by Edward Cline
The conversation reached a pause. Henoch Pannell was uneasy when men sat around a table in silence. He felt awkward and exposed. He preferred momentum in social intercourse. So he remarked, “I think it is ironic, your lordship, and the stuff of jest, that Lord Northington was once a member for Bath, and that he was immediately succeeded in that seat by his anathema, Mr. Pitt.”
Hillier nodded in agreement. “Yes, that is truly ironic.”
Basil Kenrick saw neither the irony, nor any grounds for humor. He admonished his guests with mild severity, “Let us hope that our little campaign to elevate Mr. Pitt succeeds, sirs. If the gentleman abandons Bath for my House, then we shall witness another cockfight, and hopefully the end of Mr. Pitt.”
Pannell forgot his place for a moment and allowed himself a chuckle. Casually, he remarked to Hillier, “That will be honest entertainment, indeed! Two hobbled, gouty old lords, limping around each other like a pair of three-legged cats, whacking away at each other with their canes, injuring only the air between ’em, hissing drunken insults, like a pair of foppish wags on Mr. Garrick’s stage!”
Crispin Hillier thought a discreet silence was the better part of manners; he sat with a blank expression that was almost a frown, and did not acknowledge the jest. The Earl simply stared in amazement at Pannell, who with a start realized his faux pas and rushed to qualify it. “Of course, it would be the subject of some caricature or other, your lordship, in some damned newspaper. We must anticipate such folderol. I would never subject your ancient house to gross levity!”
“Of course not, Mr. Pannell,” answered the Earl with flinty eyes. “But in future, you will respect the dignity of this house by leaving your jollity at the door, or with the servant who admits you.”
* * *
Chapter 20: The Session
On the inauguration of the Rockingham ministry in July 1765, the Earl of Chesterfield wrote his son from London: “Here is a new political arch almost built, but of materials of so different a nature, and without a keystone, that it does not, in my opinion, indicate either strength or duration. It will certainly require repairs, and a keystone next winter; and that keystone will, and must necessarily be, Mr. Pitt.” A month later, he warned in another letter about Parliament: “The next session will be not only a warm, but a violent one, if you look over the names of the IN and the OUT.”
He reiterated that evaluation to Sir Dogmael Jones and Baron Garnet Kenrick one evening over supper in early January 1766 at his Greenwich residence. They discussed the likely character and direction of both Houses over the Stamp Act when Parliament sat again on the 14th after the holiday recess. “The ‘outs,’ led by Mr. Grenville,” opined Chesterfield, “wish to be back in, while those who are ‘in,’ I suspect, wish they were not.” He grinned mischievously, and added, “And, of course, there is the Duke of Newcastle, an ageless meddler whom all parties wish to be ‘out.’”
At one point in their conversation, which included speculation on the lines of succession since the death in December of Prince Frederick William, the king’s youngest brother, and of the Dauphin of France, Jones inadvertently referred to Lord Rockingham as “Lord Rocking-horse,” as he had in private conversation and in many letters to the newspapers.
Jones had launched a letter-writing campaign in the newspapers for repeal, adopting a Roman name, “Cicero Cygneus,” and did battle with a number of other correspondents who demanded enforcement of the Stamp Act and reparations from the colonies as punishment for their defiance of the Act. Jones was especially critical of “Anti-Sejanus,” the name under which the chaplain for the Earl of Sandwich voiced his and the Earl’s anti-repeal sentiments. “The parallels between that ancient Roman conflict and our own are not quite true,” wrote Jones in an early letter. “The gentleman who writes under the name Anti-Sejanus might have taken more care in choosing his allegiances, as well as his aliases, for Tiberius, too, was a tyrant. Both the emperor and his ambitious, presumptuous co-consul met violently ignominious ends.”
The Earl blinked once, then smiled. “What perfect disrespect, sir!” he exclaimed. “I like that appellation! ‘Lord Rocking-horse’!” He laughed once, and then his face brightened for a different reason. He turned to address Jones. “Ah! So you must have been the fellow responsible for that wonderful caricature I noticed in the Weekly Journal a while ago! The ‘Westminster Fair’! ‘Mr. and Mrs. Mumpsimus’!” He paused. “Or, rather, was it your inspiration?”
