History That Doesn't Suck - 14 (Second Edition): The Newburgh Conspiracy and The Peace of Paris

Episode Date: January 27, 2025

“I have not only grown gray but almost blind in service to my country.” This is the story (or tale) of two cities.  In Paris, Ben Franklin, John Adams, John Jay and (briefly) Henry Laurens are negotiating the terms of American independence. They know what they want, but getting there will require outmaneuvering the greatest powers on earth and defying Congress. Will they do as they’ve been instructed? Or risk it all and swing for the fence?  Meanwhile, Continental Army officers in New Windsor, New York, are fed up with Congress’s broken promises. Soldiers have been waiting in vain for their payments for years—will the end of the war change anything, or will their pensions be ignored too? The beleaguered men are even considering violence… could a military coup end the American experiment before the peace treaty is even signed? Help us George Washington. You’re our only hope. ____ Connect with us on HTDSpodcast.com and go deep into episode bibliographies and book recommendations join discussions in our Facebook community get news and discounts from The HTDS Gazette  come see a live show get HTDS merch or become an HTDS premium member for bonus episodes and other perks. HTDS is part of Audacy media network. Interested in advertising on the History That Doesn't Suck? Contact Audacyinc.com To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hey Spotify, this is Javi. My biggest passion is music, and it's not just sounds and instruments. It's more than that to me. It's a world full of harmonies with chillers. From streaming to shopping, it's on Prime. Clear your schedule for U-time with a handcrafted espresso beverage from Starbucks. Savor the new small and mighty Quartetto. Cozy up with the familiar flavors of pistachio,

or shake up your mood with an iced brown sugar oat shaken espresso. Whatever you choose, your espresso will be handcrafted with care at Starbucks. It's just before noon, March 15th, 1783. We're about 60 miles up the Hudson River from still British occupied New York City inside a large rectangular and wooden meeting house called the Temple of Virtue, which is filled with chattering Continental officers. Disgruntled and angry Continental officers, which is filled with chattering continental officers. Disgruntled and angry continental officers, that is. Officers prepared to march down to Philadelphia and carry out a coup against Congress that would effectively eviscerate the very ideals of liberty and representative government that

this whole revolution is about. Yeah, no small thing. Tell you what, let's step outside for a moment and I'll fill you in. Here's the deal. It's been a year and a half since the siege of Yorktown and the war is in a lower gear. The French are gone. General Rochambeau is back in France and Vice Admiral Comte de Grasse has long since returned to the Caribbean where he suffered defeat.

Military engagements are fewer and smaller. Notable ones in the last year include the July 1782 skirmish outside Tarrytown, New York, where newly enlisted Continental soldier Deborah Sampson used a knife to cut a musket ball out of her own flesh to prevent the Army from catching on to the fact that she's a woman, and the Battle of the Combahee River that August, where our dear friend from so many past episodes, Lieutenant Colonel John Lawrence, was sadly killed. But for the most part, things are calm as George Washington and his cabin-dwelling Continental Army live in a rather permanent camp at New Windsor, New York, where they

can keep an eye on the British Army's headquarters in NYC as a peace treaty to end the war has worked out. But as close as we are to this war's end, the Continental officers are even closer to hitting their breaking point, with Congress's several years of broken promises and inability to provide the basics like food, clothing, and pay. Some officers haven't been paid in six years to say nothing of promised pensions. We've discussed these congressional failures in several past episodes, but it bears briefly repeating, Congress has the power to spend money and needed to do so to fight this war. Yet it does not have power to raise money because under the Articles of Confederation,

the United States is not a country but an alliance. One that can only request funds from its sovereign member states. Now, despite the occasional mutiny, Continental Army officers and soldiers alike have largely endured this situation patiently and patriotically. But with the war ending, many officers and IOU holders, including America's bigger investors, fear that Congress will never fulfill its promises. And while much hope rested on a recently proposed amendment to the Articles that would have

allowed Congress to raise funds through customs duties, it failed thanks to Virginia's and Rhode Island's dissenting votes. It's in this context that the officers sent a committee to speak plainly to Congress of their frustrations. That Alexander Hamilton, still an officer but now also a congressman, wrote to George Washington on February 13th encouraging him to take on Congress lest the army go around him to, quote, procure justice to itself, close quote. That George responded on March 4th saying he would not lead the army against

Congress in an act that would, quote, end in blood, and that, in recent days, two anonymous letters circulated among the officers. The first defied George by calling for an unsanctioned meeting. The second suggested that, if the British attack, the army should abandon Congress and the states to deal with it, while if peace comes, the army should march on Congress and demand payment by force of bayonet. Good God. Things are looking grim indeed.

George cancelled that unsanctioned meeting but is allowing another one today. That meeting is what brings us to the Temple of Virtue. And with that background, let's head back inside. Though teaming with hundreds of officers, the large meeting hall quiets down as a general rises and takes the small stage before them to call the meeting to order. That general is Horatio Gates. Yes,

the same Horatio who fled the Battle of Camden and left his army to the mercy of British General Lord Cornwallis in Episode 12. Though stripped of his command after that, his political connections enabled him to get reinstated last summer. And now, ironically or appropriately enough, it falls to him to conduct this meeting that just might end in mutiny and the death of the American experiment. But as Horatio begins, a blue-clad and towering figure appears in the doorway. It's George Washington. He begins walking to the front of the hall.

This is awkward. Now, don't get me wrong, the officers love George. Some like Colonel Louis Nicola have even called for him to become the King of America. But the Continental Commander has refused the idea of a crown and, as seen in his letter to Alexander Hamilton, has made it clear that he won't lead the army against Congress. So honestly, no one expected him to show up today, and perhaps for the first time ever, the officers are not happy to see the general. George approaches the hall's small stage and ascends its two steps.

