Empire

by Edward Cline

  He and Edgar Cullis rode together to Williamsburg in late October, and shared a room in the house of a distant cousin of Cullis’s for the duration of the session. On the morning of the first day of the session, Hugh was escorted by Cullis to the Capitol and the second-floor chamber of the Governor’s Council. There, in solemn, well-appointed surroundings, he and other new burgesses were administered the oath of loyalty to Virginia and the Crown by a clerk, witnessed by the eleven members of the Council, who were berobed as justices and sat collectively for this formality as the Council of State.

  Later in the morning, Governor Fauquier arrived in his resplendent coach-and-six to the applause and cheers of the waiting burgesses and staff of the Capitol. Hugh stood at the small iron gate at the head of the circular drive, and got only a glimpse of the man’s back as he ascended the stone steps. He was not invited to attend to the Governor upstairs when the latter summoned the Speaker and sixty other burgesses to the Council chambers to deliver his opening address and instructions and to formally open the session. Hugh joined the other burgesses outside to wait until a clerk came out and called them in. Later, Hugh noted the similarity in rituals, though, in the fact that all the burgesses stood while the Council members and the Governor sat, just as when a delegation of the Commons appeared before a gathering of the Lords the M.P.’s stood in deference to the sitting peers. He had a passing knowledge of the protocol of other colonial legislatures, and remarked to Cullis later that same day that the General Assembly, of all the colonial governments, most nearly resembled in form, ritual, and practice faraway Parliament. “That is not wholly a compliment,” he added.

  “Why not?” queried Cullis as they rode back down Duke of Gloucester that evening, after the first full day of the Assembly. They were returning to the house of his cousin, Mary Gandy, who was a seamstress and sewer of wigs for the capital’s paramount peruke maker. There they would freshen up, have some cold luncheon, and ride back up the boulevard to join some other burgesses of Cullis’s acquaintance at Marot’s Coffeehouse near the Capitol.

  “Neither Lords nor the Governor’s Council is a true senate,” explained Hugh. “Their memberships depend entirely on the largess and leave of the king, when in fact the composition of those bodies ought to rely exclusively on the electoral discretion of the lower Houses. Their first function should be to serve as protectors of English liberty against the whims and wishes of the mobile vulgus.”

  Edgar Cullis could not contest this assertion. His knowledge of practical politics lay in land patents and statutes. His mind was not friendly to hypotheses, although lately both Hugh and Parliamentary legislation had stirred his latent curiosity. He did not pursue the matter. When they reached his cousin’s house near the College, he brought up another subject. He served as recording clerk for the Committee on Privileges and Elections, and reported that Hugh’s election had been passed by that body and would receive approval by the House the next day.

  “There was no dispute over the conduct of your election,” he said in his cousin’s kitchen over a plate of cold meats, “although Mr. Bland had a question about the status of your baronetcy, which he thought might prejudice your politics here. I assured him that you were not of that mind, that you were more consciously…how shall I say this?…American than many who were born here. He seemed satisfied with that answer.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “There were other doubters. Some members of the committee — chiefly Mr. Randolph and Mr. Carter — were concerned that you might somehow influence the Committee of Propositions and Grievances (which is half the House, of course) to introduce a bill proposing the manumission of the slaves. I assured them that you know that such a bill would not only be rejected outright by that body, but serve to give some members an excuse to contrive to have you expelled, or your election annulled.” Cullis paused. “You must realize that the House will not entertain such an idea.”

  Hugh knew it, and shrugged. “I will work then to give slaves the same legal protection as the burgesses, or any other white citizen.”

  Cullis frowned, and shook his head. “That may seem to be a tamer project, sir, but I am afraid it may be twice as offensive. It is only half a glass, you see, when it could very well be filled to the brim. No, the House could not be tricked that way. If there is any injustice in the institution, the House will concede only that it is imposed on us by the Crown.” The burgess studied Hugh for a moment. “I did not own this before, Mr. Kenrick, but your reputation precedes you. Many in the House are on their guard against you.”

