by Edward Cline
A measureless moment passed, and then the older man’s face reddened in anger. At first his callers could not determine if it was because he was offended by the implication that he could be frightened, or was alarmed by the information. He rose abruptly and pointed to his library door. “Damn your correspondents and your suspicions and your Sons of Liberty! I know what you’re conspiring, Mr. Frake! You have spent your welcome here, sir! I will not tolerate my character or the Governor’s being so brazenly…slandered! Good day to you!”
Jack Frake put down his glass of cider, nodded to Proudlocks, and together they turned and left the room. As they rode out of the courtyard, Proudlocks shook his head. “He was offended by your suggestion that he would submit to fear.”
“I expected he would be, but it had to be said,” Jack Frake replied. “Well, we must have a meeting of the Sons of Liberty.” They rode to Safford’s Arms Tavern, and spoke with the proprietor.
* * *
That night, again under cover of darkness, Governor Dunmore sent his wife and seven children to the Fowey, ostensively for their protection, but actually because he did not know what to expect next. He himself returned to the Palace.
Over the course of a week, word had spread of the incident at the Magazine, north, south, and west. In Fredericksburg, some six hundred volunteer militiamen assembled for a proposed march on the Capitol, and its captain sent a messenger to Williamsburg to obtain a first-hand account of the affair. In Hanover County, Patrick Henry was elected colonel of another force, which began to march immediately for the purpose of meeting or preventing an invasion. Henry and his men had by this time learned of the fights at Lexington and Concord, and to their minds, the war had begun. He and his volunteers stopped at an ordinary not half a day’s march from the Capitol.
Henry did not yet know it, but Dunmore had since informed the mayor of Williamsburg that if harm came to him, his family, or any British officer, he would free the colony’s slaves and let them destroy the town. He also informed Thomas Nelson, member of the Governor’s Council, that Yorktown would be bombarded by the naval vessels on the York if the Palace or his person were attacked.
During the march from Hanover, the lawyer in Henry caught up with the colonel in him, and stayed the patriot’s hand. Henry sent a courier to the Governor at the Palace with a receipt for payment for the stolen gunpowder. The Governor signed it in exchange for a warrant for £330, countersigned by the Treasurer, Robert Carter Nicholas. Henry, who had postponed his journey to Philadelphia to attend the second Continental Congress, scheduled to convene in early May, pledged to give the warrant to his delegation for presentation to the Congress or to the next Virginia convention. He led his force back to Hanover, and he returned home to prepare for the journey to Philadelphia.
The gunpowder remained on the warship Magdalen at Burwell’s Landing on the James River.
Lord Dunmore subsequently decreed that, henceforth, no one in Virginia was to aid or ally himself with Patrick Henry. This action was another blunder, for the decree simply publicized Dunmore’s animus for a man most Virginians revered. His Council, reduced by death and desertion from twelve to seven, also condemned Henry, expressing its “detestation and abhorrence for that licentious and ungovernable spirit that has gone forth and misled that once happy people of this country.” The statement only earned the public’s contempt for the Council. On May 12, the Governor sent for Lady Charlotte and his family to return to the Palace.
In the meantime, Jack Frake had met with the Sons of Liberty at Safford’s Arms, and was the next day unanimously elected captain of a new independent company, and Jock Fraser his first lieutenant. Reece Vishonn, colonel of the county militia, saw his command reduced to a platoon. Most of the men in the new company took with them the arms, powder, ball, knives, bayonets, and other military accoutrements allotted to them by the county. On paper, Vishonn was colonel of a militia of one hundred men. Only a handful chose to remain loyal to the colonel.
And one day, in mid-May, Jack Frake read in a Virginia Gazette the details of the battles of Lexington and Concord. At the end of one account of the actions, the editor commented, “The sword is now drawn, and God knows when it will be sheathed.”
His staff observed him pacing on the porch of the great house, his hands clasped behind his back, clutching the Gazette. He was pondering whether to ask his men to march to Massachusetts to join in the fighting that was sure to occur there, or to stay here, where fighting was certain to happen, as well. He had converted an unused portion of his fields into a mustering camp for the volunteers.
