by Edward Cline
Hugh slept soundly on the floor that night. His last conscious thought was that he was right to have journeyed here. The last thing he saw, before his eyes closed, was the flickering light from the fireplace dancing on the spines of hundreds of books, from which his host had drawn so much wisdom.
Hugh awoke the next morning refreshed and invigorated. Over a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and coffee, Henry and he traded anecdotes from their lives. Henry also assured Hugh that he would find other burgesses who would endorse a protest against the Stamp Act.
Outside, the morning was sunny and the air was filled with the sounds of chirping birds, and from the rear of Henry’s cottage came the sounds of chickens and other livestock. Hugh stood next to his resaddled mount, preparing to say farewell until he and Henry met again in Williamsburg. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Henry,” he said. “I did not doubt the reception I found here. Still, I feel compelled to quote Mr. Sidney. ‘It is not necessary to light a candle in the sun.’”
Henry laughed in acknowledgment of the compliment, but then a sober look altered his expression. He said, “Speaking of Algernon Sidney…. Well, I must confess that what must be done in some measure affrights me. What must be said — and I will find the words, after some digging, sir, to smelt your facts into a sword of reason — what must be said could very well lead to our choice to example that brave man, when Cromwell forcibly usurped the Commons, and Sidney refused to leave it and was obliged to be escorted from that chamber by military men. Can that be the fate of our own Assembly, sir? Will the king’s men some day put hands on our own shoulders?”
Hugh studied the worried look on his host’s face. He said, “Only after they have knocked the sword from my hand, sir.” He turned, gripped the pommel of his saddle, put a boot into the stirrup, and thrust himself up onto his mount.
“Fine words, sir, and I know they are not mere bravado. Well, even Cromwell may have his use in this matter.” Henry smiled up at Hugh and offered his hand. “God speed, Mr. Kenrick. I thank you for the intelligence.” Their hands shook, but Henry did not let go of Hugh’s. “And I quote Mr. Sidney here, too: ‘This hand, unfriendly to tyrants, seeks with the sword placid repose under liberty.’” Only then did he release Hugh from his grip.
Hugh doffed his hat, waved once to Sarah Henry and the two boys who stood at the door watching, and said, “Adieu, Mr. Henry.” He reined the horse around in the direction of the many roads back to Caxton.
Chapter 3: The Caucus
“It little matters to me, gentlemen, as it should matter little to you, whether this act is a consequence of premeditated policy, or of divers coincidences. It is driven by a logic of expediency and presumption, and the result will be the same — the beginning of our enslavement by the Crown. Should we submit to this act without protest, we would eventually be reduced to the state and condition of most Englishmen. We would witness the gradual re-creation here of the corrupt and corrupting circumstances from which our forbearers fled, the same circumstances that sent me here.”
John Proudlocks was oblivious to the disapproving looks of many of the other men in the library of Reece Vishonn at Enderly. At the moment, most of those men were oblivious to his presence. He had accompanied Jack Frake, his employer and friend, at the latter’s invitation, when he and Hugh Kenrick, just returned from a mysterious journey to Hanover, rode to Enderly to meet with Caxton’s leading planters and merchants.
Reece Vishonn had called the meeting, at Jack Frake’s suggestion. Ralph Cullis and his son, Edgar, who had delayed his departure for Williamsburg at Vishonn’s request, were here, as were Ira Granby, Henry Otway and his son, Morris, Sheriff Cabal Tippet, Wendel Barret of the Courier, Thomas Reisdale, Lucas Rittles, Vishonn’s son, James, and many of the farmers, smaller planters, and tradesmen from in and around the town. These men had been notified by Vishonn that an important meeting was to be held to discuss the meaning and effect of a law presumed to have been passed by Parliament. When Jack arrived, he asked his host what he planned to say.
The planter countered, “Me, sir? I am speechless! Each time I read the document Mr. Kenrick was kind enough to send me, I sputter and babble like a newborn babe! I cannot fathom its carelessness! But you have apparently given the matter much cool thought. Say what you believe must be said.”