  At the coffeehouse later that evening, Hugh was introduced to some of his colleague’s friends, burgesses from a number of Tidewater counties. Cullis had not seen these men for nearly a year, and so the conversation over coffee and cocoa dwelt mostly on the fortunes and misfortunes of families, plantations, businesses, on marriages, births, and deaths.

  Presently the talk turned to the impending business of the House. One of Cullis’s friends boasted that Parliament would never impose an internal tax on the colonies. “It would be illegal, and unconstitutional,” said the man. “And, besides, there are a number of prominent men there who are intimately acquainted with the colonies and our conditions — merchants, and bankers, and the consignment firms, and people of that sort. They’ll convince Mr. Grenville and his party to think twice.”

  “It would be a violation of all our charters,” remarked another burgess. “His Majesty would not tolerate such a tax. They are his charters, and such a tax would reduce his own revenues.” He paused. “Such a tax could not help but reduce his income. Do you not see?”

  Another burgess ventured, “I wish the House could hire the services of the Council’s representative in London. Now, sirs, there’s a fellow who’s acquainted with the colonies and our conditions! Mr. James Abercromby, late of South Carolina! He was attorney general there for some fifteen years, I’ve heard, and a member of their legislature for nearly a score. He will speak for Virginia, for that is what the Council is paying him a stipend to do. He will speak, you see, for he is a member of Parliament himself!” The burgess paused to wrinkle his brow in hard recollection. “But, curse me, sirs, I can’t remember whether he sits for county or borough!”

  “Clackmannan and Kinross, in the north,” said Hugh, who until now had been silent.

  All heads turned to him. He said, “Mr. Abercromby’s family are quite as numerous as are the Lees or Randolphs here, gentlemen, and their careers have been almost exclusively civil and military. And the Council, I must sadly inform you, unwisely enlisted the services of a man who allied himself with Lord Bute, and who just this summer past was granted a pension, undoubtedly through the intercession of Mr. Grenville.” He shook his head. “No, sirs. He is not likely to argue Virginia’s case with any enthusiasm. He is suborned. He is bought.”

  His table companions sat stunned, or incredulous, or in doubt of the news. “I do not believe it,” said one burgess.

  “That is an indirect slander on the Council, sir,” said another. “What proof have you?”

  “I was sent the London Gazette that contains the item,” said Hugh. “You are all invited to call on me in Caxton to see it for yourselves.”

  “I have seen that item, sirs,” said Cullis reluctantly, wishing that his colleague had not mentioned the matter. “It is true.”

  “Do the Council know this?” asked one of this friends.

  Hugh shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. But those gentlemen should not expect Mr. Abercromby to oppose Mr. Grenville in anything he concocts.”

  “Then, if it is true,” posed another burgess, “the Council chose unwisely.”

  Another burgess agreed. “It would appear that they hired a man of their own mettle — a man who prefers satin chairs on which to rest his velvety principles.”

  “Caution, sir,” said another. “Now you are close to directly slandering the Council. And bear in mind that a pension does not necessarily imply a purchase of principles
.”

  Cullis said, “Well, at least the House chose wisely when it enlisted Mr. Montague. His reports from London have been regular and enlightening.”

  “Yes, he cannot speak in Parliament for us,” said Hugh. “He can confer only with the Board of Trade and the Privy Council. If we have reason to resort to petitions in the future, he may not himself present them to either House in Parliament, nor even to the king. Only if he can persuade a member of either House to propose that a petition be admitted into debate or as evidence, can one be heard and entered into the record, but even that scenario is subject to a vote of the House sitting as a committee. I beg you, sirs, to keep in mind the rules of our own Assembly, for they are not dissimilar from those of Parliament’s. That body may choose not to take cognizance of our remonstrances and memorials.”

  One of the burgesses sniffed. “It is a doleful perspective you offer us, sir.”