That very afternoon, Hugh Kenrick arrived in Caxton on a merchant sloop from Norfolk. While he waited for his baggage to be unloaded at the pier, he paid an idle boy to go to Meum Hall and tell someone there to send down a cart down for his things. Then he walked up to Safford’s Arms for a lunch.
When he entered, he found the place dense with smoke and packed with citizens and armed men. It was the busiest and noisiest he had ever seen the place. He was instantly recognized and greeted by cheers and the news that he had been reelected burgess for the county, together with Edgar Cullis. The Governor the day before had issued a call for a General Assembly to meet in Williamsburg on the first of June to consider the terms of conciliation sent to the colonies by Lord North.
Hugh could hardly keep up with the news everyone seemed to be shouting at him. Steven Safford pressed a Gazette in his hands and pointed to the accounts of Lexington and Concord, and also to letters in the newspaper about the Magazine incident. “The Governor no longer governs,” said the proprietor. “He will make war on us.”
Hugh sat down at a table and read the accounts and the letters, forgetting a tankard of ale and the plate of coldcuts the man had put at his elbow.
No one in Virginia would know it for weeks, but the war had begun auspiciously that very day, with the bloodless capture of British Fort Ticonderoga on Lake Champlain by Ethan Allen, Benedict Arnold, and a small force of eighty-three men, netting the revolutionary forces artillery and great quantities of military stores. And in Philadelphia, the second Continental Congress had convened.
Chapter 3: The Warnings
“There is no occasion for jubilation.”
This warning was the opening of Hugh Kenrick’s remarks to a meeting of the Sons of Liberty a few days later in the Olympus Room of Safford’s Tavern. The Sons’ membership included most of the rank and file of the Queen Anne County Volunteer Company, a militia that numbered about fifty men.
Hugh stood at the round table where in the past so many meetings had been convened, in between Jack Frake and Jock Fraser. Propped up on a staff in a corner behind them was the multi-striped banner altered East India Company Jack that once served as a tablecloth for the Sons, and which was carried to the Caxton pier years ago when the town foiled an attempt to smuggle stamps into the colony. Furled around its staff, it was now the Company’s ensign, to be carried into action as a rallying point, as the position of the commanding officer, and as an expression of pride and identity. Sewn in black on one white stripe beneath the cobalt canton by Lydia Heathcoate, the town seamstress, were the words, Queen Anne Independent Company, Virginia. On another white stripe were the words, Sons of Liberty. And in the canton were the words, Live Free, or Die.
“No, sirs, there is no cause for celebration, now that the first salvos have been exchanged between troops and colonists. Difficult, spirit-wrenching times lay ahead of us. Parliament is determined to retain the colonies, by force if necessary, abetted by our alleged protector, the king. General Gage’s ten regiments in Boston will be joined, possibly by summer’s end, by many more. A great fleet has been assembled in Boston Harbor, and many more warships lurk off American shores, aside from the usual ones that filch our pockets and purses by means of the codified laws of tyranny. What the Crown intends for Massachusetts, it must intend for all the colonies. It is only a matter of time before armies and fleets intrude on Virginia with the same purpose: our subjugat
ion.
“While in London, I came by information that His Majesty devoted some considerable time to the lists of regiments that may be sent here or kept in Ireland, if needed, as well as a list of generals who might be ordered to direct a campaign here. And when I last sat in the Commons, that body had approved an address to the king that the colonies were in a ‘state of rebellion.’ Doubtless, by now it and the king have agreed that a state of war now exists between us and Britain.”
He paused to study the attentive faces crowded into the Olympus Room. “I must stress that we are not the rebels in this circumstance, but rather Parliament, the king, and the whole apparatus of the empire. They rebel against everything Britain once boasted of: her host of liberties, her Constitution, her reputation as the refuge for exiles from tyranny. On reflection, one could argue that it has fallen to us to resolve many of the issues of the Civil War of the last century. We are able to resolve them, for we have an advantage over the liberty-minded men of that distant age. We have the wisdom of Mr. John Locke and of his many thoughtful successors in that realm of inquiry.” He paused again. “So, when perhaps you are called a ‘rebel,’ pray, do not accept that appellation. Regard it as an insult. You are each of you a revolutionary, unlike any in the past.”
