SH05_Revolution

by Edward Cline

  Reverdy was in her room, taking a nap after the rigors of traveling from Williamsburg. She was not yet accustomed to the climate, and was still recovering from the crossing.

  “You put the lie to your description of these tropics, Hugh,” said James Brune. “You are an advertisement for settling here. Prosperity becomes you.”

  “My prosperity has required much labor and risk, and some heartbreak,” answered Hugh. He could not forget one of the reasons he had decided to stay in the colonies to purchase and revivify the plantation: Reverdy’s marriage to Alex McDougal. He still had the letter that broke his heart those many years ago, tucked away at the bottom of forgotten correspondence, but now remembered. He wondered if Reverdy had kept his last letter in answer to her. If she had not, he would certainly understand. He had not kept a copy of it in his letter book, but he could recall its gently embittered reproach:

  “Mr. McDougal is, I do not doubt, deserving of your love, as you must be of his. You both will always be what each of you expects the other to be. I feel obliged, however, to caution you that in future, you will find that love can be subjected to a most private and honest rational scrutiny. Perhaps, by that time, natural justice will be kind to you, and, having followed its own inexorable course, rendered you insensible to the weight and wisdom of its dutiful verdict.…”

  And, he did not need to unearth the letter from her that had prompted his gentle condemnation:

  “…A cargo of virtues cannot inspire love of its owner. Love springs from the inscrutable but feckful heart, it cannot be analyzed or measured or subjected to rational scrutiny, not without causing it to wither and die. Love can only be felt or observed, never judged or justified. I have tried to love you in the manner you expect me to, and cannot. I have imagined loving you in that manner, and come to know that I have not the strength to sustain that mode without regarding it in time as an unfair, cruel trial that would exhaust my endurance.…”

  James Brune sat on the other side of the bench, placidly puffing on a pipe. Hugh glanced at him once. He judged the man to be too good-mannered and discreet to raise the subject of his sister’s decision to break the engagement. The subject had not come up, nor even been alluded to. He had asked Hugh if it were possible for them to stay a month or so before resuming their travels, saying that they planned to visit Philadelphia, New York and Boston before returning to the mother country.

  Ann Vere, the housekeeper, dived into her rare duty of providing for the needs of Meum Hall’s houseguests. She was beside herself with delight, for Reverdy Brune and her brother were gentlefolk from England, and apparently in her employer’s best graces to be welcomed to stay for some time before resuming their tour of the colonies. Mrs. Vere and her assistant, Rachel, could not wait solely on the guests, so the housekeeper asked Hugh for assistance “from the quarter,” she suggested. Hugh subsequently drafted Dilch as servant pro tempore for the duration of the visit. “What do they fancy in the way of table?’ she asked Hugh, inquiring about the siblings’ preferences in food. “I haven’t the slightest idea, Mrs. Vere,” replied Hugh. “You will need to ask them.”

  Hugh himself acted the gracious host, and thought he had succeeded in not staring at Reverdy longer than was necessary. They had not had a moment alone together. He had not yet even had the chance to show them the house. Reverdy retired almost immediately, after an exchange of formal pleasantries, pleading light-headedness and exhaustion from the ride to Meum Hall from Williamsburg. Her brother was made of more robust stuff.

  James Brune asked, “I believe that you remarked that your Negroes here are not slaves. I have also learned during my short time here that one can’t free them, if one were inclined to. How did you manage that?”

  Hugh shrugged. “I sold them to a Quaker friend of mine in Philadelphia, and my father bought them from him in my uncle’s name, and freed them subsequently by arrangement. In theory, my uncle owned them, but in fact they are free. Most of them elected to stay in my employ. It is of dubious legality — if one may attach any legality to laws that perpetuate slavery — but no one will challenge it here, for it would raise an issue that few here are either willing to discuss, or could argue for or against with any lasting credence. It was the only way I could see to flout the insidious law that prohibits their manumission.” He paused. “Of course, my uncle has no knowledge of the transaction, and I beg you not to communicate to him or to anyone in his coterie his former status as a benevolent slave owner.”

