by Edward Cline
When Barré sat down again, the House was quiet for a long moment, so quiet that the ticking of the clock above the Speaker’s empty chair could be heard in the chamber’s farthest corner. For some members, it was the quiet of shame; for others, the quiet of petulance when a truth could not be denied or hidden; for many, the quiet of dumb astonishment or admiring awe. Colonel Barré sat and stared into space with the quiet dignity of a man who had spoken his piece. Charles Townshend sat speechless and mortified. Other members on the Treasury bench cast sly glances at the first minister. George Grenville merely crossed his legs in an attitude of waiting, and observed the tip of his shoe as it tapped patiently in the air.
Dogmael Jones, member for Swansditch, put aside his prepared remarks and rose in this silence. Chairman Hunter frowned, eyed him warily, and nodded. He was of the pro-bill party, was keenly aware of Jones’s power of oratory, and did not savor what was likely to be said by the man.
Jones first looked at Colonel Barré and tipped his hat. “I commend my valued colleague, the member for Chipping Wycombe, for his brave and heartfelt words. They will be remembered, when my own and others’ are not.” He paused and swept the opposing benches with his eyes. “The maxim with which the honorable minister concluded his address may have been appropriate and enough for our ancestors, in a distant time when kings were true kings, barons true barons, commoners the dross and drudge of the realm, and when all were ignorant of a larger canvas of things. In point of fact, that maxim applied exclusively to kings and barons; commoners were never a party to its formulation, limited as they were by law and custom to merely support and obedience, a lesson harshly taught them on numerous occasions.
“But much progress has been made since those ancient and brutal times, and things seen but dimly then are clearly perceived in these. It is neither appropriate nor enough for us to pursue a policy or pass an act founded on that maxim; to attempt it would be a call for a return to dullness and ignorance. After all, the man whose genius ended our dependency on that maxim was Mr. John Locke, and I very much doubt that any of us here today could credibly dispute him in the most carefully prepared disquisition. And while this nation may have so corrupted and compromised his clarity on the issue of rights versus power — or perhaps even repudiated it — we all here today should be mindful that the colonials — those ‘sons of liberty,’ as they were just now so trenchantly knighted by my esteemed colleague — take Mr. Locke very seriously. The conflict which the honorable minister labored at the beginning to deny exists, is not so much a political one as a philosophic one, and I feel it my duty to inform the honorable minister and his party that Nature is, and will continue to be, on the side of the Americans.” Then he paraphrased something he had heard in the Turk’s Inn during Hugh Kenrick’s visit. “Nature will rise up and either overturn a corrupt system or abandon it in a vindication of natural right.
“I had planned, on the opportunity to speak, to review the honorable minister’s record as evidence of his hostility to British liberty, by citing, among so many instances, his purchase of the Isle of Man in order to extinguish the smuggling trade there — a trade born and sustained under the aegis of taxation — his efforts to more efficiently collect land and salt taxes, his frustrated attempts to conquer Jersey and Guernsey, and most especially his campaign against publishers and printers in this very metropolis who evade the same stamp tax.
“But his address was evidence enough of that hostility. The purpose of his proposed tax, he says, is to help defray the costs of maintaining an army in North America and a navy in its waters. Consequently, that part of the Crown budget would be reserved for its usual outlays. The budget, of course, rests on revenues, and those are derived from taxes. And for what purpose are all those taxes laid and collected in an ever-mounting debt? Why, to sustain an overbearing, conceited stratum of placeholders, receivers of pensions, and beneficiaries of perpetual gratuities. It is for their sake that these laws and taxes are enacted and enforced — and subsequently flouted and evaded. So much money is diverted to sustain so much nothing, when it could go to increasing the tangible prosperity of this nation under the shield of genuine liberty, which I hasten to stress is not to be confused with the shallow, corrupted, mockish husk of it that we boast of now. We should blush in contrition when we are complimented by men abroad, and even compliment ourselves, for that vaunted liberty. The establishment of the sustained and the entitled do not object to prosperity, and they have a mean, grudging regard for liberty, so long as the prosperity guarantees their causeless incomes, so long as liberty does not impinge upon or threaten to deprive them of their lucre. I ask this question, not queried by the honorable minister: Can we expect the colonials to grow in prosperity under the insidious burden he proposes to lay upon them, and can the obdurate stratum of the idle expect to profit from their certain poverty?”
George Grenville sat looking at his shoe, which had grown still. Thomas Whately watched Jones from under his brow, and picked his teeth with the top of a quill. And a low murmur, almost a growl, was heard in the House.
Jones was aware of these things, and spoke on in a raised voice. “I ask this House — or that half of it who deign to attend today — not to rush to oblige the honorable minister until they have devoted some hard thought to this tax. I invite the proponents of these resolutions to set aside some time to ponder the contradictions inherent in their policies, actions, and desires. I likewise invite my colleagues in opposition to consider the folly of their concessions to the honorable minister’s principal arguments. If his administration derives any strength at all on this matter, it comes not from his party, but from the fatal confusion of the well-meaning of our party, one not dissimilar from that of a thirsty, shipwrecked man who, out of desperation, drinks sea water for want of a purer, uncontaminated elixir.”
