War (3 page)

It had taken most colonials nearly a half score years to grasp that it was fruitless to attempt compromise or reconciliation with a wolf. A wolf, after
all, sustained itself on prey. The colonials did not believe themselves prey, but neither did they believe that the Crown was closed to compromise, nor did they believe that it would deny them their rights as Englishmen. They expected reciprocity. What they got over the years were growls and gestures of bellicosity and repeated attempts to clap them in regulatory and economic irons.

Hugh Kenrick paused in his pacing now and then to glance up at the statue. He had voted against the resolution honoring Botetourt and against the “unanimous” resolution to erect the statue at “public expense.” He was not by nature a cynic, but he could not decide if the expensive gesture was an expression of sincere affection on the part of his fellow burgesses, or a sly act of mollification. Then he stopped and faced the statue. He thought to himself: Wendel Barret deserved a statue. And Dogmael Jones. Thomas Reisdale had earned at least a medallion. But this man? He still felt a touch of disgust with the House for having decided to honor the memory of Botetourt. “People who are not happy, certainly do not rejoice,” he muttered thoughtfully to himself.

“That is not an answer the Crown our Sphinx would wish to hear, Sir Oedipus,” said a voice from over his shoulder. “Prepare to be eaten.”

Hugh turned to see the smiling, freckled face and green eyes of Thomas Jefferson, burgess for Albemarle.

“And what answer to the riddle of Crown purpose would you give, Mr. Jefferson?” asked Hugh. “One that would cause it to sheathe its claws and teeth?”

“I am tempted to say no answer but a sincere and prolonged curtsy of gratitude. Clearly, it does not like the sound of our voices. And then, instead of ending itself, as it did when Oedipus gave it the correct answer, ours would grow in magnitude and consume us all.”

“Well, perhaps it is not truly a sphinx, but a lion in disguise.”

Jefferson laughed. “Now, there are some claws and teeth!”

The piazza was becoming busy with arriving burgesses and Council members, and the pair descended the steps in the bright late-morning sun to talk in private on the clipped lawn nearby. Hugh had corresponded with Jefferson over the years since repeal of the Stamp Act, and with other burgesses who fought for Patrick Henry’s resolves nearly ten years ago. Their letters dwelt not only on politics — their exchanges on the “Farmer’s Letters” pamphlets of John Dickinson revealed some disagreement on a few issues, and on the letters of “Junius” in the London
Public Advertiser
, they
both agreed their author was someone in the War Office — but were mutually informative and served as opportunities to address and articulate ideas that demanded more and more of their intellectual labor. They agreed that a British-American empire was feasible, and took heartened interest in an idea circulated by Joseph Galloway of Pennsylvania, that of a “Plan of Union” of Britain and the colonies.

“Today’s sitting promises to be very interesting,” said Hugh. It was ten-thirty. He had encountered Jefferson earlier at breakfast in Marot’s Coffee-house, where the tall red-head had confided that he, Patrick Henry, Richard Henry Lee, Francis Lightfoot Lee, and George Mason planned to persuade Robert Carter Nicholas, the treasurer, to introduce a resolution calling for “a day of prayer, fasting, and humiliation” on the first of June in support of Boston, closed by Parliament by the Boston Port Act until the destroyed tea had been paid for. Hugh promised to vote for the resolution, although, he said, “I do not believe that fasting, prayer, and humiliation are proper substitutes for action.”

Jefferson now answered, as they strolled leisurely on the grass, “Interesting, and necessary. Colonel Washington will distract the Governor and travel with him tomorrow to the Porto Bello lodge to talk land and inspect the place. He will not mention the resolution. You know that land is a favorite subject of His Excellency, and whets his appetite at the expense of his caution. This will allow Mr. Nicholas to introduce our resolution without interference, and allow the
Gazettes
to print it and broadsides for distribution.”

“You realize what are the likely consequences of that resolution,” said Hugh.

“Very likely Lord Dunmore will want to demolish the House with his own hands, once he has heard of it. But more likely he will simply dissolve the Assembly.”

“One cannot much exaggerate His Excellency’s temper. I can picture him now, taking our chamber apart, brick by brick. He has the strength, constitution, and temper of a bull. A Scotch bull, no less.”