He then asks Horatio if he might address the men. Well, it's kind of hard to say no to the commander-in-chief. Horatio gives George the floor. Despite the palpable tension in the room and the sea of discontent officers glaring at him, George undertakes the onerous task of addressing them. The typically reserved Virginian speaks with uncharacteristic passion and starts by refuting the unauthorized circulated letters harsh words against him with reminders of his love and sacrifice for these very officers. As I have never left your side one moment, but when called from you on public duty, as

I have been the constant companion and witness of your distresses, and not among the last to feel and acknowledge your merits, as I have ever considered my own military reputation as inseparably connected with that of the army, as my heart has ever expanded with joy when I have heard its praises, and my indignation has arisen when the mouth of detraction has been opened against it, it can scarcely be supposed, at this late stage of the war, that I am indifferent to its interests."

Little change. George is still met with cold silence and hard faces. He continues his prepared remarks, arguing that the letter's call to endanger or threaten Congress undermines what they've fought to create. My God, what can this writer have in view by recommending such measures? Can he be a friend to the army? Can he be a friend to this country? Rather, is he not an insidious foe?

The officers continue to glower. George must have a pit in his stomach by now. He tries a civics lesson and urges patience with Congress. Like all other large bodies where there is a variety of different interests to reconcile, their deliberations are slow. Why then should we distrust them? Still little to nothing. Finally, he appeals to their patriotism to give Congress more time to do its job.

You will give one more distinguished proof of unexampled patriotism and patient virtue rising superior to the pressure of the most complicated sufferings. And you will, by the dignity of your conduct, afford occasion for posterity to say, when speaking of the glorious example you have exhibited to mankind, had this day been wanting, the world had never seen the last stage of perfection to which human nature is capable of attaining. George has finished his speech. Most officer scowls are as fierce as they were at the start.

The general must be filled with fear and trepidation as he thinks of the burgeoning United States that he's fought and sacrificed for, dying at the hands of militarized tyranny. The Continental Commander has an idea. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a piece of paper and unfolds it. He looks down and stares at it, but something's off. He looks confused. The officers lean forward staring intensely. What is their commander doing? Finally, a few words escape his lips and a stammer. You, you're, you're fa- your fa- your favors, your favors." George looks up at his officers.

They're baffled, outraged as they are. Why is their great general struggling to read? Gentlemen, the 51-year-old Virginian says, addressing his officers, "'You will permit me to put on my spectacles, for I have not only grown gray, but almost blind in service to my country.'" That does it. With these words, the hardened, angry, cynical officers, who have seen so much death and blood, who have suffered so many unjust deprivations, erupt

into sobs. All of George's pleading and reasoning had no effect on them, but to see George, their general, a man whom many here, despite their anger, would call their father and friend, wearing glasses? Well, it's something he's never done in front of them before. It's something that reminds them of the countless ladders, dispatches, and orders he's strained his eyes over in the past eight years for their benefit. It's something that reminds them that he isn't a god after all, but a man who's

been worn down and aged by battle. And now, it is they who are wearing him down. As he suffers the embarrassment of showing a vulnerability he clearly never meant for them to see. Tears continue to stream down their faces as bespectacled George Washington reads. It's an extremely sympathetic letter from Congressman Joseph Jones. In it, the Congressman pays high compliments to the Army and gives solid evidence that Congress is, in fact, trying to solve the Army's plight. When George finishes reading the

Congressman's letter, he walks out of the meeting. Nothing more is needed. There will be no mutiny here today. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story. With a pair of spectacles, George Washington did indeed break the mutinous spell holding his officers and in the process ended what historians call the Newberg Conspiracy. Once again, George has saved American republicanism from a near stillbirth.

A congressional committee headed by Alexander Hamilton awards the officers a pension equal to five years full pay. Now if Congress only had a means of actually paying those pensions. Meanwhile, as the army starts to go home in mid 1783, the United States Superintendent of Finance, Robert Morris, pays out upward of a million dollars to the enlisted men in a new currency backed by his own personal fortune and assets, appropriately called Morris Notes. Clearly, the financial problems of the young fledgling alliance that is the United States won't be coming to an end anytime soon. But the Revolutionary War's end is

upon us. And that is today's tale. We begin our story in England, where King George III is hoping to still prosecute the war despite the loss at Yorktown. Once his government comes to accept that this siege really did mean the end, we'll then head to Paris, France, where one of five congressionally appointed peace commissioners, Dr. Benjamin Franklin, is beginning negotiations with Britain's Richard Oswald. But as John Jay and John Adams join the good doctor, can they secure British recognition of American independence? What about territory, the departure of British troops, and fishing rights?

And how will they handle France, Spain, and even Congress, all of which have their own agendas or views? Will these American diplomats play by the rules, or risk angering these powerful empires and their own Congress by making their own. From navigating personal conflict between themselves to navigating European monarchies, the Americans negotiating this treaty are teaching a masterclass on the game of statecraft. And it all begins in London as the British government grapples with what to do in the aftermath of the siege of Yorktown. Rewind.