  Hugh said, “But a realistic one, given the circumstances. I will add further that while we may boast that Mr. Montague cannot be bought with a pension or place, we must remind ourselves that it is simply because he does not sit in Parliament. Please, do not conclude that I am aspersing his character or doubting his loyalty. I am saying merely that if he did sit in Parliament, he would be approached, just as, no doubt, was Mr. Abercromby.” He paused for a moment, to let his listeners digest his remarks. “We should hope that Mr. Montague remains deserving of the House’s confidence. After all, one could count the articulate friends of Virginia and the colonies in London on the fingers of one hand, and they are mostly outside of the government, and must beg for audiences with those who are in it.”

  “This is true,” said one of the burgesses. “The friends of Virginia in London are as plentiful as Georgia silk!”

  Most of the men around the table laughed. It was a standing joke about the founding of the thirteenth colony, Georgia, in 1733 with transported debtors and the poor from England’s prisons and workhouses, first with private funds, and later sustained by Parliamentary grants. Its chief purpose was to produce silk and save Britain some £500,000 per annum in exchange and bullion in the purchase of foreign silk. But the silkworms died, the Georgia mulberry tree was the wrong tree, and the settlers became restive under the rigid discipline of their benefactors’ rules of conduct. Georgia became a financial disaster, and reverted to the Crown in 1752.

  Hugh merely grinned.

  The burgess who had accused him of indirectly slandering the Governor’s Council noted that Hugh had not joined in the laughter. He said, “Sir, you have a darksome view of Parliament’s affairs. What are the grounds of your umbrage?”

  “I am acquainted with some of its members, sir, though not in friendship. And I have correspondents in London who are friends, and who keep me regularly apprised of Parliament’s affairs, perhaps more regularly does Mr. Montague keep the House.” He paused. “My umbrage? Well, here are some Crown titbits you may chew on, and which should give you a taste of Parliamentary fare. General Isaac Barré, a member of Parliament, was dismissed from the army and his post of governor of Stirling Castle for having voted against Mr. Grenville’s move to expel Mr. Wilkes. Lieutenant-General William Asshe-A’Court, another member, was removed from his regiment for the same reason. And, Lieutenant-General Francis Conway, another member, was shorn of his offices and removed from his regiment for voting against Mr. Wilkes’s expulsion and against general warrants.” He shook his head. “These are but a few of the instances that contribute to my umbrage, sir. One consequence of these actions has been to send those men into permanent opposition to sly encroachments on liberty.”

  A burgess chuckled. “It would seem that the government is determined to send all its generals to the other side!”

  Again, the burgesses laughed. More jokes were made at the expense of the Grenville ministry. Finally, one of the men produced a pack of cards. “Enough of politicking, gentlemen! Who’s up for a round or two of whist?”

  Several of the men chimed in with agreement, including Edgar Cullis. Hugh excused himself from the game. “I have not the memory for card games, sirs,” he explained to the company. “My younger sister has beaten me repeatedly at piquet and all-fours.” Then he bid the men good evening.

  * * *

  After leaving the coffeehouse, Hugh mounted his horse and rode back to Mary Gandy’s house in the night. There was some snow falling, but not enough of it to collect on the bare trees and ground. During the session, he frequently occupied himself with managing Meum Hall from afar. Tonight, after he had installed his mount in a barn belonging to a neighbor of his hostess, he settled in and opened his traveling desk. He wrote to William Settle asking him to report the progress being made on the construction of new rain gutters to be put up on the main house and connected to the water tower. “And remember that the cottonwoods and oaks near the house must be trimmed so that their leaves do not fall next year to clog up the channels…. ”

  Next he wrote to Jack Frake, Thomas Reisdale, and Reece Vishonn about the business of the House. He dwelt on his annoyance with the style and content of the address to George the Third, the memorial to Lords, and the remonstrance to the Commons:

  “When the House in a few days is handed back these documents with the Council’s amendments, they will surely be revised in committee again, and returned to the Council for further discreet parsing. So many points and aspects of these official missives have been changed, struck out, and reinstated in squabblish debate in our own House, that the character and temper of the Council’s deliberations beggar imagination. It is a torturously tiresome business. What has not changed is the language of craven submission, in which fully a quarter of the verbiage is couched in apologetic terms and conceded inferiority. Neither the Council nor the House will brazen a singular statement that denies Parliament’s power or authority to tax us in violation of the original and standing charters — to which Parliament was no party, ever — and of the Constitution. That notion is disguised throughout in circumspect minuet around the subject, and is as busy and confounding to the eye as a folio of Playford’s dancing steps. The neglect here cannot help but be noted by Mr. Grenville and his friends in that other house, and the end effect will not be so much a protest against his designs as an enfeebled complaint, or the peevish mewing of a misbehaved child on the verge of his expected punishment…. ”

  Chapter 8: The Spectators

  Hugh spent most of his evenings in Williamsburg alone, although he grew to enjoy the ambiance of Marot’s Coffeehouse. The establishment reminded him of the Fruit Wench Tavern in London. Here he would take a supper, or sit near the fireplace reading newspapers with an ale or brandy. When the place became, in the evenings, too boisterous with gambling merchants, planters, and burgesses, he would leave. One evening, though, after a day in the House, he accepted an invitation to the Governor’s Palace to attend a concert. Fauquier greeted him like an old friend, and at one point in the affair took him aside away from the other guests for a private chat.

  “Well,” broached the Governor, “how are you liking the business up the road, Mr. Kenrick?”

  Hugh’s grin was somber. “I endure it, your honor.”

  Fauquier nodded. “It is tedious but necessary business, I grant. But not nearly as tedious as my own daily routine. Why, if I imbibed, drop for drop, an equal measure of Madeira for every drop of ink I expend on signing papers and permits and the like, I could be brought up on the charge of public drunkenness.”

  Hugh merely smiled in sympathy.

  Fauquier said, “But I did not think you would ever take an interest in politics, sir. The House’s routine must be painfully dull for a man of your talents.”

  Hugh shrugged. “I adjudged an active interest necessary, your honor — in light of the Crown’s intentions.”

  “Hmmm…. Yes, I can understand that.” The Governor paused to glance around, then said in a lower tone, “I know that you gentlemen are composing a set of impertinences. Have you lent your hand to the endeavo
r?”

  “Not so much as a finger, your honor,” said Hugh, shaking his head. “I was not invited to contribute to their composition.”

  “But, you do not deny they are impertinent?”

  Hugh smiled. “Not as impertinent as I would wish.”

  “I see.” Fauquier seemed lost in thought for a moment. “Well,” he said at length, “it is not my place to caution the House at this point or to interfere in its business in any event, but forgive me if I say that little good will come from dunning the Crown for grievances it will not allow. In Mr. Grenville’s eyes, the roles are properly reversed. It is Virginia that is the debtor, and the Crown the bearer of grievances. Mr. Grenville is merely seeking satisfaction.”

  “By usurping the Constitution, your honor?” asked Hugh, holding the Governor’s glance.

  The Governor looked away, and cocked his head, demurring. “That charge is open to interpretation, sir. It could be viewed as a reasonable accusation — or as a slander.” He paused. “I advise you to be careful what you say in public, Mr. Kenrick, and especially to me. I count myself your friend, and a friend of Virginia. But neither you nor the House should expect me to remain silent when the Crown and its supreme agents are besmirched.”

  Hugh said simply, “You would be remiss in your duties, your honor, if you remained silent.”

  The Governor sighed. “Well, at least that is more of a compliment than I have ever had from the Board of Trade.” He studied Hugh for a moment, then shook his head. “We will discuss politics no more here, sir. I can see that you are struggling with a clash between your decent tact and a desire to burst into oratory.” He smiled in defeat by this young man’s demeanor of frankness and studied reticence, and abruptly changed the subject. “I am thinking of holding another concert early in the spring, if my duties permit the time. I would be delighted to fit into it that young lady with the harp, the one I married to that young man April last.”