by Edward Cline
In 1766 there appeared in the colonies many pamphlets that disputed Parliamentary authority in the loftiest terms, one after another, for the price of a few pence. They were read by countless individuals, and by tavern keepers to their patrons, by dissenting pastors to their congregations, by lawyers to their fellows, by representatives to their legislatures. A great number of letters also appeared in colonial newspapers, penned by disputers and loyalists, over their own names or Roman pen names. These either argued that Parliament had usurped the King’s authority and pledge to protect the colonies from Parliamentary abuse, or defended the Stamp Act in the name of civil society and fairness.
Jack Frake’s, Hugh Kenrick’s, and Thomas Reisdale’s “fragments” were printed, with their own names on the title pages, by a printer in Annapolis and subsequently offered for sale in various locales throughout the colonies. Otis Talbot agreed to distribute them to his merchant correspondents and to newspapers in most of the other colonies. There was a large and impatient market for such political tracts, which sold well in colonial bookshops, printers’ shops, and over newspaper counters.
Jack’s fared the worst, in terms of both sales and reaction. Most men who read it through liked it not, because it foresaw the means and consequences of Parliamentary supremacy, and in plain language projected a dire but logical course of events. Many secretly, privately conceded its arguments, but refused to think clearly about them. Unable to counter them, they looked for other reasons to disagree with the pamphlet. Its style was too harsh, or too bare, or inelegant. In all its irrefutable assertions, there was not to be detected one instance of a regard for the King and Parliament. It was vain, because it did not cite a single revered authority or historic precedent, but relied exclusively on the author’s own reason and certitude. Further, it hardly dwelt on the glories of English liberty. It was neither apologetic, nor humble, nor conciliatory. It offered neither consolation nor hope nor a salve for its perceived doom.
Jack received many letters accusing him of these things, and also of proposing regicide, assassination, or treason. One correspondent claimed that the pamphlet must have been written by a drunken Irishman. Another opined that it was an article adapted from Diderot’s Encyclopédie.
Another letter-writer wrote: “You point to the tree of liberties which we enjoy and repose under, thanks to our most excellent Constitution, and claim that lightning is sure to strike it and all who seek refuge under it from the storm of Parliamentary abuse. But, sir, it is the only tree we have knowledge of, and the only one that offers us protection. Your imprudent insinuation that we abandon it is reckless, radical, and nearly heinous. If your position is of the heady style that our resistance to the stamps will provoke, then I fear for all our safety and security.”
Jack Frake replied to none of the letters. He had said what he thought needed to be said.
Hugh’s fragment on the chimney swifts sold well. It mocked the ministers of the government in London and the governors and councilmen in various colonial establishments. It read more like a fable than a critique of Parliament and past and current ministries, although in it he expended little effort to disguise the identities of the men whose characters, careers, and beliefs he lambasted. His fragment was frequently excerpted in other colonial newspapers.
Thomas Reisdale’s fragment on the conflict between Bishops Hoadley and Atterbury also did well. It was an eloquent, if somewhat pedantic and scholarly, history of the co-evolution of religious tolerance and freedom of thought, supported by numerous footnotes and citations.
“A concession to Bishop Hoadley by Atterbury and his High Tory allies in the Church that religion was a matter of private judgment and personal belief, would have robbed the adherents of ecclesiastical authority and proscribed ritual of the principal pillars of a state church and its exercise of political power. Such a concession would also have led to the eventual denial that the Crown had a legitimate, demonstrable interest in maintaining a say in what men may hold office and what men may not, founded on its notion of a proper creed. Perhaps it might have led even to a repeal of the Test Act of 1673, which would most assuredly have in turn led to a revolutionary reorganization of the Commons, whose members now must once a year declare their loyalty to the state church in order to retain their seats and privileges.”