It's November 27th, 1781. We're in London, England, at the Palace of Westminster, but not the gorgeous Gothic revival palace you and I might envision with its iconic clock tower, known as Big Ben. No, none of that will come into being until a tragic fire necessitates a major rebuild more than half a century from now. Though in the same place on the bank of the River Thames, this is the old medieval palace, and right now, the House of Lords and the House of Commons are all gathering, chatting,

and awaiting the start of their joint meeting that will open this session of parliament. It should be most interesting. News of last month's Franco-American victory over Lord Charles Cornwallis at Yorktown only reached London two days ago. Many if not all of the overlapping conversations happening as they approached the hall must be on that very subject. Undoubtedly, many if not all here know that upon hearing the news, their Prime Minister, Lord North, exclaimed,

Oh God, it is all over. It is all over. But that was Lord North. How will the King respond? Well, we are about to find out. A hush falls over the hall as His Majesty, King George III, enters. Dressed in regal attire, he takes his place on the throne. Now 43 years old, His Majesty watches with his gray eyes as the last ceremonial steps

are taken, bringing both houses of Parliament together. And once that is settled, the Sovere sovereign begins his speech from the throne. My lords and gentlemen, when I last met you in Parliament, I acquainted you with the arduous situation of public affairs at the time. The war is still unhappily prolonged by that restless ambition which first excited our enemies to commence it, and which still continues to disappoint my earnest desire and diligent exertion to restore the public tranquility." Okay, His Majesty definitely has a different take on the revolution than the Patriots. No surprise there. And as the speech continues, he soon tells Parliament how he believes they should

respond to Lord Cornwallis' defeat in Virginia. I inform you that the events of the war have been very unfortunate to my arms in Virginia, having ended in the loss of my forces in that province. No endeavors have been wanting on my part to extinguish that spirit or rebellion which our enemies have found means to foment and maintain in the colonies, and to restore to my deluded subjects in America that happy and prosperous condition which they formerly derived from a due obedience to the laws. But the late misfortune in that quarter calls loudly for your firm concurrence and assistance to frustrate the designs of our enemies equally prejudicial to the real interests of America

and to those of Great Britain." That's right. King George has every intention of still prosecuting this war, and before he closes, he turns his attention directly to the purse-controlling House of Commons as he addresses the ongoing cost of the war. I most sincerely regret the additional burdens which it must unavoidably bring upon my faithful subjects. Yeah, that's not happening.

Instead, the King's government and support for the war collapse within the next few months. On February 27, 1782, the Commons vote to declare all who still advocate, quote, an offensive in America to be enemies to the King and to the country, close quote. The following day, the Commons further vote in favor of peace negotiations with the quote unquote, revolted colonies of North America. On March 20th, Lord North resigns as Prime Minister and is replaced by the pro-American Charles Watson Wentworth, Marquis of Rockingham, who, as you might recall from episode two, oversaw the repeal of the Sugar and Stamp Acts back in 1766.

King George even writes a letter of abdication. But His Majesty does not go through with it. He retains his crown even as the new and far more friendly to America government offers an olive branch in April as Colonial Secretary Lord Shelburne sends Richard Oswald to Paris to open preliminary peace talks. It makes a lot of sense to send Richard. The retired, super rich, and one-eyed Scotsman made his wealth as a merchant, a government contractor and slave trader.

He's lived in America, which will provide him with valuable insights. Richard's charismatic, likable, and although not keen on American independence, does want the war to end already. Finally, Richard's been selected in part because he already knows and gets along with the American diplomat whom he's going to see in the French capital. That American is, of course, Dr. Benjamin Franklin. Ah, Ben. We've encountered and talked about this colonial Renaissance man in a few past episodes, but

haven't had the chance to really bond with him, not since Congress sent him to France as a diplomat back in 1776 at any rate. Sounds like we should get to know him a bit better now, as our tale brings him to the fore. Born on Milk Street in Boston in 1706, Ben loved to swim in the Charles River as a child. He soon made his first invention, flippers and hand paddles that would enable him to swim faster. Ben only received two years of formal education from eight to ten years old. He excelled, but his father Josiah could tell that this

highly irreverent 15th of his 17 children was not going to cut it as a clergyman. So, the candle-making father figured Ben might as well leave school and work in the family shop. Ben hated this though, so two years later Josiah arranged for one of his adult sons, James, to take on 12-year-old Ben as an indentured apprentice in his print shop. Here Ben acquired his skill and identity as a printer and tricked his brother into publishing his youthful writing by submitting them under the alias of an aged woman named Mrs. Silence Do-Good.

After five years of this, Ben decided he'd had enough of his brother James. The younger Franklin found his older brother to be quite austere. So he broke his contract and made off for Philadelphia. Fresh off the boat in his newly adopted hometown, a hungry 17-year-old Ben spent three pennies on three great puffy rolls. As he walked down Market Street, eating one roll with the other rolls tucked separately under each arm, he passed the home of his future wife, Deborah Reed, where, to quote Ben's autobiography, she, standing at the door, saw me and thought I made, as I certainly

did, a most awkward, ridiculous appearance." They eventually married in 1730. Ben's inventions and innovations could be a podcast in and of themselves, let alone a quick intro on our way to negotiations, so I'll just leave it at this. He proved lightning is electricity with a kite and that it could be tamed with a lightning rod. He spearheaded Philadelphia's volunteer firefighter corps and a lending library, and served as the city's postmaster.

Actually, he even became the postmaster general of British North America. Oh, and he invented the bifocal glasses and a clean burning stove. But perhaps of greatest importance to today's tale is Ben's personal history as America's first diplomat. Though lacking extensive training, he has incredible experience. With the exception of a productive and politically packed two-year stint back home in the early 1760s, Ben represented the interests of colonial Pennsylvania and other colonies in England from 1757 through 1775. It was during these decades that he received honorary

doctorates from St. Andrews and Oxford universities, thus making him Dr. Franklin, and fought in London against the 1765 Stamp Act. Returning to America as the Revolution broke out in 1775, Pennsylvania gladly named Ben as a delegate to the Second Continental Congress, where he made a few but important contributions to Thomas Jefferson's draft of the Declaration of Independence. But even in the US he played the part of a diplomat, meeting with Admiral Richard Howe at Staten Island, as you may recall from episode 8. And it was shortly after this that Ben sailed out of Philadelphia and crossed the Atlantic to represent the United States to the French court.