Jack nodded, and glanced inside Vishonn’s library, which was noisy with the talk of two dozen men. He saw two persons he did not think should be there: Arthur Stannard, the British tobacco agent, and Reverend Albert Acland. He asked his host why they were present.
Vishonn shook his head. “They came with some of the other guests, Mr. Frake, and I could not gracefully turn them away. I do business with Mr. Stannard, and Reverend Acland is my pastor.”
“No matter,” remarked Jack.
They stood in the vestibule directly outside the library. Vishonn glanced at Hugh. “Mr. Kenrick, I know that you sent Mr. Barret a copy of the act as it was passed by the Commons, with the intention that he should print it in the next Courier. In the name of caution, I have requested that he refrain from printing it, except for an item written by him on the act’s likely, but only rumored passage by both Houses. And then, it cannot become law until His Majesty signs it, and God knows how long that may take him.”
Proudlocks said, “The king will put his mark on this law, Mr. Vishonn, as the King-in-Parliament.” He stood behind Jack with Hugh.
Vishonn seemed to notice Proudlocks for the first time. He frowned, and his first impulse was to ask this Indian, “What would you know about such things?” But he had heard that this tenant of Jack Frake’s read books from both his employer’s and Hugh Kenrick’s collections. The bronze-hued man contradicted everything he knew about Indians and gentlemen. Proudlocks stood there, in his frock coat, breeches, stockings, and moccasins, hat in hand, waiting politely for a polite answer. “Why are you so certain of that…sir?”
Proudlocks spoke with an assurance that was not to be challenged. “How can he be a king without obedient subjects? He expects them to obey, good law or bad law. If his subjects do not obey, or obey only laws they think are just, then they are not his subjects, and he is not their king, unless he must make himself their king by doing violence.”
Vishonn merely blinked at this answer, and glanced inquiringly at Jack Frake. The latter repressed a grin and said, “John’s reasoning would be mine, sir.” He nodded to the library. “May we go in?”
Vishonn waved a hand, and Jack and Proudlocks went inside. Hugh Kenrick did grin, and as he passed his host, patted him on the shoulder and quipped, “Blink, blink! It’s such a chore to think!”
“Excuse me, sir?”
“That is the Bilbury Lament, sir,” replied Hugh. “Some day I shall complete the full verse, and Mr. Barret will print it, but not before His Majesty gives his assent to the law.”
Hugh followed his friends into the library, leaving the host standing with an even more perplexed look. Vishonn sighed, gathered up his dignity, and followed.
It was Jack Frake who had spoken at length on the consequences of servile, passive submission to the Stamp Act, after Reece Vishonn had introduced him and Hugh Kenrick to his guests as men who had advance news of the act. “I am persuaded,” said Vishonn, “after having read the particulars of this act, that our prerogatives as a self-governing colony are being abridged. Mr. Cullis there,” he added, indicating the burgess who stood with his father, “agrees with me that this is the case, for he has read a copy of the act, which I hasten to add is not yet official news.”
Wendel Barret said to the gathering, “The act may not reach Virginia until long after the next session has adjourned. The Governor will have the full act published in the Gazette in Williamsburg, which may not be until the middle of the summer. I will, however, pen a digest of the law as we know it here.”
But when Jack Frake spoke, Proudlocks, standing at the side of the stately room, observed changes in the mien of the men who were here. Some of the planters looked
uncomfortable; the farmers and tradesmen assumed the look of men who were hearing their characters called into question; Arthur Stannard and Reverend Acland seemed to become rigid with resentment. Jack Frake said, “Mr. Kenrick will speak in protest of this stamp law, as will some other burgesses. He will now read some of the charges you may expect to pay, come November.”
Hugh rose from his chair and took out a sheet of paper and read from it. “Gentlemen, here will be some of the costs to us for the privilege of living our lives. Various legal documents, such as declarations, petitions to the court, deeds — three pence. Copies of wills, of libels, of surveyors’ warrants, documents needed in any court exercising ecclesiastical jurisdiction — six pence. Original grants, deeds or conveyances of land of more than one hundred acres — two shillings; if of more than two hundred acres — five shillings. Licenses for retailing wine — three pounds, or four, depending on the circumstances of the innkeeper or publican. A university degree — two pounds. Bills of lading, cockets, and clearances — three pence. Playing cards — one shilling. Dice — ten shillings. Attorneys’ licenses to practice in our own courts — ten pounds. Well, some of you gentlemen are already in the practice, but what is to say that the Crown will not require you to regularly renew your licenses at the cost of eight, or perhaps of twelve?”