After a long silence, during which the audience absorbed the gravity of Hugh’s words, one man asked, “Is there any hope of reconciliation, Mr. Kenrick?”
Hugh shook his head. “Scant hope, sir. Allow me to illustrate my pessimism. While I was in London, Lord Mansfield of the King’s Bench last December found a governor-general of Bengal, Mr. Harry Verelst, guilty of gross abuses against a group of Armenian merchants who traded with the East India Company, under whose auspices he governed. It was charged that he imprisoned them for half a year in Bengal, took their property, and subsequently denied them the liberty to trade in those parts. These merchants sued him in a British court. Lord Mansfield found him guilty of ‘oppression, false imprisonment, and singular depredations’ and Mr. Verelst was ordered to pay the Armenians some £9,000 in damages, in addition to the costs borne by the Armenians to lodge the suit.”
“That was a just finding,” said John Proudlocks.
Hugh chuckled. “It was, sir. But, would that Lord Mansfield had been so fair ten years ago, when he was asked by Mr. Grenville about the justice of a stamp tax on Americans. Would that he had been so fair to us when he found in Mr. Somerset’s favor fewer years ago.” He shrugged. “We, of course, cannot sue the Company for gross abuses of our liberty by way of its tea. Nor can we confidently sue for our liberty, as Mr. Somerset did, by merely setting foot on English soil. Nor can we sue the Crown for the greater false imprisonment it intends for us — indeed, has imposed on us for nigh a generation — for taking our property, and for the many singular depredations that are sure to come.”
One man asked, “Is it true that the Governor wanted the Shawnees to defeat General Lewis and the militia at Point Pleasant and his men last fall? Some here are saying the Governor wanted to make sure no one could fight him if he gave Virginians cause to. General Lewis and his men were the ones to do it, if it came to that.”
“I have heard that rumor. If such connivance of the Governor’s is true, it damns him.”
“He is damned even if it is not true,” said Jack Frake.
“He is behaving like the Emperor Nero,” said Proudlocks.
Jock Fraser said, “We’ll know for sure when that Connolly fellow sends the treaty down to the General Assembly.”
“Beware of skullduggery,” said Hugh. “It is alive in the Palace. Even in the House.”
Nearly everyone in the room understood who was the object of Hugh’s last remark: Edgar Cullis, whose treachery had nearly scuttled passage of the Stamp Act Resolves in the House ten years ago, and who was suspected of having informed Lieutenant-Governor Fauquier of Wendel Barret’s role in broadcasting the Resolves to the other colonies. Fauquier closed the Caxton Courier and suspended Barret’s printing license. The editor and printer shortly thereafter died of a stroke.
“We’ve a drummer and a fifer for the company now,” said Jock Fraser. “Do you remember Travis Barret?”
“Mr. Barret’s apprentice printer,” said Hugh with a smile, knowing what prompted Fraser to raise the subject.
“He ran away from his aunt’s family to join our company,” said Fraser, “and brought his black friend Cletus with him. Mr. Jude Kenny there taught him the fife, and Will Kenny over there taught Cletus the drum,” he added, pointing to the brothers in the room. “They’re staying at my place. I’ve put them to work, since I need a few extra hands in the fields and the cooperage.”
“Can they bear arms?”
“Of course,” laughed Fraser. “When they aren’t tootin’ and tappin’, they’ll be shootin’!”
The men all laughed.
Another man said, “We’ve been debating whether or not we should march north to Massachusetts to help lay siege to Boston, Mr. Kenrick. But Mr. Frake here — I mean, Captain Frake — says he expects there’ll be enough business here to keep us busy, the Governor is sure to get himself evicted from Williamsburg, the way he keeps combing the cat the wrong way. What do you think, sir?”
