard that the Rockingham ministry was relying upon
governors “to restore . . . Peace and Tranquility.” (No. 405.) “This Country is in a most terrible
disorder: I scarce dare to be explicit upon it,” Bernard wrote a confidant in Mar. 1766 (No. 448).
Regardless what his critics might think, Bernard dispatched torrents of newspaper cuttings
with one aim in mind: to convince ministers of the hopelessness of the governor’s situation. Or, as
Bernard put it, to “furnish . . . sufficient proof of the Overthrow of this Government” (No. 461). He
was serving notice that he was patently unable to cure either the “Madness of the people” (No. 431)
or the insane “Virulence” of James Otis Jr., Boston’s senior representative and Whig leader (Nos.
452, 460) The brilliant but unpredictable Otis drew Bernard’s ire like no other enemy. His portrait is
occasionally enlightening as to Otis’s mood swings and “mad pranks” (No. 470), yet whenever Otis
appears in the historical record, Bernard’s voice is shrill and dripping with invective (Nos. 510, 531,
533). He relished the chance of one day exposing “the grand Incendiary” (No. 539) and “his Gang”
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and detaching his “deluded Partisans from him” (No. 560). That was because, in early 1766, Otis
turned a full barrage of patriotic propaganda against the governor—enlisting the talented lawyer
John Adams and others—while Bernard’s defense was undertaken by a lone voice, that of the officeseeking lawyer and friend of Adams, Jonathan Sewall (No. 430).
Impeachment—by press or party—Bernard could safely ignore. Like Roman senators of old,
his deepest fear was “the power of the mob industriously worked up by a Very few desperate &
Wicked Men” (No. 464). What he could ignore were the ruminations of a hostile secretary of state.
William Petty, the earl of Shelburne was in charge of American affairs only briefly from 30 Jul. 1766
to 21 Jan. 1768, in Chatham's ministry, but his keen energy Bernard found testing and irksome.
Brilliant, ambitious, and reputedly a rather “slippery fellow,” (according to John Cannon)
Shelburne’s affected nonpartisanship and monarchical devotion was (according to G. O. Trevelyan) a
master-class in cant even amidst the corruption of eighteenth-century politics.2 Shelburne and
Bernard approached the imperial crisis from different perspectives. Bernard’s was hardened by the
experiences of his eight years as a colonial governor, and Shelburne’s by the desire to keep the
colonies quiet; the governor supposed the secretary naïve and inexperienced, the secretary thought
the governor unnecessarily combative and arrogant. Shelburne’s policy was to “conciliate” the
colonists, having assumed that the repeal of the Stamp Act and the passage of the Declaratory Act in
1766 provided a foundation to settle future disagreements. But Shelburne, for all that Bernard might
suppose he lacked toughness, actually possessed the “Firmness of mind” that Bernard saw in
Hutchinson. And yet, Shelburne’s natural inclination was to empathize with the Americans: not
because he accepted their grievances or wished to concede American self-government, but because
he feared the consequences of not listening.
2
John Cannon, “Petty, William, second earl of Shelburne and first marquess of Lansdowne (1737–
1805),” ODNB-e (http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/22070, accessed 2 Mar. 2012). Lord Edmond
Fitzmaurice, Life of William, Earl of Shelburne, Afterwards First Marquis of Lansdowne, With Extracts From His
Papers and Correspondence, 2 vols. (London, 1912).
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Shelburne’s attitude toward governors was directorial and high-handed: he tended to see
governors—and Bernard in particular—as meddlesome and troublesome, overly quick to take
offence and give offence (just the kind of flaws that contemporaries and historians espied in
Shelburne’s own character). Bernard’s immediate response was to furnish detailed accounts and
appraisals of the political situation in Massachusetts, as if the weight of evidence could bury the
minister’s concerns. Toward the end of 1766, Bernard weighed up Shelburne’s advice to be more
conciliatory (in No. 501) and came to the conclusion that he must do more to save the minister from
egregious errors of judgment as well as protect his own reputation. Bernard relished the opportunity
to establish his own credentials as a commentator/analyst and correct Shelburne’s misconceptions.
And—for all the cautious language and prolixity—Bernard was demanding to be heard. James Otis Jr.
he placed at the center of most every colonial protest (Nos. 521) and he tried to interest Shelburne
in his proposal for an American civil list and other opportune reforms (Nos. 523 and 524). Yet for all
the hubris that marked this outpouring, conviction was driving him on. What was “unavoidable,” he
revealed to Richard Jackson, “is that the principles of great Britain & America are so widely different
that it must produce a Dispute some Time or other” (No. 526).