Appended to the end of Reisdale’s essay, and ostensibly linked to the Hoadley-Atterbury controversy, was John Proudlocks’s shorter, unsigned “fragment” on the English Civil War of the 1640’s and the Glorious Revolution of 1688, in which he asked whether or not the conflict over the Stamp Act was a continuation of those conflicts. He ended his disquisition with: “The accession of William and Mary, and their assent to the Bill of Rights in 1689, did not settle the questions raised and debated in this period of English history. Their contemplation and resolution were bequeathed to our own time. We cannot gainsay the men of that period for not having answered or resolved those questions, for men of this period are likewise struggling to grasp them. But chief among those questions is: Whence liberty?”
One evening after supper in February, as they stood on the porch of the great house, Jack confided to Proudlocks, “I liked yours best, John. You ask a question I have striven to answer all my life.”
Proudlocks acknowledged the compliment with a nod of his head. He looked thoughtful for a while, then said, “I do not think the answer to my last question will concern mere politics, Jack. I believe the answer, which I do not know, is somewhere else, in some greater subject.”
Jack nodded in agreement. “I believe we have the answer now. And we use the words every day.” He smiled with reassurance at his friend; his smile was almost the answer itself.
“Whatever it is, Jack, the answer will come to you first,” said Proudlocks.
“Perhaps,” answered Jack. As he looked away, he recalled Proudlocks when he first met him, when they were both boys, and contrasted the young Indian with the man who stood at his side now. Then his head jerked up, because, in that instant, the shadow of an answer to the question seemed to swoop through his mind, too quickly for him to perceive its cause.
Hugh Kenrick praised both his friends’ pamphlets. Of Jack’s, he said, “You are right, but let us hope that men grow wiser before they contemplate war.” To Proudlocks, he said, “True enough.”
* * *
In London, Bristol, Birmingham, Leeds, Coventry, Glasgow, Manchester, and Liverpool, and the textile towns of Frome, Taunton, Minehead, Bradford, and Macclesfield, merchants and manufacturers formed committees and alliances to draw up petitions to be submitted to the Commons, petitions that either complained of reduced trade with the colonies, or pleaded for repeal of the Stamp Act. They knew that while trade was expected to recover from the post-war recession, that recovery would be impeded, if not permanently stalled, if that Act were enforced on the colonials. Remittances for goods would instead be frittered away in the money spent submitting to the Act. Jamaica, whose planters had been paying a stamp tax since 1760, also submitted a petition for repeal, for the sugar colony received most of its lumber, building materials, foodstuffs, and dry goods from the North American colonies, many of which now refused to supply the island until the Act was repealed.
British newspapers began to report more and more incidents of rioting and chaos in the colonies over the Stamp Act, and the correspondence columns filled quickly with letters from subscribers who expressed bafflement over, hostility to, or support for the colonials over the matter.
Dogmael Jones and Baron Garnet Kenrick, before the new session of Parliament met in mid-December 1765, emulated the Society of Merchant Venturers in Bristol and other mercantile associations, and made a project of persuading a number of London tradesmen to sign a petition in which the signatories claimed that their businesses had declined after the peace and would suffer more from enforcement of the Stamp Act. In November and December they trudged from door to door in the chilly, damp weather of the city to speak with the print sellers of Pall Mall,
the wine merchants in Wapping, the clockmakers and watchmakers on Fleet Street, the carpenters and carriage makers on Swallow Street, the shoemakers and leather goods artisans on Maiden Lane, and to numerous investors, bankers, and brokers in the Great Piazza and Royal Exchange.
With Benjamin Worley’s assistance, for he was acquainted with the denizens and could introduce Jones and the Baron, they also accosted the insurers and brokers at Lloyd’s Coffeehouse, the traders at the Baltic Coffeehouse on Threadneedle Street, and the merchant buyers of auctioned goods at Garraway’s Coffeehouse. They invaded the Corn and Coal Exchanges, bullied the factors into an audience, and nearly talked themselves hoarse in their quest for signatures; colonial corn was becoming scarce, while sea-coal was exported to the colonies, and could not move until either the Crown or the colonials relented. They collected many signatures and arranged meetings of tradesmen, manufacturers, and factors to discuss the consequences of the Act’s continuation, amendment, and repeal.