“This is true. He may also be intemperate enough to cancel the ball that Mr. Randolph offered in Lady Dunmore’s honor. That would be a shame.”

“And a slight,” Hugh added. He sighed. “Now we are blessed with two Charlottes, at public expense,” he remarked, referring to the Governor’s wife and the wife of George the Third. He had nothing to say on the subject of the ball that was scheduled to be held at the Capitol in a few days.
Instead, he observed, “It is curious how things come in pairs. A week before Lady Dunmore’s arrival, there arrived in Yorktown some five tons of copper half-pence from the Royal Mint for circulation here. After years of pleading for specie, it is too little, too late.”

Jefferson shook his head and laughed in irony. “They rob us of pounds, and reward us a vail of pennies! They nullify our rights, but begrudge us a few privileges! There’s no irony in that, sir. That is the way of our particular sphinx.”

“Mr. Henry began his career with a penny,” mused Hugh, referring to the Parson’s Cause of 1763. “At times, liberty can be had very cheaply. Think of what he purchased us for that penny.”

“What?” asked Jefferson.

“Virginia’s name at the top of the roster of moral courage. Like a modern Prometheus, he brought the fire of liberty to the continent.”

“I cannot dispute that fact,” Jefferson answered.

They turned to other matters, such as Hugh’s recent visit home and his trip to France, Holland, and Prussia. But conversations these times, even on the most mundane matters, always returned to politics, as it did now. Hugh described his one-month visit to the Continent. Jefferson asked him about conditions there. “Are they as bad as I’ve heard?”

“Yes,” Hugh said. “The poverty and misery in France are unimaginable. One must wear blinders to avoid being made ill by the sight of the low state of the people there. They exist under the crushing weight of an iron monarchy, legalized corruption, an indifferent aristocracy and a rapacious clergy.”

“Everything we protest now,” mused Jefferson. “I understand that their
parlement
is a mere ormolu, and absolutely useless.”

“If revolution ever occurs there, sir,” warned Hugh, “the people will behave like a maddened beast, and destroy good as well as evil, innocent as well as guilty lives. Our sense of
right
is alien to them. The philosophers and educated men there exist in a society effectively separate from the people, and so very little of their wisdom is communicated to the populace. Instead, I believe they will strike out at anything or anyone who reminds them of privilege, or who does not appear downtrodden.”

Jefferson chuckled. “Well, in that event, if one were present to audit such a revolution, one would be wise to sport ragged clothes and a soiled face, and feign a natural ignorance of books.”

“Speaking of parliaments and ignorance,” Hugh said, “my father writes
me that, beginning with the new Parliament in November, its business will now be allowed to be reported in the press without penalty. The public there will now become informed of that body’s machinations. A fellow by the name of Luke Hansard has secured that post in the Commons. Lords, however, is still claiming private privilege.”

“That is progress of some kind,” said Jefferson. “It tempts one’s hope that our differences can be settled amicably.” After a moment, he said, “I have been reflecting on your reservation concerning our resolution, that you do not believe fasting, prayer and humiliation are proper substitutes for action. I must reply that any other action would mean rebellion, and we are not ready for…civil war.”

Hugh merely smiled, and hoped he disguised the sadness in the smile. “I know.”

They stopped to watch the arrival of other burgesses, and nodded in greeting to many as they trooped singly or in pairs into the House. Then the grave, rotund figure of Robert Carter Nicholas emerged from a carriage and walked briskly past them into the House. Jefferson glanced around and spotted Henry and the two Lees with whom he had discussed and drafted the resolution. He nodded to them, then turned to Hugh. “You will please excuse me, sir. Our ‘monk’ has arrived.” He turned and joined the other men and followed Nicholas into the Capitol.

Hugh glanced at his pocket watch. In fifteen minutes, a House servant would ring a bell, calling the other burgesses inside to begin the day’s business.