  James Brune nodded, and thought about this for a moment, then asked, “But, how do you manage in your account books? I am assuming that you pay these people.”

  “I manage,” replied Hugh. His smile did not invite further questions about the means he employed to remain solvent, when so many other planters were technically bankrupt or teetering on the brink of insolvency.

  James Brune smiled in answer to the courteous but perfunctory answer. “Have you any news of your friend Roger?”

  “Roger has returned to Woolwich as an artillery instructor. He served as attaché on a number of diplomatic missions on the Continent. He wrote me not long ago that he has applied for a position in several regiments.” Hugh waited a moment, then asked, “How did Alex McDougal die, James? Captain Ramshaw, who was a guest here, spoke of several of his passengers this last voyage, and happened to mention you and Reverdy.”

  “Alex?” sighed James Brune. “Very odd incident, Hugh. He and Reverdy and some of his acquaintances were riding together on Pall Mall a year ago. Two or three robbers came out of the bushes to collect their ‘toll,’ as they put it in their parlance. One of them stood directly in front of Alex’s mount, but his pistol went off accidentally, causing Alex’s mount to rear up. The hooves caught the fellow on the chin and broke his neck. Alex was thrown and broke his own neck when he tumbled to the ground. The robbers fled. Alex died instantly, and the robber expired not long afterward.”

  “Tragic,” remarked Hugh. “Reverdy must have been beside herself with sorrow.”

  “She was in mourning for six months, and was morose for some time after she shed her blacks. I proposed that she accompany me on this voyage, and convinced her it might do her some good. I must say I gave good advice. She has emerged from the tomb of bereavement and is quite her gay self again.”

  At supper that evening, which also included Rupert Beecroft, Meum Hall’s business agent, and William Settle, its steward, the Brune siblings were the focus of attention and conversation. They deftly managed a barrage of questions about political and economic conditions in Britain, spicing much serious talk with amusing anecdotes, wistful recollections, and generous compliments for Virginia. Reverdy, to Hugh’s qualified amazement and approval, had become a particularly good conversationalist, able to hold her own in any discussion of politics and society matters.

  Hugh sat at the head of the table; James and his sister on either side of him. Outwardly, Reverdy behaved more like an old acquaintance than a former fiancée. But her and Hugh’s eyes met briefly but often in the course of the supper. He read in her glances little else but a repressed desire to talk with him alone; she saw nothing in his but an intense curiosity coupled with a struggle not to let it be more than that.

  It was a terrific struggle, for Reverdy was more beautiful than he could ever have imagined. Her deportment and poise were natural and unaffected, seeming to radiate from her beauty, indelible facets of it and impossible to imagine without it. She was outspoken and well-spoken, able to contradict another’s statement or opinion with grace and without malice. She was now the kind of woman that most men desired but still feared.

  She turned to Hugh now. “Hugh, James here tells me that you are now a politician of some sort.”

  Hugh smiled amiably. “I am a burgess for this county in the General Assembly. That is much like a member of the Commons, but without so large a company.”

  “I dared not imagine that you would have the time for politics.”

  “It was necessary to make the
time.”

  “James also tells me that you have somehow freed the black folk I saw as we came in. Do other planters and burgesses feel the same way?”

  Hugh shook his head. “Not all. But many do think as I do. Laws discourage them from contemplating any serious action ”

  James Brune sighed. “I don’t understand why the institution still exists here, Hugh, and on so vast a scale! It is such an unsavory business. Its like is not to be seen in London!”

  Hugh shrugged. “The planters and burgesses here have done what they dare to stem the importation of slaves into the colony. Bills are regularly introduced in the House that would tax the sale and import of slaves. There are those within and without the General Assembly who would abolish the institution altogether. However, everyone knows that the Crown, and especially His Majesty, derive a lucrative revenue from the trade, one that will not be relinquished easily, if ever. Even a modest proposal to abolish the institution is met with animosity in London. And the defenders of the trade are insensible to appeals to reason and right. Their ilk are likewise insensible to our own liberties and the Constitution that guarantees them. The Stamp Act is only the latest instance of their moral lethargy.”