All their signatories were convinced by Jones and the Baron that they faced a bleak future if the colonials dug in their heels, refused to pay the tax, and pledged to boycott British products until the Act was abandoned. Several showed Jones and the Baron letters they had received from colonial factors and loyal customers requesting that no further goods be sent them until the Act was repealed; the authors of a few strident letters even stated they would refuse to pay their debts until that event occurred.
The tradesmen also concurred that their future was dismal should the colonials submit to the Act, for the profit of a few pounds and pence that might permit the continued existence of their individual enterprises would likely be consumed instead by colonial customsmen and stamp distributors.
Neither Jones nor the Baron was amused when, in most instances, the eyes of their petitioners lit up with interest when the arguments turned from the rights of Englishmen to the effects of taxes and boycotts on their trades. They gathered names enough for the petition to repeal, but it was a bittersweet victory. Instead of being heartened by their successes, Jones went away every time muttering imprecations.
“Don’t blame them much, Mr. Jones,” counseled Garnet Kenrick as they walked through a light rain up the Strand. “They are ignorant.”
“But think themselves wise,” replied Jones with irony.
“According to their lights.”
“Which cast a stingy nimbus over a miserly collection of concerns.”
They were quiet for a moment as they strode up the bustling thoroughfare. Then Garnet Kenrick asked, “Is there anything to this argument I hear being bandied about, that the colonies cannot be taxed, for they are not represented in your House? I mean, is it an admissible contention?”
“Yes and no,” answered Jones. “If not admissible, then one must logically concede that the colonies constitute an extension of this island, and that lawfully, the internal taxes the colonists distinguish from external ones stand no better than the cider and stamp taxes imposed here. If admissible, then the colonies exist outside the pale of the Constitution, all Crown law, and Parliamentary authority.” He paused. “If repeal is achieved — and there is certainly no guarantee of that — we may be sure that both Houses will insist on some form of declaration concerning Crown authority. Mr. Grenville will demand that sop to our nation’s wounded pride, and to his own. If repeal advances to a hope, renunciation will not.”
Jones’s next great task was to persuade a Commons committee to accept the petition as evidence meriting the House’s serious attention, to be incorporated with all the other “American papers” that might be collated. He did not savor the task, for he knew that he would be in competition with other members of the Commons who were preparing petitions for submission, and that his and the Baron’s document could be rejected for the most specious of reasons.
Checking confidence in a Grenville victory was the ugly, exasperating term conciliation, which floated about to infect deliberations both public and private. Curbing it also was the question of what William Pitt, ill in Bath, would say when he attended Parliament, or whether he would attend at all, his illness and mood permitting. Would he defend the colonists in their rebellion, and so sway all the fence-sitters? Would he argue for conciliation? Would he deign to join the Rockingham ministry and give it direction? No one knew.
Not even Pitt himself, as some observant wits remarked in private.
Basil Kenrick, the Earl of Danvers, was likewise busy, and had kept in close correspondence with his peers in Lords and his allies in the Commons. To his angry disgust, no unanimity existed in Lords that the Stamp Act should be retained in all its particulars and strictly enforced, militarily, if necessary. Like the Earl, half the peers maintained this position with vociferous contempt, while the other half of them seemed to drift in a tenaciously clinging fog of uncertainty and irresolution. Sir Henoch Pannell and Crispin Hillier, his chief men in the Commons, however, reported well before Parliament convened that they had succeeded in forging a solid bloc in favor of retention and enforcement. And, shortly after Parliament opened on December 17th, they assured the Earl, during tea in his study at Windridge Court, that this bloc would work closely and loyally with the larger Grenville party, which would oppose every attempt at repeal and conciliation.