Thomas Reisdale exclaimed, “I would rather allow my license to lapse than pay that extortion!”
“What about bills of exchange?” asked Lucas Rittles.
“And tobacco notes?” asked one of the smaller planters.
“They are not mentioned in the act,” said Hugh, “but we may be sure that some busy person will remind the authors of this law of their oversight.” He referred to the paper again. “Here are the taxes on our knowledge, gentlemen: On newspapers, stamp taxes of one-half pence, one pence, and two pence. On almanacs, taxes of two, four, and eight pence. These rates are exclusive of the extra costs which printers must pay for the special paper that carries the stamp itself.”
A farmer inquired with sarcasm, “Will we be stamped for rising in the morning, or standing in the sun?”
Hugh grinned in irony. “Presumably not, sir, if you can prove a legal reason for rising and standing.” He brandished the paper over his head. “Depend on it, sirs, there are not many actions you could take under His Majesty’s sun without having to purchase stamps. I have read to you only a fraction of the enumerated items cited in the act as it was passed by the Commons.”
Some of the men in the room grumbled; others stood in frank astonishment. One small planter asked, “But, sir, where are we to get the money to pay for these stamps?”
Hugh shrugged. “Parliament and His Majesty will count on your diligence, honesty, sense of duty, and hard work to answer that question, sir.”
The planter replied with an angry scoffing. Others murmured obscenities.
Arthur Stannard glanced around at the other men, and then spoke. “You make too much of the burden, Mr. Kenrick,” he said, and, briefly glancing at Jack Frake, added, “and exaggerate the effects of this act, Mr. Frake. The Crown asks for no more than what is borne by Englishmen at home.”
Hugh shook his head. “In many instances, Mr. Stannard, the rates are much higher than those imposed in England. And we are not at home.”
Jack rose from his chair. “We have enjoyed more liberty here than Englishmen have known at home, sir,” he said to the agent with a hint of anger in his words. “We will not relinquish it. It is a liberty which our English cousins have yet to discover.”
“Pish, sir!” snorted Stannard. “That is a nice sentiment, but it hovers near the coast of rebellion, and insults our countrymen in the bargain.”
“I can come closer to shore, if you wish, sir.”
Reece Vishonn, alarmed at this exchange, rose and spoke. “But the late war, Mr. Frake: Should we not contribute to its cost? It seems only fair.”
“If we wish to, and if the General Assembly can find a means of raising the money without burdening us,” said Jack, “but not by command to us or to our Assembly.”
Ira Granby said, “But, sir, the army is in the west, checking Pontiac and his allies. From what accounts I have read, the war there has been most severe, and the casualties of our troops very high.”
“We have paid for the expense of that army many times over, Mr. Granby, and General Gage did not invite us to help combat the menace.”
Henry Otway remarked, “But the army will also protect us from French and Spanish designs. That seems to me a legitimate purpose.” Some of the other planters nodded in agreement.
Jack shook his head. “The army’s first allegiance is to protect Crown claims and interests on this continent, Mr. Otway. And we every one of us constitute a part of those claims and interests, for we give this continent any value, and the day has come when we ourselves are seen as a threat to Crown interests and claims here as much as may be the French or Spanish.”
Hugh remarked. “Quis custodiet ipso custodies?” He added, “Who will guard the guardians? Our militia? Should the Crown abrogate the power of our legislature to call up the militia, what force will protect us from Indians, the French, or the army? The Constitution? But that law, Mr. Otway, has been nullified by this one.” Again he brandished the paper he had read from.
Reverend Acland looked from Hugh to Jack and back to Hugh. “I smell treasonous resistance to authority being alluded to here, sirs, and wild fears and terror being manufactured over this simple and just act! Mind your tongues, sirs!”