Garnet Kenrick confessed boastfully, “Sir Dogmael and I are both responsible for it, your lordship. He conceived it, and I paid for its publication.”
Sir Dogmael added, “The Duke of Richmond also thought the caricature a deserving comment, your lordship.”
“Yes, he would,” Chesterfield said. “Well, I must have some fun with this! Let me think! Ah! Continuing on the same theme, I would say that Lord Rocking-horse’s desire to have Mr. Pitt join his ministry is much like the horse calling to the man for assistance!”
“Very good, your lordship,” remarked the Baron.
Jones smiled and nodded in agreement. “Why, that could be the subject for another caricature, your lordship.”
The Earl waved a hand. “I make a gift of it to you.” His expression brightened even more. “But wait! Here’s better, sirs! Lord Rocking-horse’s ministry labors at the oars of state, succeeding only in describing a circle through discontented waters, which threaten to swamp their vessel of policy. Or: No one is satisfied with the Grand Jockey’s captaincy, not even his stable. A repeal, though coupled with a peevish declaratory bill, will doubtless cost him the saddle of office. Or: His weathercock inconstancy is regretted by Lord Grafton, and keeps Mr. Pitt at a distance, for they cannot tell which way the wind is blowing.” He paused to look expectantly at his guests. “Well, admittedly the imagery is confusingly mixed, but I trust something may be salvaged from it.”
Jones smiled. “We shall labor at the oars of clarity and precision, your lordship, to contrive a memorable caricature or two.”
“Clarity and precision, you say?” queried Chesterfield. “Well, Lord Rocking-horse lacks those qualities in speech, as well as in mind. An inarticulate soul, I dare say.” After a moment, the Earl nodded to a trio of gold-rimmed rococo vases that sat in a niche in the supper room. “However, I must say that his pottery works in Swinton turn out the prettiest wares. Those, for example. If he follows Mr. Grenville’s example, his pottery, at least, will sustain him in his political bereavement. ”
The Baron and Jones glanced at the vases and uttered compliments on their workmanship.
“Speaking of His Grace the Duke,” said Chesterfield, “it is my opinion that Lord Rocking-horse committed a grave error by appointing him ambassador to Paris. I know the timbre of Lords, and I can assure you that the Duke would do him far greater service in that chamber than practicing the art of genteel verbal skirmishing at the Tuileries among the bonne compagnie.”
“We are agreed on that point, your lordship,” Jones sighed. “However, Baron Kenrick and I also concur that Lord Rocking-horse is somewhat skittish of the Duke, which might explain why he wished to put some water between himself and His Grace.”
“His Grace confided in me, your lordship,” added the Baron, “before he departed, that he may return to speak in the House in any event. He said it was rather useless to send ambassadors to Paris, for the French will always hate us, no matter how civil and prudent our tongues. But you are right. His Grace may have been able to recruit support from Lord Bedford’s faction, before the Lords take up the Stamp Act business that doubtless will be sent them by the Commons.”
“Poor Lord Rocking-horse,” the Earl remarked in mock lament. “One must pity a man who is afraid of those who cast longer shadows than he.” He paused, and lifted a finger. “And a greater shadow approaches now. Mr. Pitt. I do believe that Lord Rocking-horse will find refuge and salvation in that particular umbrage.” Chesterfield paused to take a sip of his precious French wine, then asked, “I have h
eard some rumor that Lord Rocking-horse intends to entertain the Commons with a masque of misery.”
Jones nodded. “Yes, your lordship. He was approached by Mr. Barlow Trecothick, a London alderman and merchant with part-interests in several East Indiamen. Mr. Trecothick has persuaded a number of merchants and manufacturers here and in the outports and towns to compose petitions that beg for repeal or modification of the Stamp Act and cite dire trade consequences if the Act is continued. These petitions have already been submitted to the House. And if the House sits in a committee of the whole, many of these fellows may be called as witnesses by the ministry and asked to sing a chorus of calamity. A very enterprising fellow, is Mr. Trecothick.”
Garnet Kenrick said, “Sir Dogmael and I also canvassed a number of tradesmen and merchants in London, and persuaded them to sign a petition of protest against the Act. Sir Dogmael will submit it to the House for consideration at first opportunity.”