The men who sat near Jones looked at him with uncomprehending surprise.
“I end here with my own warning, sirs. I do not expect the Americans — for let us refer to the colonials as Americans, and not mistake them, as the honorable minister will not, for Englishmen — I do not expect them to submit to this tax except at the prodding of a bayonet or legislative extortion, and, perhaps, not even then. If you contrive to humble them, you should not expect that they shall long remain in the thralldom of humility, for perhaps we are all mistaken, and they are not Englishmen at all, but the inhabitants of another kingdom.” Jones paused long enough to smile pointedly at Grenville, who could not decide whether Jones’s expression was one of gratitude or animosity. “Colonel Barré is correct when he warns that the Americans will not surrender their birthright — and I refer to that expounded by Mr. Locke — for a mess of pottage, no matter how much you dulcify the bowl with bounties, rate reductions, and similar bribes for them to remain on their knees. I am confident they will tire of the business and assert their full freedom.”
Jones happened to have glanced down at Grenville again at that point, and saw in the man’s pinched face an expression of undisguised hate. He had intended to end his speech here, but now added, “In conclusion, I am grateful that a man of subtler persuasion is not at the helm of this matter, for that man may at least depend on the esteem in which the Americans hold him, and thus be able to persuade them to concede and capitulate. But we all know that he would possess the wisdom not to pursue the folly.” With a nod to Chairman Hunter, Jones braced his shoulders and sat down.
Chapter 12: The Member for Canovan
The House exploded in a furor of anger. Several members above the Treasury benches rose to reply and were clamoring for recognition by Hunter. Jones looked over at Colonel Barré, whom he found studying him with a smile that seemed to wish it could be happy.
Thomas Whately pleaded with Grenville. “Sir, you must reply to that…insult! It is outrageous! Move that his words be taken down!”
Grenville shook his head once. “No, Mr. Whately. I should have to make a motion to censure Barré, too. It was he who imputed tyranny, not that ra
scal.” He paused for a moment. He could not take his eyes off Jones. “Does Sir Dogmael occupy a place somewhere in the government?”
Whately sighed. “Not to my knowledge, sir,” he said. “He was, I believe, offered a vice-lordship in the Admiralty, a year ago, I think, but he spurned the appointment because he said he knew little more about ships than that they either floated or sank, and that this did not qualify him for the post of powder monkey. That is what Sir Fletcher Norton related to me, at least.”
“What impertinence!” growled Grenville. “So…he cannot be punished. But perhaps he can be…rewarded. He has a style of speaking…. There is a place on the Board of the Green Cloth that has remained vacant…. ”
“Pitt put him up to that!” exclaimed George Sackville, member for Hythe, to his older brother, Charles, member for East Grimstead and soon to leave the Commons for Lords as the third Duke of Dorset. “Damn his gall!”
“I don’t know that they have ever met,” remarked Charles. “He has a fine baritone quality, don’t you think? He ought to be paired with the bass of that Barré chap on stage at my theater. They should need to learn a little Italian, of course.”
“Oh, you and your blasted opera!” fumed George Sackville. “Where’s your head, man? There’s a fight brewing here!”
Charles Sackville sniffed. “When Father dies, and I go to Lords, you shan’t be able to speak to me like that in future…sir.”
Thomas Whately shook his head at the pandemonium in the House. Grenville put a hand on his arm. “Sir, it is not my place to speak. I have nothing to defend. But you may answer that fellow. Signal Mr. Hunter. No, wait. He has recognized one of our party.” The first minister and his secretary turned their heads and saw members behind them retake their seats, leaving Sir Henoch Pannell, member for Canovan, standing.
Pannell waited until the House had regained its composure, then surveyed the benches on both sides of the aisle, his sight pausing briefly on the attentive face of Dogmael Jones. “I had not planned to speak today, sirs,” he began, “but late, offensive words make it my duty to. I commend the honorable minister on so clear a presentation of his bill. I will say at the beginning that I may be relied upon to support his resolutions now before this committee to be discussed, and any amendments to them in future, for such are surely to occur in this contentious House. And I oppose Sir William’s motion to postpone a vote on the resolutions. They are a simple, uncomplex matter to be simply disposed of.
“I will say further that the honorable minister’s scheme is an ingenious one that will relieve this nation of some of the expense of victory, by obliging our colonies to contribute their equitable — and, may I say, tardy — share of that expense, for, as the honorable minister so aptly pointed out, the greatest part of that expense went to the preservation of those colonies, and of their liberties. In brief, I concur with every reason and sentiment offered by the honorable minister that this should be so — but for one or two trifling ones.”
Grenville, Whately, and many members on the Treasury side frowned in surprise at this last remark. Pannell was known by them to be almost rabid on the subject of the colonies. Even Dogmael Jones, busy transcribing the speech, paused in his labors at this point.