Citing his age, he attempted to resign in March 1781. But much to France's delight, Congress rejected this. Thus, Ben has been in France ever since the tail end of 1776. Finally, let me add one last crucial detail to his introduction. Ben's a charmer. He adapts well to different cultures. He seduces, and I don't mean that sexually, or at least not necessarily sexually. His donning a fur cap in Paris rather than a wig is all part of a charm offensive as

he plays the rugged American for Parisians. You'll see this come out in his diplomacy. And now that we're better acquainted with our brilliant irreverent aging American diplomat, I'd say we're ready to join him and Britain's Richard Oswald as they open talks in Paris. Let the games begin. It's mid-April, likely the 17th, 1782. 76-year-old American diplomat Ben Franklin and his fellow Septuagenarian, British Representative Richard Oswald, are riding in a horse-drawn carriage just leaving Versailles, where they

met together with King Louis XVI's Foreign Minister, Charles-Gabriel Comte-Virgen. At this meeting, Virginene suggested that it was time to hold a conference where all the belligerents now fighting against Britain in this war for American independence, that is France, Spain, and even the Netherlands, can all sit down and make peace together. That makes good sense considering that the Franco-American alliance specifies that neither will make peace without the other. Ah, but that's not what the new British government wants. Most of whose leaders believe that if they can split the allies and treat separately,

then they can get better terms for Britain. And at some point, as the magnificent city-sized classical and Baroque palace shrinks behind them, the elderly Scott starts pushing the idea. Richard suggests to Ben that it would be a shame if American independence were held up because France or Spain want to continue their war, thus delaying the peace. Witty as ever, Ben answers that independence was settled in 1776. Britain ought to acknowledge it rather than try to negotiate it. Ben also notes mentally, as he'll later write in his journal, quote, they who threaten

are afraid, close quote. Then Ben turns the tables. Maybe Britain, if truly seeking reconciliation, should pay reparations for all the patriot property that they destroyed. Ben says, many houses and villages have been burnt in America by the English and their allies. I do not know that the Americans will insist on reparation, but would it not be better for England to offer it? Ben next makes a suggestion for such reparation. Canada. After all, the fur trade can't offset the cost of protecting it, so really, America would be doing Britain a favor.

Or so Ben argues. Britain possesses Canada. Her chief advantage from that possession consists in the trade for peltry. Her expenses in governing and defending that settlement must be considerable. Would it not have an excellent effect if Britain should voluntarily offer to give up this province, though on these conditions, that she shall in all times coming have and enjoy the right of free trade thither,

unencumbered with any duties whatsoever, that so much of the vacant lands there shall be sold as will raise a sum sufficient to pay for the houses burnt by the British troops and their Indians, and also to indemnify the 5. or remove unwanted noise and relive your favorite moments without the distractions. And that's not all. New Galaxy AI features like NowBrief will give you personalized insights based on your day schedule so that you're prepared no matter what.

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maybe reach out to TD Direct Investing. maybe reach out to TD Direct Investing. That's right, Canada. An audacious suggestion, and only a week can change after this diplomatic carriage ride, Lord Shelburne answers in his April 28, 1782 memorandum to Richard Oswald that the British government is very against the idea. But with his audacity, Dr. Benjamin Franklin took Richard's threat-laced offensive position of Britain only maybe recognizing American independence and

put the scott on defense which is much preferred as they begin the game of peacemaking treaty making and statecraft and yes serious as the outcome will be the process is very much a game one that Ben continues to play as all the other players slowly gather in the following months. He insists to Richard, as well as another newly arrived British negotiator, 27-year-old Thomas Grenville, whose father was the Prime Minister largely behind the Stamp Act, by the way, that their government provide them with proper credentials. Not permission for preliminary talks, as Richard first brought. Not permission to negotiate with France, as Thomas' credentials show.

But to negotiate with the United States. A seemingly small thing, yet one that would force Britain to tacitly acknowledge American independence. Oh, and ever the old newspaper man, Ben, also uses his printing press to make a fake Boston newspaper with a fake report of British atrocities carried out on innocent Americans. Recalling that his conversation with Richard, and notes that he let the Scot take afterward, included mention of compensating loyalists. He hopes this forgery of a newspaper will help set a tone of zero sympathy for loyalists.

But Ben isn't the only one playing games. Every nation is. Let me break it down for you. I'll start with Britain. While Richard Oswald whispers sweet nothings about American independence in Ben's ear, hoping to induce the good doctor to deal without including France, British envoys are in America trying to sell Congress on the idea that the United States would be best served by becoming a dominion of the British

crown. We won't get bogged down on the technicalities, but basically this is what Canada, Australia, and New Zealand will evolve into at different points between 1867 and 1907. So yeah, a bit two-faced, like everyone else in these negotiations. When Ben gets word of this, he writes to Robert Livingston back in Congress, The King hates us most cordially. If he is once admitted to any degree of power and government among us, however limited, it will soon be extended by corruption, artifice,

and force till we are reduced to absolute subjection. Then there's France. America's ally, right? Well, yes, and let's not forget the crucial help it has given, but as I told you when it became America's ally in episode 9, France is in this for its own reasons, which is precisely why the French fleets have spent more time fighting the British in the Caribbean than supporting the Continental Army. Meanwhile, France's minister to the United States, Chevalier de la Luzerne, is lobbying Congress to instruct its diplomats to do as France says in the peace negotiations so that

sneaky Brits can take advantage of them and divide them as allies. Or so he says, in reality, la Luzerne and the French corps are trying to keep America weak and dependent upon France. In fact, the French have proposed the United States eastern border as the Appalachian Mountains, basically the old proclamation line of 1763. That, France hopes, will keep the Americans boxed in, and in need of them. As for Spain, it has its eyes on regaining the Floridas and intends to extend its North American territories east of the Mississippi River, an idea that France supports. Spain also wants to continue the war, regardless of American interests, until it can take Gibraltar.