Chesterfield hummed in thought, then remarked, “I see. Well, I am certain that Lord Rocking-horse’s modus vivendi will rest on the peril of certain economic catastrophe, rather than on the injustice of taxing the colonies, and will discourage discussion of the latter. Messrs. Grenville and Bedford will show the opposite side of that coin, and assert Parliamentary authority in taxation regardless of the cost here or in the colonies.” He paused to grin. “But be warned, good sirs. Mr. Pitt may scuttle both fireships and exceed everyone’s expectations and fears. When he is not morose, he is brilliantly mad!”
* * *
Jollity was left at the door of the Commons on the 14th of January and for weeks thereafter. The session resumed in a mood as cloyingly grim as the gray winter skies over London. Strangers and visitors had been barred from the House galleries from the beginning, and would be until the American crisis was resolved. Baron Garnet Kenrick, brother of a peer, could audit the proceedings from the galleries, together with others who had special connections to the ministry or the peers. Rockingham, as a peer from Lords, could not address the Commons, only observe it; he had to rely on his ministers, such as Secretary of State Henry Conway and others, to advance or defend his policies.
The House wasted little time turning to the crisis. Spoiling for a fight, the party whips of repeal and enforcement marshaled their hostile armies across the floor from each other to trade volleys of acerbic, blame-assigning speeches, contemptuous character assassinations, and taunting rebuttals.
Before many members of the Commons trooped into the House to take their seats for the resumed session, they milled about in the Westminster Yard around the burning barrels to keep themselves warm in the cold January air, or huddled together by faction or alliance for comfort and reassurance. Jones and the Baron strolled together leisurely, exchanging greetings with their allies for repeal and wondering with others if William Pitt would appear in the House.
It was known he was in town, dividing his residence between a house on Bond Street, rented from his political ally, the Duke of Grafton, and his former residence, Hayes House in Kent. Some members allowed their trepidation to get the best of them and wildly predicted that John Wilkes would also make a dramatic reappearance in the House, and worried lest the Sergeant-at-Arms had it not in his means to eject and arrest the renegade.
They nearly encountered George Pitt, member for Dorset, Groom of the Bedchamber, and a colonel in the Dorset militia, but succeeded in avoiding him. Garnet Kenrick knew him, as did his brother, Basil Kenrick, the Earl. But neither of them solicited his alliance. Lately, their mutual dislike of the man was one of the few ties that held the siblings of Danvers together. The Baron pointed out the member to Jones, remarking, “He has pestered a number of ministries for a title, and even His Majesty, I have heard, and will continue to pester until he is given satisfaction. Under Mr. Grenville, he voted for the Act, and met no success. Now he has pledged his vote to Lord Rockingham and possible repeal, in hopes of cajoling a title in that manner. He is more interested in securing robes than right.”
“Surely, then,” Jones said, “such a base scamp is in your brother’s pocket!”
The Baron shook his head. “No, sir, not at all. Even my brother has spurned him, after that Mr. Pitt wrote him a number of pleas requesting his assistance in his quest. My brother has little tolerance for made peers, although he will stoop to associate with the likes of Sir Henoch, as we both know. He rightly judged that Mr. Pitt a useless, roguish man, whose obsession for a title will drive him to ally himself with whatever eminence promises to procure him six pearls and two rows of gold lace. It is not so different from the hope and promise of a place or appointment.”
Jones could only agree with his sponsor.
Then they chanced upon Colonel Isaac Barré and William Beckford, member for London, with whom they had consulted and dined in the past, and exchanged news. “Have you met Lord Rockingham’s protégé, Mr. Burke?” asked Barré at length. “He has quite a style of speaking, and will surely administer some bruises on Mr. Grenville’s party.”
Jones answered that he had not met Edmund Burke, and asked why his skill in oratory should matter today.
“Haven’t you heard?” asked Beckford. “Lord Rockingham arranged for him the seat for Wendover. He will speak for Rockingham in the Commons, it is assumed.”