When Bernard learned that Shelburne had drafted (but did not act upon) plans to remove
him from office his immediate reaction was to commit himself to the job in hand, and deal as best
he might with the brouhaha over the Townshend Acts in the latter half of 1767. Bernard simply
could not afford to lose office at this juncture (No. 556), for news of London had dashed
expectations that his recall would automatically result in another posting. Bernard took a month to
compose himself, before apologizing to Shelburne for any “impertinence” in his recent
correspondence (No. 557). Carefully crafted, the letter began with exculpation for providing
“informations” that in retrospect were not of much “consequence.” He singled out the cuttings of
“incendiary” newspaper articles that he dispatched in Jul. 1765 (which have not survived): while noone at the time could have foreseen the Stamp Act riots that occurred seven weeks later, such
radical writings “were prophetical, tho’ not early enough for the purpose of prevention.” The
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apology he then transformed into a challenge. Without even mentioning the Townshend Duties—
the reason why there was an upsurge in colonial opposition—Bernard rationalized resurgent
radicalism as a precursor to the kind of insurrectionism that, he claimed then and later, had plagued
Boston in 1765. Popular celebrations on the anniversary of the first (and less violent) Stamp Act riot
(14 Aug. 1765) triggered a host of seditious writings which Bernard collected and catalogued for the
secretary. He now upped the stakes, claiming “pregnant Evidence” of radicals aiming at “Civil War”
and that the Boston “Faction does intend to raise another insurrection in this Town” (No. 557).
t was not until 2 Feb. 1768, that Bernard received from Shelburne the endorsement that he
long supposed he deserved but never expected to get (No. 566). By then, Shelburne had been
replaced by the Wills Hill, the earl of Hillsborough. Hillsborough’s appointment almost immediately
changed the dynamics of colonial relations. Notwithstanding Hillsborough’s historical reputation as a
hard-liner, he listened to what the American colonists were saying just as much as Shelburne did.
Also like his predecessor, Hillsborough was fully prepared to question Bernard’s judgment; but
unlike Shelburne, Hillsborough found what the governors and imperial officials told him altogether
more credible than what emanated from the colonial assemblies. Within three months of
Hillsborough taking office, British Regulars were on their way to Boston. It was a fateful decision.
Conclusion
The documentary record of the middle years (1766 and 1767) of Bernard’s troubled
administration reveals a governor at odds with his charges and discomfited by the knowledge that
his masters did not appreciate his predicament. Bernard's dual aim of persuading British secretaries
of state to respond to his own agenda and to take colonial radicalism seriously was a dangerous
diplomatic game. Success, Bernard concluded, depended upon being able to convince the ministers
of the Americans’ seditious practices and rebellious tendencies. How much Thomas Hutchinson
knew of what Bernard was writing home has yet to be established, for their cultural if not political
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differences became apparent as their relationship developed over the years. Bernard's hostility to
Boston radicals was deeply rooted in a fear of mobs; Hutchinson, for all that he suffered personally
was more a more astute observer. In common with many British officials and some Loyalists,
Bernard came to view the aftermath of the Stamp Act Crisis as a lost opportunity to establish
imperial authority on firmer foundations. In common with Rockingham’s Irish secretary, the MP
Edmund Burke (1729-97), who had drafted the American Declaratory Act, Bernard proclaimed
Parliament's legislative supremacy as the basis of British imperialism. But unlike Bernard, Burke
warned that Britain should never use it to justify colonial policy: Burke’s anti-authoritarianism
arguably refined his understanding of imperialism, whereas Bernard’s vision had been and continued
to be defined by American anti-authoritarianism. The arrival of British soldiers in Boston in 1768 did
not end prospects of settlement or consensus but made negotiating either of these so much more
difficult; and the consequences reverberated in Westminster, Whitehall and Boston for years to
come. As a historical documentary edition, The Bernard Papers aims to assist historians negotiate
that process—and in the process provide hard evidence of how British imperialism was itself
negotiable in the decade before the Revolutionary War. For mystery at both ends of a case, as
Sherlock Holmes put it, is simply "is too confusing."
Bibliography
In text citations (No. 384 etc.) refer to transcripts published in Colin Nicolson, ed., The
Papers of Francis Bernard, Governor of Colonial Massachusetts, 1760-69, 6 vols. (Colonial Society of
Masschusetts; Univ. of Virginia Press: Boston, 2007-), vols. 2-3 (2012-2013).