While gullible or brivable, Congress eats up La Lusanne's story and instructs its negotiators that June to do what France says. As Congressman Thomas Rodney complains in a letter, the American commissioners are, quote, "...after having obtained independence in all things else to be ultimately governed by the advice of the French court or minister, close quote. Good night. See, I've told you in past episodes that the real talent has left Congress, leaving it mostly filled with B-listers. Thankfully for the United States' sake, the American negotiators really playing in this multi-nation statecraft game are the A-Team.

Yeah, Ben isn't alone, or not anymore. Another of Congress' appointed negotiators, John Jay, joins him in Paris on June 23rd. A tall, pale, gangly New Yorker with a prominent aquiline nose, Mr. Jay is a lawyer and former congressman. He's been in Spain since 1780, where he only managed to procure a small loan for the United States.

Well, it was a tough assignment, but now the confrontational and argumentative New Yorker is here with smooth talking Ben. When Jay hears he's supposed to cow-tow to France, he makes it clear that, in his mind, Congress could go sit on an ink-filled quill. He doesn't give one electrified Franklin-flown kite about France's wishes and utterly refuses to follow such orders. We're still in June, but I can best make this point by quoting Jay's September letter to the President of Congress.

As an American, I feel an interest in the dignity of my country, which renders it difficult for me to reconcile myself to the idea of the sovereign, independent states of America submitting in the persons of their ministers to be absolutely governed by the advice and opinions of the servants of another sovereign, especially in a case of such national importance." Close quote. And to think, that's Jay trying to be respectful. Among the first things the two Americans do is prepare a list of what they're going to try and get out of these peace talks. They divide them into two categories, necessary and advisable.

There are four necessary terms. One, recognition of American independence. Two, removal of all British troops from American territory. Three, an acceptable territorial boundary settlement, by which they mean a western border reaching all the way out to the Mississippi River. And four, securing fishing rights off of Newfoundland and other points on the Canadian coast. The advisable terms are also for a number. One, Britain takes blame for the war.

Two, Britain pay reparations to Americans for all the violence and destruction it did in the United States. 3. Britain hand over Canada as a new addition to the United States. 4. A free trade agreement. Ben sends a letter to Richard Oswald on July 10th that lays all of this out. Since Lord Rockingham died of the flu just a week and a half earlier on July 1st, which Jay also caught shortly after arriving in Paris, Richard sends this list onto the former Colonial Secretary turned new Prime Minister, Lord Shelburne. His lordship thinks the advisable category is a bit much, but the necessary items don't

seem bad. Great. This means negotiations in Paris can move forward in late July. The independence, but with the quote unquote colonies and plantations. That doesn't recognize American independence. Still partially open with Vergene, Ben and Jay discuss the lack of recognition of American independence in this credential with him. The French foreign minister says it's not a problem. That will come together in the final piece.

He also mentions Spain's interest in land east of the Mississippi River. Now, this doesn't ruffle the more trusting Ben, but Jay sees things quite differently. He sees duplicity. He sees that France, Spain, and Britain are all trying to play them just from different angles. Smooth operating Ben thinks Jay's distrust in the French is going too far, though, and when they return home from their discussions with Vergenne that night, the two have it out. It's an unspecified summer evening, likely July 1782. American diplomats Benjamin Franklin and John Jay have just returned to Ben's beautiful,

stately abode in the village of Passy, about three miles outside of Paris. Both are worn out and body and mind from a long day of discussion at Versailles. So even as Jay tries to calm his soul by lighting up his clay pipe, perhaps those human factors are just too much to overcome. As the duo continue to talk through the diplomatic challenges they face, and Jay suggests that France is too interested in supporting Spain's interests east of the Mississippi and in the Gulf of Mexico, their tempers start to win out. Growing frustrated, Ben questions, have we any reason to doubt the good faith of the

King of France? Jay snaps back, we can depend upon the French only to see that we are separated from England, but it is not in their interest that we should become a great and formidable people, and therefore they will not help us to become so. If we cannot count upon France, upon whom else may we depend? We have no rational dependence except on God and ourselves. Would you deliberately break Congress's instructions? Unless we violate these instructions, the dignity of Congress will be in the dust.

I do not mean to imply that we should deviate in the least from our treaty with France. Our honor and our interests are concerned in inviolably adhering to it. But if we lean on her love of liberty, her affection for Americans, or her interests in magnanimity, we shall lean on a broken reed that will sooner or later pierce our hands. Then you are prepared to break our instructions. If the instructions conflict with America's honor and dignity, I would break them, like this. And with that, if we are to believe Jay family lore, the furious New Yorker hurls his long clay pipe into the fireplace, shattering it into pieces as it slams into the soot-covered bricks.

Ben and Jay come out of this argument well enough. Historians will differ on their interpretations of Ben's willingness to break with Congress at this point, but as we've seen, Ben's already bent if not broken their instructions in dealing with the British. This is a question of degree. Taking the lead as Ben battles gout and kidney stones through most of August and September, Jay sends a messenger to London informing Prime Minister Shelburne that he's ready to deal, but only if Britain acknowledges American independence straight up. Through this same messenger, Jay learns of a

coded French document showing their opposition to American fishing rights near Newfoundland. The French call the document a forgery, but it isn't, and the New Yorker is only all the more certain that they should blow off Congress's instructions. Meanwhile, Jay's messenger finds that Lord Shelburne is willing to compromise. Though unwilling to recognize American independence outright, his lordship is eager to get things moving amid challenges to his power at home. In mid-September, Richard Oswald's commission changes to say that he is negotiating with commissioners, quote, of the colonies under the title of 13 United States.