“I see.” Jones demurred an opinion on Burke. He had heard him converse with Dr. Johnson and other lights during literary gatherings in coffeehouses, and thought that the young man, while he championed liberty, had a way with words that was not entirely sincere. He suspected that Burke was simply a stubborn pragmatist, and would argue that the foundation and value of liberty was fundamentally a practical one, as a policy, and not a matter of principle.
Colonel Barré was laughing. “I must tell you this, as well! I encountered Mr. James Marriott, a king’s advocate, at a rout the other evening,” he said. “He has cast his lot with the Grenville people, and says he has an argument that is the equal of Mr. Blackstone’s and Lord Mansfield’s, concerning the colonies. In my mind, it is a most farcical argument, and I plan to laugh in the House should anyone advance it!”
“And what is that argument, sir?” Garnet Kenrick asked. He and Jones were familiar with the name Marriott. They had both read his pamphlet, Political Considerations, published some years before, in which the king’s advocate argued for a reconciliation between the Duke of Newcastle and Lord Bute.
“He avers that the colonies’ objection, that they cannot be taxed because they are not represented in the House, is airy, because it is specified in their various charters that they are to be regarded as attached to the manor of Greenwich, and so are indeed represented by the members for Kent. And if that moonshine is objected to as well by our cousins, the ingenious Mr. Marriott insists, too, that the colonies should be consoled in the flummery that they are of equal status with the East India Company, which is likewise represented in the House by the manor of East Greenwich by way of the Governor’s Mansion in Bombay!” Barré laughed again. “I own I could not compose a better lullaby!”
News had recently reached London that in August 1765 the East India Company had assumed control of revenues of the Indian states of Bengal, Bihar, and Orissa with the approval of the Mughal emperor, and to the utter delight of the Crown, for it was certain that both the emperor and the Crown would reap a growing portion of those revenues in taxes on the Company’s trade. It was the transition of the Company from being a strictly trading entity to a political one, as well.
“What folderol!” Jones exclaimed. “I have heard such nonsense only in Drury Lane satire! I promise to join you in laughter!”
A House factotum appeared outside the doors to the Commons and rang a bell to call the tardy members to their seats. Jones took his leave of Garnet Kenrick and joined the throng as it filed inside St. Stephen’s Chapel and upstairs to the chamber. The Baron followed, making his way to the gallery stairs.
Sitting in the galleries, or standing at the bar at the head of the House, and gathe
red on the stairs that led to the upper floor chamber, were many lords and privileged interested parties.
Jones glanced up at the gallery across from him and above the other tiers of seats, and saw Garnet Kenrick and his brother, Basil Kenrick, the Earl of Danvers, sitting at opposite ends of a front row. On one side of the Earl sat Viscount Temple, brother of the author of the Stamp Act; on the other, the Duke of Bedford and the Earl of Northington, the Lord Chancellor. Next to him sat William Murray, Baron Mansfield, chief justice of the King’s Bench. Jones also espied Bevill Grainger, now Viscount Wooten, retired Master of the Rolls, the King’s Bench and the judge who had condemned his clients the Pippins years ago. He sat next to Norbonne Berkeley, until recently the member for Gloucestershire for twenty years. Since last year or so ago he was Baron Botetourt, and was among other peers known to Jones to be adamantly hostile to repeal, modification, or conciliation.
Also in the gallery were Benjamin Franklin and other colonial agents, including James Abercromby and Edward Montagu, the agents for Virginia. Barlow Trecothick and many London merchants, who were scheduled to testify as witnesses to Britain’s economic woes later in the session, had also secured seats in the gallery. Franklin, guessed Jones, had been admitted to the gallery on the recommendation of his friend, Richard Price, member for Beaumaris.
The Marquis of Rockingham sat near the bar with his new secretary. Directly opposite them sat Sir Fletcher Norton, member for Wigan and of the Admiralty Board, and a staunch opponent of repeal.
Jones that first day did not seek a chance to speak. He bided his time to observe how the debates shaped up and what direction they would take. However, he complained to Barré, who sat next to him on an upper tier, “The manner in which the American petitions are received and rejected is vindictiveness posing as mulish formality. The petition containing the resolves of the so-called Stamp Act Congress of last October has been deemed the pronouncement of an illegal political assembly, and therefore inadmissible for recognition and discussion.”