  James Brune looked pensive. “I have the notion that most planters here are slaves themselves in an insidious web. I mean, slavery is the foundation of their fortunes, yet, wish as they might for its end, they would be reduced to paupers if the system were ever corrected.”

  Hugh smiled. “You express more wisdom than the Privy Council or the Commons, James. My compliments.”

  William Settle said, “Mr. Kenrick here was instrumental in the passage of the Resolves that have lately roused the colonies. I wish you could both stay long enough to hear him speak in the House, next session. You won’t hear its like in the Commons.”

  Hugh dismissed the compliment with a shake of his head and a sincere smile. “Not at all, sir. It was Mr. Henry’s words that roused the colonies. I was merely his factotum.”

  Settle grinned. “You are second only to Mr. Henry on the floor, sir. Do not deny it!”

  Reverdy asked, “Well, why cannot your General Assembly simply pass a law that abolishes slavery? Surely it must esteem itself worthy of such a weighty action.”

  Hugh shook his head again. “Such a law would most certainly be nullified by the Board of Trade and the Privy Council, with or without a suspending clause in the law itself. Governor Fauquier is continually rebuked by London for neglecting to require a suspending clause in the legislation he signs. And that particular law is one he would never sign. He knows that very likely he would be recalled and replaced with someone not nearly as friendly to the colony as he. But such a law has less chance of passage than a frost felling the sugar cane harvests of Barbados.”

  James Brune remarked, “We have read some letters in the London papers, from fellows who wonder at the hypocrisy of colonials, who proclaim that their rights are violated by the Stamp Act and other Parliamentary legislation, yet voice nothing about the rights of their slaves.”

  Hugh shook his head. “Those people have no grounds for making the accusation. We can hardly champion the rights of slaves when we are in a bit of a fog about what our own rights are. Until that matter is clarified, slavery, I am afraid, must remain a pot in the oven.”

  “Do you know the Governor?” asked Reverdy.

  “Well enough to have leave to upbraid him on occasion without risk of censure.”

  Reverdy stared at him with some secret meaning. “Alex and I often sat in the Commons gallery to listen to the debates. There are many fine speakers to be heard there. Among them, Sir Dogmael Jones. I understand that he is your father’s man. Was he not the barrister who defended those freethinking friends of yours, the ones you were arrested for protecting at the Charing Cross pillory?”

  Hugh nodded, but said, “Mr. Jones is his own master. He merely acts as my father’s proxy.” He paused. “And, my own, in a way. We have never disagreed with what the other has said in session on the subject of liberty.”

  “Liberty!” exclaimed James Brune. “That is a word we have heard from the moment we set foot in Virginia! It seems to be on everyone’s lips, and not often as a prayer, but as a curse and an omen, especially in Norfolk.”

  Hugh smiled. “Here, it is an altar.”

  “We audited some of the debates in the House on this Stamp Act,” said Reverdy, “and heard Sir Dogmael and Colonel Barré speak on the subject. The people here seem to have adopted one of Colonel Barré’s expressions, ‘sons of liberty.’ We saw some of these men put up a ‘liberty pole’ in Norfolk.”

  James Brune looked nostalgic. “Do you know that Sir Dogmael was the only member who refused to vote for the Act that people here are so incensed over? Remarkable audacity!”

  “Or courage,” said Hugh. “Yes, I know. The ‘sons of liberty’? We have an organization here in Caxton of the same name. I am one of its founders.”

  “Mr. Kenrick here warned us about a plot to bring in the stamps,” said William Settle, who proceeded to regale the visitors with an account of the incident at the Caxton pier.

  The Brune siblings listened with decorous astonishment. But when Settle was finished, the brother said, “If that is a measure of the animosity, then I believe dark times are ahead for the colonies. The Crown means to have a revenue from them, by fair means or foul.”