Close quote. Good enough. Finally, things can really get started, but Jay would prefer to have another staunch iron-willed ally here. And so, as September draws to a close, he writes to another Congressionally appointed negotiator currently in the Netherlands, urging him to get to Paris quickly. This is the one and only John Adams. It's been a minute since we hung out with this fierce Massachusetts man about to join Ben Franklin and John Jay.

And yes, two Johns can get confusing. So even though we're on a first name basis with the founders, that's why we're using last names for these two. Anyhow, as I was saying, it's been a minute, so let me give you a little refresher along with his diplomatic credentials. A New Englander, Harvard alum, and lawyer, John Adams represented the Redcoats charged with murder in the Boston Massacre back in 1770, or episode 3, and he rocked it. He also represented John Hancock when one of his ships got impounded for smuggling

and represented Massachusetts at the First and Second Continental Congresses. We also saw him recommend George Washington be named Commander-in-Chief of the Continental Army in episode 6 and fight like a lion to get Congress to declare independence in 1776 or episode 8. Dr. Benjamin Rush said of Adams, quote, This illustrious patriot has not his superior, scarcely his equal for abilities and virtue on the whole of the continent of America. Close quote. He further claimed, to quote the doctor again, every member of Congress in 1776 acknowledged

him to be the first man in the House. Thomas Jefferson called Adams, our colossus on the floor. In late 1779, Adams became the principal author of the Massachusetts Constitution, a document that includes a Declaration of Rights and divides the government into three branches – an executive, judiciary, and bicameral legislature. Ratified in 1780, it is the oldest functioning constitution in the entire world. Yes, you heard that correctly. In the strictest sense, the only government that's been around and continuously functioning

longer than the U.S. federal government is Massachusetts' state government. And John Adams, more so than anyone else, made it. With those accomplishments, I suppose we can see why Congress wouldn't trust Adams with something as important as diplomacy. The fiery Massachusetts man got his first taste of diplomatic life alongside Ben Franklin on Staten Island in late 1776, when the Howe brothers thought they could get the Americans to settle for something less than independence. More soon followed. In 1778, Adams went to France at Congress's request, where, once again, he pursued America's interests beside the elderly bespectacled Ben.

But here, things soured between the two Patriots. I'm going to detail this a bit because it matters in the 1782 peace talks. Let me start by saying that for all the good we've said of Adams and Ben we must remember that they are human and have their faults. John Adams is opinionated, stubborn, quick to find offense and for that matter, quick to give a fence, be that with his frank pen or sharp tongue. Meanwhile, as Adams got to know Ben, he learned that the colonial Renaissance man doesn't walk on water. Adams was disappointed to find Ben didn't live up to the wisdom dispensed in poor Richard's

almanac. Early to bed, early to rise, Ben woke up around ten. Thrifty, Ben was rich and worried little about his extravagance. As the 5 a.m. rising Adams grew better at French through his systematic and careful study, he came to realize Ben's French was sloppy at best. Adams was all the more irritated that the French seemed to find the old Philadelphian's poor grammar and accent endearing. Disliked by the French and feeling unappreciated by Congress, Adams and his young son, John Quincy, who had accompanied his father to France, returned to Massachusetts in 1779. This afforded Adams the opportunity to work on the state constitution and, of course, to see his brilliant, loving, and patient pen pal, his wife, Abigail. Things hit a real nadir with Adams and Ben when the brusque New Englander returned to

France in February 1780 to await negotiations with Britain, a task entrusted at this point solely to Adams. But it might just be, as Adams' biographer David McCullough speculates, that French Foreign Minister Vergenne set a trap to get rid of the brilliant yet prickly and opinion-giving New Englander. In brief, Vergenne asked Adams about Congress' decision to devalue the dollar, fully knowing that Adams, a forthcoming and frank man, would defend it. The exchange soon led to Vergène informing Adams that

Le roi n'ait pas eu besoin de vos sollicitations pour s'occuper des intérêts des États-Unis. That is, the king didn't need your solicitations to take care of the interests of the United States. Vergène then upped the ante. He had Ben send letters written by Adams that were critical of France to Congress. Ben did as instructed, and we can't fault him for doing so as he manages the relationship with France, but Ben didn't need to throw Adams under the bus. Wait, we're in the 18th century.

Ben didn't need to throw Adams under the horse-drawn carriage by writing a letter to Congress stating his agreement with Valjean. Yet he did, penning the following on August 9, 1780. Mr. Adams has given extreme offense to the court here. Damn, Ben. Adams can be quite the meddler, and lacking in tact, it's true, but that's cold. Adams soon left France for the Netherlands, where he hoped that something might be done to render us less dependent on France.

It was only after leaving that Adams learned of Ben's letter, and this shattered his trust in Philly's famous philosopher. Now, in 1782, Adams sees Ben as having attempted to assassinate his character in Congress. Fair or not, he blames the Old Conjurer, as Adams calls Ben, for Congress expanding the task of peacemaking to a larger commission of diplomats, and writes in a letter this summer, That I have no friendship for Franklin, I avow. That I am incapable of having any with a man of his moral Franklin, I avow, that I am incapable of having any with a man

of his moral sentiments, I avow. As far as fate shall compel me to sit with him in public affairs, I shall treat him with decency and perfect impartiality." And so, having achieved great success in the Netherlands with Dutch recognition of the US, a treaty of commerce, and the establishment of the first official US embassy, Adams does as John Jay's letter requests. He leaves the Netherlands in early October and makes his way to Paris to join the New Yorker and the old conjurer.