Jack Frake would not speak to the minister, and sat down. Hugh studied Acland thoughtfully for a moment, while all the other men waited for him to reply. Then he exclaimed, “Ah! Terror!” He turned to survey the books in the shelves behind him, located one, and pulled it out. He opened it and flipped through its pages. “A sprinkling of wisdom is to be found even in this gentleman’s harsh observations, Mr. Acland, and his hostility to liberty is well known.” He paused to scan a page. “Ah! Here it is!”
He raised a finger and addressed the gathering. “‘If a man by the terror of present death be compelled to do a fact against the law, he is totally excused, because no law can oblige a man to abandon his own preservation.’” Hugh snapped the book shut and spoke to Acland. “On that point, Mr. Hobbes is in agreement with Mr. Locke, who says the same thing in his Second Treatise, though in many more sympathetic words.”
“What work is that?” inquired Acland with a doubting frown.
“Leviathan,” replied Hugh, returning the book to its place on the shelf. “If you wish to express your own hostility to liberty in subtler terms, sir, then I recommend that you become acquainted with Mr. Hobbes and versed in his language. But pray get you a copy of his work before you must pay a stamp on it.”
Acland scoffed at the insinuation. “I shall write the Bishop of London about what is being said and contemplated here!” he said. “And their lordships on the Board of Trade!”
Hugh smiled. “You are still free to do so, Reverend, and to write whatever you wish to whomever you please, on untaxed parchment.”
Jack said, addressing Hugh but throwing a challenging glance at Acland, “Perhaps you are wrong, Mr. Kenrick. The reverend here is an official of the church, and a state functionary, and may in time be exempted from having to pay any stamps at all.”
All the other men in the room turned to stare at the minister, and waited for his reply. Acland’s face shot red in anger, and his mouth pursed to form words he dared not speak, for he was a minister who preached against profanity. He glanced around at all the expectant faces, then rolled his shoulders in defiance. “I have heard enough, gentlemen. Good day to you.” He strode out of the room and slammed the library door behind him.
After a moment, Edgar Cullis quipped, “There goes a rancid fellow!”
With a half-chuckle, Reece Vishonn said to Jack, “That man does not like you, sir.”
“Nor I him,” answered Jack with unconcern.
Thomas Reisdale sh
ook his head. “I’ll wager that he will write to the Bishop of London, and to the Board of Trade, and try to persuade them to bring a charge of scandalum magnatum against the both of you through the General Court here.” He looked from Jack to Hugh. “Perhaps even to try you both in England.”
“Scandalum what, Mr. Reisdale?” asked Vishonn.
“Uttering a malicious statement against the Crown or against any officer or agent of the realm,” explained the attorney. “And, in the steelyard of Crown law, permit me to add, such a charge, argued by a sharp prosecutor, could conceivably be weighed into a more serious offense, and be construed as seditious libel.”
“He had the insolence to correct our minds and speech, Mr. Reisdale,” said Hugh, “and to presume to be our unsolicited shepherd. We shall await the warrant that names the charges against Mr. Frake and me, and solicit your services for our defense against it.”
Arthur Stannard volunteered, but with less force than before, “Englishmen know their duties as well as their liberties.” But no one replied to his statement.
Henry Otway said, “The king is obliged to protect us from such laws as this one! He will see the folly and ruinous effects of the act!”
“Yes,” said Ira Granby. “I cannot but agree with that sentiment. The colonies are answerable to His Majesty, not to Parliament! He will waive our duty, and encourage our content.”
Reece Vishonn rose from his chair. “Now here’s talk that makes sense! Enough of Mr. Hobbes and Mr. Locke! I have tried to read those fellows, Mr. Kenrick, but found them a task. What we want, sir, is a politics that will spare us the tiresome, pothering complexities of philosophers!”
Hugh shook his head. “That, sir, is neither possible nor advisable. Not possible, for we are, for better or worse, heirs to their work. Not advisable, for then the encroachments of stamps and bayonets will always seem a mystery to us.”
“Perhaps, Mr. Kenrick,” said Vishonn. “But Mr. Granby has something there. This act is so careless, I cannot even imagine that the House of Lords will pass it. Surely, that House is populated by wiser men.”