  Hugh shrugged. “Then it will need to send troops to collect it.” He paused. “I have nightmares, now and then, about what must happen if the Crown persists in collecting a revenue. They can best be cast in Mr. Milton’s words, which I remember to the word, for they illustrate those nightmares with a piquancy I cannot forget: ‘Peace is despaired, for who can think submission? War, then, war open or understood. Out flew millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs of mighty cherubim; the sudden blaze far round illumined Hell. Highly they raged against the Highest, and fierce with grasped arms, clashed on their sounding shields the din of war, hurling defiance toward the vault of Heaven.’” He grinned. “From Paradise Lost. I reacquainted myself with some of it some nights ago.”

  James Brune frowned. “I, too, am acquainted with the work,” he said. “However, if I recollect it correctly, you have spoken from the perspective of Lucifer’s minions.”

  Hugh replied with a short laugh. “Then devils we shall be! I own to having a certain fondness for Lucifer. He rebelled against absolute power, as well.”

  William Settle permitted himself a laugh. “By God, Mr. Kenrick! I’d like to hear you say that to Reverend Acland! Why, he’d spit and sputter like a badly poured candle!”

  Hugh grinned. “Perhaps he would, sir. But you know that his own special devil here is Mr. Frake.”

  Settle nodded. “This is true,” he conceded.

  “Who are these gentlemen?” asked James Brune.

  “Reverend Acland is the pastor of the church here. Mr. Frake is a neighboring planter and a friend of mine, with whom I have much in common. You shall meet him during your stay. I cannot say as much about the reverend. He is a man of the cloth, but his cloth is moldy and exudes the pungence of fear, malice, and intolerance.”

  “Do you not attend services?” queried Reverdy. “We were told that the law here is strict on attendance.”

  “Strict, or onerous? No, I do not attend services here. I refuse to be instructed in morality or preached to by my moral inferiors.” He laughed once. “Mr. Frake is equally notorious and of the same mind. I have seen him enter the church only once, and that was only to act as a pallbearer.”

  “But I understand there are penalties,” remarked James Brune.

  “Yes,” said Settle. “A five shilling fine for missing one in four Sundays, or ten lashes if the fine is not handy to the truant.”

  Rupert Beecroft added, “The law is still on the books, I believe, which allows a fine of fifty pounds of tobacco for neglecting one’s church attendance. But I do not recall it ever being collected. Not in this county, at least.” />
  Settle added, “Reverend Acland and Sheriff Tippet don’t dare reprove Mr. Kenrick here, nor Mr. Frake. They are, if I may say so, the county’s saviors and benefactors, and expecting them to obey church law would be a measure of ingratitude. Reverend Acland does not even dare demand his pence for these gentlemen’s tithables.”

  “Still,” said Hugh, “I would like to see the law abolished. Then it could not be used as a weapon or an excuse.”

  There ensued a lively discussion of the union of church and state in Britain and in the colonies, and of the extortionate injustice to Dissenters who were taxed to support a church to which they did not belong. Hugh described Caxton and talked about some of his friends and enemies here, while the Brunes described the London scene and related some amusing anecdotes about its society and politicians.

  * * *

  Chapter 14: The Reunion

  Later that evening, after the Brunes had retired, Hugh relaxed alone on the spacious riverfront porch, sitting in a cushioned rattan chair, his solitary form lit by an overhead lantern that swayed gently in the light breezes. The sounds of the night always diminished, and nearly vanished, as the fall waned and cooler air gently heralded the coming of winter. The new air sometimes came from the north, sometimes from the south, most often from the west. Soon the only sounds that might fill the nights would be a cricket lingering past its season, an occasional frog, a pair of tardy geese flying south, and the frequent, melancholy singing of the tenants in the quarter. Hugh sat listening, thinking, watching the lanterns of a few vessels on the York, some moving cautiously along the black space of the river, others stationary at anchorages on the opposite bank a mile away. The sky was clear, with countless stars strewn through the black void like the brilliant white grains of a spilled saltcellar.

  An idle observation crossed his mind, as he watched the lights: All the river traffic on the busiest day on the Thames west of London Bridge in the busiest season, boasting hundreds of boats — barges, lighters, ferries, yachts — would not begin to crowd this river. That was how wide and deep it was.