John Adams arrives in Paris on October 26th. The next day, he swings by a tailor and wigmaker to get spruced up and after that, he has John Jay get them all caught up. In brief, Adams learns that negotiations started earlier this month, on the 5th, but news of a British victory over the Spanish at Gibraltar slowed things down. The Brits have sent Home Department Undersecretary Henry Strachey to join Richard Oswald as a negotiator. The lanky New Yorker also informs his husky New Englander colleague of Congress's instruction to take orders from the French ministers. Adams is outraged by this, but he's also glad to see that, like him, Jay recognizes that France's

help, although imperative, was only given to achieve French goals. That France doesn't necessarily have America's best interests in mind. Or as Adams once put it, France wants to, quote, keep us weak, make us feel our obligations, impress our minds with a sense of gratitude. make us feel our obligations, impress our minds with a sense of gratitude." Yes, the Johns are cynical, but they're also right, and despite whatever qualms Ben had earlier, he sees this well enough by this point too. Thus, the American trio is determined to defy Congress and risk the wrath of the French court by leaving Vergenne in the dark as they deal with Britain. As David McCullough so simply yet accurately writes of this, quote, it was a brave decision.

Close quote. Negotiations begin, or rather, recommence in earnest, on John Adams' 47th birthday, October 30th, 1782. The three American diplomats are joined by Ben's grandson, William Temple Franklin, that is, the illegitimate patriot son of Ben's illegitimate, loyalist son. He's serving as the trio's secretary. Opposite them are Britons Richard Oswald and Henry Strachey, the latter of whom Adams and Ben met on Staten

Island in 1776 as he took notes for Admiral Richard Howe in that failed negotiation. The British government hopes that Henry will provide the British delegation with more backbone. They are also joined by the young British diplomat, Alain Fitzherbert. He'll take notes. Their negotiations start at 11 a.m. and this repeats daily as their conversations rage through a snowy November. But they're getting a lot accomplished. First, American independence is acknowledged. We all knew this was coming. Getting troops out of America won't be an issue either. So that leaves two of Ben and Jay's previously

stated necessary terms yet secure, territory to the Mississippi and fishing rights. As for the territorial boundaries, no, Canada is not happening. Sorry, Ben. But in truth, this went almost as well as Ben, Adams, and Jay could have hoped for, and much credit is due to Ben. With the exception of the Florida's, which everyone knows Spain might snag in its negotiations, Britain cedes everything to the Mississippi River.

In one fell swoop, the United States territory just doubled. This includes a lot of turf the Franco-Spanish alliance wants Spain to pick up, running from the future state of Mississippi through part of the future state of Tennessee. It also includes British territory considered a part of Quebec since 1774, like the future states of Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Michigan, and Wisconsin. Well then, looks like Ben, Jay, and Adams were right to disobey Congress by ignoring France's ministers, especially since Valjean has an agent in London working to undermine them. They also discuss private pre-war debts owed by Americans to British merchants.

Jay and Ben figure the British Army's destruction of property equals things out between the two sides. Not Adams. He insists that debts should be paid. The clause is put in the treaty, but no one is going to enforce it. Now, speaking of payments, the British want America to compensate loyalists whose homes and property have been seized or destroyed. As you can imagine, this is the wrong crowd to ask for sympathy on this point. It stalls for now, but they've made such significant progress otherwise that Henry

Strachey takes a draft of their evolving treaty to London. Meanwhile, Adams finally visits French foreign minister, Vergenne. Knowing that Vergenne tried to tink his reputation with Congress, Adams has no love for this man, but politics. So Adams agrees to dinner, and to his surprise, Vergenne comes out in full charm mode.

The compliments flow as freely as the Madeira wine. Adams recalls one Frenchman at this dinner, telling him that, Monsieur, vous êtes le Washington de la negotiation, or in English, Monsieur, you are the Washington of negotiation. Of course, Vergene hopes that with flattery he might get Adams to cop up some details on what's happening with the British behind closed doors. Unfortunately for the French, Adams is a big boy. He understands the game. He doesn't say anything. Henry Strachey returns to Paris on November 25th. This will be the final

week of negotiations. At some point in it, a fourth American diplomat arrives. Henry Lawrence. Congress sent this South Carolinian and former president of Congress to the Netherlands in 1779, but the British intercepted and arrested Henry, then threw him in the Tower of London as a traitor. Released this past January in a prisoner exchange for none other than Lord Cornwallis, Henry now belatedly joins his fellow Americans in Paris.

And he's the last, as Congress' fifth appointed commissioner, Thomas Jefferson, never makes it citing health reasons. Henry makes exactly one suggestion for the treaty. In leaving America, Britain will not, quote, carry away any Negroes or other property, close quote. A not surprising suggestion given that Henry is a plantation owner and slave trader, though one might wonder what his late son, the anti-slavery continental Colonel John Lawrence, whose death I mentioned at the start of this episode, might think.

Nonetheless, slave trading Richard Oswald, who's done business with Henry in the past, is on board and readily agrees to the addition. Only two issues remain in these final days. One of which is Britain's ask that displaced loyalists receive compensation. With the influx of loyalists who've moved to Britain, the British delegation has political pressure to deliver.