“The honorable minister contends that if the colonials were not subject to this proposed tax, ‘they are not entitled to the privileges of Englishmen.’ With all modesty, and with the greatest deference to his experience, and only seeming to agree with the member for Swansditch, may I point out to the House an error in cogitation here? I say that the colonials have never been Englishmen, for they have never been burdened by the proposed tax, which, it is a matter of common knowledge, is simply an extension of the one we pay here, and have paid since the time of Charles the Second. That fact constitutes an onerous kind of privilege. And, on that point, I will carry the honorable minister’s assertion one step further, and contend that if they wish to be Englishmen, let the colonials submit to this and other taxes, and praise this body and His Majesty for the opportunity. It is they who have been negligently privileged” — Pannell threw a smug glance at Colonel Barré here — “all these decades. It is time for them to earn the glorious appellation of Englishmen.”
Pannell paused to survey again the expectant faces of his audience. “Allow me, patient sirs, to point out not so much as another error in the honorable minister’s assumptions, as an oversight. As I do not regard the colonials — and I mean those on the continent, I do not include our West Indian colleagues here today — as I do not regard those persons as true Englishmen, I say that the colonies ought not to be represented in this House, and for two reasons.
“The first is that historians of my acquaintance record that the colonies of ancient Greece and Rome were not represented in the legislatures of their capitals.” Pannell’s words became more forceful. “They were administered, not represented! At times wisely, at other times, not so. That is beside the point. I do not believe that any colonial has been so foolish as to request representation, nor do I believe that the honorable minister has seriously contemplated the notion even in the abstract. Still, the question to ask is: Why should we make precedent and depart from that policy?
“The second reason I must broach at the risk of confounding my first. I wish to offer my shoulder with others in the sad but necessary duty of pallbearer in the funeral of the colonial complaint of taxation without representation in this House. The colonies are represented — as the honorable minister explained — even though their populations are not even counted among the one-tenth or one-twentieth of the enfranchised populace of this nation who are directly represented. That is the way the Constitution and custom have arranged matters, and that is that. Now, we hear no similar complaints of non-representation from those towns and regions of this isle that do not send members here. That is because those people know they are represented, in spirit, in the abstract, in kind — virtually, as that oft-heard word describes their situation. And, they submit with happiness to Parliament’s authority. The colonies, however, exist by grace of the Crown and His Majesty and for the benefit of this nation, and I have always questioned the folly of allowing them the leave to determine expenditures and their own methods of allocation and collection. The colonies have of late been especially hard-mouthed over the reins of supervision from this House and the Board of Trade.” Pannell paused again to smile in fond memory. “They have not been properly lunged, sirs, and they will never be ridden unless a commanding hand takes them under training.”
Grenville leaned closer to Whately and whispered into that man’s ear, “Zounds! That fellow could blow enough glass to repane all the windows of St. James’s Palace — but I do wish I had made some of his points.”
Whately replied, “I concede that, too, sir. But thank him for his wind. Economy of oratory is not to be desired on our side. Such storms of words leave less time for rebuttal, and this may be a long sitting.”
Grenville nodded in agreement.
“I believe I made a speech,” continued Pannell, “on this vexatious colonial matter some time ago — why, at the beginning of the late war! I believe I warned this House, then sitting in a Committee of Supply, that this colonial pestering and posturing over the twin mooncalves of taxation and representation would not abate, would not cease until Parliament scolded its children and banished all discussion of the matter. My remarks were dismissed then, not without good cause, for I had, in the heat of my concerns, digressed from the business then before the committee. I will not belabor the points I made then, but only repeat that if these colonials wish to be represented, let them come here and take up residence, so that they may be properly represented! Some of them have done so. There is Mr. Huske,” said Pannell, pointing to that member, “born and reared in New Hampshire. And there is Mr. Abercromby, who, although born here, spent so much time in the southern plantations that he acquired a unique but not unpleasant pattern of speech. Now, they are not only represented — they represent!”
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bsp; Pannell paused to clear his throat. “Have patience with my support, sirs. I come to a close here. Having been curious about the origins of the word that has given us so much pother, I availed myself of the wisdom of some notable wordsmiths — etymologists, I believe they are called — and my consultations allowed me to discover that two possible meanings may be had from the word colony. Friends of the resolutions may adopt either meaning with no prejudice to their good sense and regard for truth. The first meaning is indeed ancient, for our word colony, coming down to us from the Romans and Greeks without loss of implication, means to coloniate with husbandmen and tenants on a property. And, indeed, what are our own colonists, or colonials, but husbandmen and tenants of His Majesty’s estates? They must be that, or why do we impose quitrents on them? Keep that fact in mind, sirs, when you think upon the justice of the honorable minister’s proposed tax.
“The other meaning can be taken to suggest — and the House will please forgive the indelicate but necessary reference, for there is no other way to talk of it — the route of egress of the bile and waste of the kingdom, with which these same estates have been notoriously populated and manured for so many years. Of course, sirs, I appropriate the first meaning in strictest decorum, while I leave the second to be caricatured in private conversation for deserved levity.”