He had watched Jefferson mature over the years, from a law student to burgess, from a youth finding his way and his career, to one of the leading spokesmen against Crown power. He observed the older burgesses who fought the younger burgesses for the leadership of the House. But, it was a losing battle for what Patrick Henry had called the “Tidewater grandees.” Events precipitated by Crown actions had overtaken them, and they had no choice but to agree with the younger burgesses, or be branded timid fools. Some of them were being impelled, quite against their will, to recognize the perils. Most of the younger burgesses, including Hugh, strode boldly in that direction, heedless of the strife and war that were sure to accompany any move to independence. The older burgesses crept inexorably to the same conclusions, and joined in the same protests and gestures of defiance. Richard Bland, George Wythe, even the Randolphs were inching painfully and reluctantly along an irresistible path of logic.

Governor Dunmore had given the timid and bold alike a warning,
when he addressed the burgesses in the Council chambers early in May, after the House had reported to him the election of the Speaker, Peyton Randolph. “I hope that your resolutions on the various matters,” he had said that morning, “may be influenced by prudence and moderation.” It was a veiled threat to dissolve the Assembly at the least hint of rebelliousness over the Boston Port Act. The House in turn, in its courtesy address to the Governor, promised that “every resolution we may be pleased to adopt, will be marked with that prudence and moderation, which you are pleased to recommend.”

Prudence and moderation! mused Hugh. The very virtues he assailed the first time he had spoken in the House years ago! But, the colonies behaved like a collection of separate nations. He could not see them uniting without dissolving shortly thereafter in an embittered fanfaronade. Any unity among any number of them, or even among all of them, could not last, because they would then begin to view each other with suspicion and even rancor, just as the nations in Europe did. He did not fault them for that likely contention; each was a unique entity with its own history and special future.

But, Virginia had shown the way, some ten years ago. Now Massachusetts was the leader; Georgia, the laggard. And in all the continental colonies between them, except the Floridas and Quebec, rebellious incidents had recurred as often as bubbles in boiling water.

A clerk appeared in the piazza and rang the bell to call the loitering burgesses into the House. Hugh joined the file of representatives and found a seat on the top tier, on the opposite end from Edgar Cullis, the other burgess for Queen Anne County. There were nearly a hundred burgesses present today; only fifty had arrived on May 5th at the opening of this sitting.

With the mace on the clerk’s table, the House proceeded to deal with a number of prosaic petitions — from both
Gazettes
to be appointed the official public printer by ballot, from the minister of Shelburne Parish in Loudoun County to receive the same salary as a minister in a neighboring parish, from residents of King William County to settle a land dispute — and recommend them to the appropriate committees to work into bills or resolves. Time was taken to hear Robert Carter Nicholas read an order committing the House to a day of prayer, fasting and humiliation on the first of June, “devoutly to implore the divine interposition,” and for the House to attend a service at Bruton Church that day to hear a sermon on
the subject. The order received near unanimous approval, and arrangements were made to have it broadcast to the public.

The day ended with a petition from farmers in Dinwiddie County to prohibit the importation of distempered cattle from North and South Carolina, which were infecting Virginia cattle. The petition was referred to the Committee of Propositions and Grievances to work into a bill. With that concluding business, the House adjourned until the next morning at eleven o’clock.

On the night of the next day, a Wednesday, a footman found tacked to a gate to the Palace a broadside of the resolution. He took it down and gave it to Captain Edward Foy, Dunmore’s private secretary, who in turn presented it to His Excellency the next morning at breakfast.

That very day, as the House voted on amendments to the bill prepared by the Committee of Propositions and Grievances to increase the salary of the minister of Shelburne Parish, the burgesses received an abrupt though not unexpected summons from Lord Dunmore to present themselves in the Council chamber. Peyton Randolph led a group of burgesses outside past the statue of Botetourt, and into the Council chambers to climb the stairs to the Council’s meeting room.

There Lord Dunmore scowled at the group as it assembled around the great table, at whose head he sat, the fingers of his stubby but strong hands tattooing on the cloth to mark the time and his patience. His Councilors, bracing for an outburst by either the Governor or the burgesses, looked at anything else in the sumptuously appointed room but at His Excellency or the burgesses.

On the table before the Governor was a copy of the broadside. It appeared to have been crumpled up in anger, then smoothed out. When the burgesses removed their hats and looked attentive, the Governor picked it up and waved it once in the air.