“I agree with Mr. Frake. It is only a matter of time before volleys are invited here, as well. There will be another convention held here in Virginia, and I am sure that by that time, it will become our de facto government. So many other colonies have already established civil authorities apart from the legislatures. These new authorities have jurisdiction over armed forces, as well as civil law. I expect that the convention will conclude that Virginia must have her own army, and not merely a militia.”
* * *
He had been given a warm welcome home by his staff at Meum Hall, and by Jack Frake, John Proudlocks, Jock Fraser and others who knew him well. At Morland, Jack Frake had arranged for a special supper to mark Hugh’s return. Proudlocks was the first guest to arrive. He asked, “Did you speak in Parliament? You wrote us that your father had chosen you to replace him.”
“No, I did not speak. I realized that there was nothing to say to that body.” He grinned in self-effacement at Jack. “Of course, you knew that already.”
Jack merely answered with a grin of his own, then said, “You might have plenty to say to the House when it sits in June. Half the membership hails from the Piedmont and outlying counties now. The Tidewater is in the minority for the first time, if the election returns in the Gazette are to be credited.” Then he asked, “Did you see Reverdy?”
“Yes,” answered Hugh. “Often. However, she will not be returning.” He spoke frankly and without hesitation, with no sign of emotion, as though he were commenting on the weather. Jack Frake sensed that this was not a subject to be pursued. But he and John Proudlocks especially had noted a new element in the mien of their friend, one that had colored his words and actions since his return: a somber, fastidious melancholy. Proudlocks was puzzled by it, but Jack Frake thought he knew its cause.
He and Proudlocks discreetly observed this dour youth who had somehow, in the time between Reverdy’s departure and his own return, lost his youth. They both sensed that Hugh Kenrick had for the last half-year endured a crisis of soul, of mind. They had concluded, by their own inferences, that he planned to divorce his wife. But only Jack Frake was certain that Hugh was also divorcing his country: Britain. He could not help but recall Hugh’s exuberant assertions of years ago, when the master of Meum Hall had happily and confidently proclaimed an empire of reason, a Pax Britannica stretching from Margate to the Mississippi and beyond. That empire was now unraveling and flying apart. He wondered how a man could carry the burden of such an error without it draining him of the wish to live.
And Jack Frake also wondered if he himself was a reproach to his friend, for he had always been certain of the empire’s inevitable and violent demise, and had said so to Hugh many times over the years. At times, he caught Hugh staring at him with a curious look of reluctan
t envy, curious because it seemed to be an unconscious envy.
When the remaining guests arrived, the talk centered on political and local matters.
Hugh asked, “What is Reverend Acland up to? And Mr. Cullis?”
“Mr. Acland has gone quite mad,” said Jock Fraser. “To hear him preach, the world is coming to an end, and the York will turn into a river of flame and our fields will be watered by brimstone.”
“Mr. Cullis is keeping his own counsel. He hasn’t said much about anything all the while.”
“I must call on him before the General Assembly,” said Hugh, “to see what he has to say.”
While at Morland, Hugh gave Jack all the sheet music he had bought in London for Etáin. “I think you were wise to send her away,” he said to Jack Frake. “However, I shall miss her and her music.”
Jack Frake smiled and took the leather portfolio of sheet music. “If we are fortunate, we shall both miss her for only a short while. She will play for us again…when this is over.”
“I must write her a letter, charging her with causing us both misery,” said Hugh in affectionate jest.
Proudlocks had written Hugh when he was in London about the mysterious “Mr. Hunt.” Hugh asked about him now. “Have you seen him since then?”
“No,” answered Proudlocks. “But I did inform Mr. Hurry and Mr. Beecroft to be alert to such a man loitering around Meum Hall. He has not been seen in these parts since then.”
* * *
At that moment in Hampton, Jared Turley, known to his Customs colleagues in Hampton as Jared Hunt, paced up and down the deck of the sloop-of-war Basilisk, proud as a captain. Formerly a privately owned merchant vessel that ran contraband, and named the Nassau, it had been converted into a warship by shipbuilders at Annapolis contracted by the Customs Service. It had been seized by the navy, and its owner, a notorious smuggler with “patriotic” sympathies, was charged with gross violations of the Navigation and other Acts by the Admiralty Court.