“If the Commons rejects repeal and conciliation, your lordship,” reported Hillier one evening to the Earl over supper, “and sends over a resolution to Lords consistent with that finding, I am certain that your House will concur with it, regardless of a division amongst your number there.”
“It is hoped, your lordship,” added Sir Henoch, “that the business will be dealt with and disposed of swiftly, before the Christmas recess. As you know, attendance in the Commons especially is markedly spare before the holiday. Mr. Grenville is counting on that truancy to push through the terms of debate and consideration in that short time, so that should debate on the colonial crisis ensue next month, our party — or, rather, his party — will have the House in strong harness.”
The Earl looked dour, bored, and unconvinced. “There is an informal cockfight in your House now over whether or not to admit the American petitions, reports, and letters into such a debate,” he said. “And, if they are admitted, whether or not they ought to be printed for distribution amongst your own number for their edification. No doubt the same pecking and slashing will occur in Lords. You should know that I intend to speak against their admittance, and, failing in that, against their printing.”
Pannell smiled weakly. “Doubtless, Mr. Hillier is not surprised that you have kept such a close watch on matters,” he said. “Nor am I.”
The Earl ignored the gratuitous compliment. “What about Mr. Pitt?” he asked. “No matter what barriers Mr. Grenville succeeds in erecting, Mr. Pitt is certain to blast them to blazes, if he chooses to.”
“Overtures are being tendered to the gentleman, your lordship,” said Hillier, “and with His Majesty’s leave and encouragement, no less. But we cannot predict what he will choose to do,” he conceded with a sigh.
“This I knew,” confessed the Earl, satisfied that his and his guests’ intelligence agreed. He continued. “I have it from private conversations that His Majesty’s preferred, ideal ministry would consist of Lord Northington, who would accept the seals of the Treasury, with Lord Egmont and Mr. Townshend as Secretaries of State. Mr. Pitt, Lord Rockingham, and even Mr. Grenville would be retired from politics, perhaps forever. Lord Northington’s solution to the crisis would be the rod applied vigorously to the colonial rear. Repeal? An obscene term to him — and to me! Conciliation? An appropriate bargaining between nations, and parties, not between the Crown and renegades! What the weak-spirited in Lord Rockingham’s party mean, when they speak of conciliation with the colonies, is clemency! An equally obscene term! We do not shower clemency upon our lawbreakers and thieves here! Why should we bestow clemency upon criminals when they commit their perfidies out of our sight, across an ocean?” He paused in his tirade, then spoke more
calmly. “Lord Chancellor Northington, if he held the Treasury seals, I am certain could convince both Houses of the efficacy, rightness, and economy of such a strict policy.”
“Unfortunately, His Majesty’s overtures in that direction came to naught,” remarked Pannell with muted smugness, for he wished the Earl to know that he, too, had a close watch on the comings and goings of lords and commoners at St. James’s Palace. “It is unfortunate, too, that the Duke of Cumberland chose a difficult moment to exit this mortal coil. Mr. Hillier and I are certain that he could have persuaded Lord Rockingham to follow just such a policy.”
“Or Lord Northington could have persuaded the both of them of it,” replied the Earl. After a moment of silence, he asked, “Is there any credence to this nonsense about colonial representation and taxes? Will it cause any uproar?”
Pannell shook his head. “Mr. Grenville does not grant it any, your lordship. Nor do Lord Mansfield and Mr. Yorke, and all of the Duke of Bedford’s party. Not even the colonial agents and their friends in the House give it much weight, one way or the other. There has been some talk about it, but no uproar.” He paused. “I addressed this issue some years ago, your lordship, at the beginning of the late war. Now it is a question of virtual versus actual representation. But the question will not absorb much of the House’s time, I am certain of that. Unless Mr. Pitt makes a meal of it.”
Hillier chimed in, “The ministry’s party is averse to discussion of it. Colonial representation in the House is a vain, impractical, absurd, and foolish notion. Everyone knows that. Even its advocates.”
“Of course,” agreed the Earl. “It is all those things.”