But now, Ben becomes the hardliner. Pulling a paper from his pocket, the Philadelphian answers that, if America is to pay the loyalists, Britain can pay for his list of British-inflicted damages, which includes stolen cargo from across the states, towns burnt to ash, and let's not forget Ben's own library in Philly. Richard and Henry admit that they don't have a leg to stand on. To save face, they ask the Americans to include a non-binding, worthless clause in which Congress will quote unquote, earnestly recommend that the sovereign states make restitution to loyalists. Ah, this the Americans can't accept.

Well, almost. Ben has one more alteration. The clause must exclude loyalists who'd, quote, "'born arms against the sad United States.'" Close quote. Wow. Even John Adams thinks Ben is being too harsh, writing in his journal that,

"'Dr. Franklin is very staunch against the Tories. More decided on this point than Mr. J or myself. Well, Ben's probably driven by thoughts of his loyal son William, the father of his grandson serving as the American secretary in these negotiations. Nothing stings quite like deep familial love poisoned by betrayal. During these same days days the two sides are also trying to settle their differences over fishing rights and like any true New Englander John Adams is ready to hold fast.

It's Friday November 29th 1782. The British and American delegations have gathered at John Jay's current residence, L'Hôtel de Léon, and are currently discussing New England's access to fisheries in what you and I would call Canadian waters. Fishing is an enormous part of New England's economy in the late 1700s, and as British subjects, New Englanders have fished here for centuries. Yet, with American independence, that will become illegal unless this treaty expressly gives them the right to continue doing so.

The delegations have gone the rounds on it, with John Adams asking, How could we restrain our fishermen, the boldest men alive, from fishing in prohibited places? And Ben Franklin arguing that American economic success is British economic success since they are trading partners. But finally, Adams has had his fill. To him, the right to fish is not a negotiable issue. The stubborn New Englander rises, channeling his courtroom lawyer self and gives an impassioned speech.

Gentlemen, is there, or can there be a clearer right? In former treaties, that of Utrecht and that of Paris, France and England have claimed the right and used the word. When God Almighty made the banks of Newfoundland at 300 leagues distant from the people of America and 600 leagues distant from those of France and England, did He not give as food a right to the former as to the latter? If occupation, use and possession have a right, we have it as clearly as you. If war and blood and treasure give a right, ours is as good as yours."

Adams says more, but this small taste will do for us. Although the British insist on using the word liberty in much of this article of the treaty, it is also stated that Americans, quote, shall continue to enjoy unmolested the right to take fish, close quote, along the banks of Newfoundland and other such areas. On November 30th, 1782, the day after settling the Loyalist and Fishing issues, a preliminary treaty is signed. By calling it preliminary, our American diplomats technically skirt the issue of making peace without the French and leave Ben with the odious task of informing their ally of everything they've been up to.

As he does, he also asks Vergene for a loan of 6 million livres. Seriously, I suppose we could say that kidney isn't the only large type of stones Ben has. Well, Vergene certainly understands doing what's best for one's country, so although upset he gets over it. And he even gives Ben the loan. It sounds easy, but make no mistake. If it were not for the seductive Philadelphian, this piece could have unraveled the Franco-American alliance.

The artist, Benjamin West, undertakes a portrait of the two delegations. Moving left to right, it depicts a lanky, resolute and standing John Jay, a rotund and confident looking John Adams, a pensive Dr. Franklin, an almost angry Henry Lawrence, and the young William Temple Franklin seemingly lost in thought. But the British delegation is missing from this unfinished work of art. Legend says that they were so angry about the final outcome of these negotiations that they refused to sit for it. I can neither confirm nor deny this assertion. Like everything in life, the treaty isn't perfect.

The exact border with Canada and some aspects of America's fishing rights, or liberties, remain a tad ambiguous. Free trade didn't happen either. But overall, the terms are far more than anyone should have expected America to get. remain a tad ambiguous. Free trade didn't happen either, but overall the terms are far more than anyone should have expected America to get. Besting the interests of the three most powerful empires in the world and in defiance of Congress, which despite a few censure minded congressmen quickly forgive their rogue negotiators, Ben, Jay, and Adams have gained recognition of American independence, doubled the size of the Confederation, and kept fishing rights

off of Newfoundland. Wow. Not bad for a dinky, broke Confederation of nearly powerless republics. And let's note that Ben and Adams also behaved like the civil adults they are the whole time, never letting their personal differences be an issue. After France and Spain finally grow weary of war a year later, it all becomes official as Ben Franklin, John Jay, and John Adams sign the definitive Revolutionary War Ending Treaty of Paris at L'Hôtel de York on September 3rd, 1783. More than two centuries later, most historians will still consider this treaty the most remarkable, brilliant, and daring achievement in American diplomatic history. And so it's done. The revolution is over. The United States are, as the Treaty of Paris proclaims, free, sovereign, and independent

states. But what does that mean for the Confederated Alliance? Can they settle their own disputes between each other? What about the immense debt that their Congress owes to foreign nations, to the citizens of their various states, as well as the officers and soldiers of the Continental Army. All of these problems remain and are growing worse. But something will be done in another four years at a convention in Philadelphia. But that is a story for another day.

another day. and additional composition by Lindsey Granley of Airship. For a bibliography of all primary and secondary sources consulted in writing this episode, visit HTVSPodcast.com. HTVS is supported by fans at HTVSPodcast.com slash membership. I gratitude to you kind souls providing funding and helps keep going. Thank you. And a special thanks to our patrons whose monthly gift puts them at producer status. Chloe Tripp, Christopher Merchant, Christopher Pullman, Dan G., David DeFazio, David Rifkin, Doronte Spencer, Don Moore, Donald Moore, Achieviado, Elizabeth Chris Jansen, Ellen Stewart, Ernie Lomaster, G2303, George Sherwood, Gareth Griffin, Holly Hamilton, Jake Gilbreth,

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