by Edward Cline
“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 inte
rposition,” 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.
“Mr. Speaker and gentlemen of the House of Burgesses,” he said in a thick Scottish burr, “I have in my hand a paper published by order of your House, conceived in such terms as reflect highly upon His Majesty and the Parliament of Great Britain, which makes it necessary for me to dissolve you. And you are accordingly dissolved.” With a brief but accusing glance at Washington, who stood behind Randolph, he sat back in the great chair to await a reply.
Peyton Randolph nodded once. “Your pleasure, your excellency.”
At his silent signal, the burgesses parted to make way for the Speaker, then turned to file out of the chamber behind him and back down the stairs into the late afternoon sun.
Chapter 2: The Governor
An impromptu meeting of the House leaders beneath the statue of Botetourt resulted in a decision to reconvene the body in the Apollo Room of Raleigh Tavern further down the boulevard to discuss immediate action, and to troop en masse to that place once George Wythe, Clerk of the House, and his charges had finished their journal entries and saw to other formalities for ending the session.
Hugh Kenrick, who had had to settle for standing with other burgesses on the stairs that led up to the Council chamber to hear the Governor dissolve the House, stood apart from groups of them on the Capitol grounds and observed the predictable division of the representatives: the foot-dragging conservatives in several knots to one side, dominated by Peyton Randolph, Richard Bland, and George Wythe, while the “radicals” and “hot heads,” dominated vocally by Patrick Henry, and physically by Colonel Washington, gathered in clusters on the other. He smiled in sad amusement at the predicament of the blondish Edmund Pendleton, who seemed to hover between both groups, wanting to be associated with both. The man was still settling the estate of John Robinson, who died in 1766 leaving the colony in debt; Pendleton seemed more conscientious about that onerous task than about his political principles.
Edgar Cullis emerged from the Capitol and approached him. “I am departing for Caxton,” he said with petulance. “I will not participate in the outlawry I have heard proposed here.”
Hugh shook his head. “That is unfortunate, sir,” he replied coldly. Cullis was the sole burgess to speak in the House against Nicholas’s resolution, claiming that it would “damage the natural affection between the colonies and the mother country.” It was rumored that Cullis or John Randolph, the Attorney-General and the Speaker’s brother, had personally informed Lord Dunmore of the resolution, either verbally or with a copy of the broadside. “You will miss the chance to note what will be said by this band of outlaws, and to report that to the Governor, as well.”
Cullis bristled at the insinuation. “That is a lie! I know for a fact that it was — ” Then he stopped, realizing that Hugh had not actually accused him of being an informer. Instead, he remarked, “I am surprised that you voted for the resolution, Mr. Kenrick. You are not known to much fast or pray, and humiliation is not to be found in your catalogue of virtues.”
“Thank you, sir,” Hugh replied, by way of agreement. “Short of storming the Palace and demanding an apology from His Excellency, it is the only action open to us, for the moment. But, you are right. I shall not do much fasting or praying, and I do not believe in the efficacy of humiliation in any circumstance. Least of all, this one.”
Edgar Cullis merely smirked.
Hugh then asked, “Do you recall the awful poem that appeared in one of the Gazettes celebrating Lady Dunmore’s safe arrival with her three sons and three daughters?”
“Vaguely,” said Cullis, wondering what his fellow burgess was leading up to. He relented in his hostility to Hugh to add, “If I correctly recall, there were several odious eclogues dedicated to her and her children. I confess I blushed in shame, knowing they were penned by Virginians.”
“No more than I, Mr. Cullis. Well, allow me to appropriate some lines from the most offensive one. ‘Your lovely offspring crowd to his embrace, while he with joy their growing beauties trace. The tears of pleasure from each cherub flows, all eager pressing round about his knees.’”
Cullis sniffed in amazement. “I am surprised that you remember such bad verse.”
“Remarkably bad and exceptionally good lines etch themselves permanently in my mind. However, many in the House remind me of tearfully pleased cherubs pressing against the Governor’s knees, though I can’t imagine a less appropriate description of Lord Dunmore. He can hardly tolerate knee-embracing burgesses, never mind children.”
“You insult his character, Mr. Kenrick, and impugn the loyalty of so many of your colleagues.”
“I have neither insulted his character, nor impugned the loyalty of my colleagues.” Hugh grinned in mischief. “What do you think, Mr. Cullis? I’m willing to believe it was Mr. Randolph who informed the Governor. After all, his and the Speaker’s father was the only knighted Virginian on the whole continent. Perhaps his son yearns for the same distinction. I’m certain His Excellency could arrange it.”
“That is a slur on his character, as well, sir.”
“No, that is mere speculation on the man’s base motive, for base it must be.” Hugh shook his head. “After all these years, Mr. Cullis, you have yet to learn this about me, that I do not voice opinions. I make observations.”
Cullis sighed in impatient defeat. “Then you will observe my departure. Good day to you, sir.” He turned and strode across the Capitol lawn in the direction of a tenement house he was staying in for the duration of the session.
Hugh shrugged. “Departure observed, sir,” he said to himself.
Later he joined the parade of burgesses — eighty-nine of them out of the one hundred and three who eventually attended the dissolved Assembly — down Duke of Gloucester Street to the Raleigh Tavern. No Council members were among them. Hugh was joined by Patrick Henry and Colonel Robert Munford, burgess for Mecklenburg. Together they had worked in 1765 to have the Stamp Act Resolves adopted and broadcast throughout the colonies. “Well, Mr. Kenrick,” queried the burgess from Hanover, “what do you think His Excellency will do now? I am sure that he waited for the least excuse to be rid of the Assembly for the year.”
“Perhaps he will r
etire to Porto Bello again to pick peaches,” quipped Hugh with contempt.
Munford laughed. “It has a fine orchard, and good pasture land. I’m sure His Excellency beat poor Mrs. Drummond down on her asking price for the place.”
“Doubtless he will dun the colony for the construction of the stone bridge he threw over Queens Creek to Capitol Landing,” speculated Henry. “I heard talk that he has filed an action in the York County Court to collect reimbursement for the cost.”
“He is a descendent of the Stuarts,” Hugh said by way of explanation, “and, like them, believes absolutely in the range and permanence of his privileges.”
“And the rightness of his power.”
“I have heard that he plans to confront the Shawnees and Ottawas if they rise up, which will likely happen this summer.”
“Who would answer his call to arms? And how could the Assembly now approve an appropriation for an expedition against them, unless he called a new Assembly?”
“The western militia would answer,” answered Munford, “without even the promise of pay. They would be in the direst jeopardy, and would not need coaxing.”
As Hugh talked with his colleagues, he did not observe two horsemen who had stopped to watch with astonishment the long string of burgesses as it threaded down the boulevard. He joined the other burgesses in the spacious Apollo Room at the Raleigh, where, under Peyton Randolph’s moderation, debates ensued about what the proposed association should advocate, whether or not a regular general congress of the colonies was feasible, and whether or not to call for a convention of Virginia burgesses to choose delegates to such a congress, should one be agreed to by other colonies.
The General Court was also in session, and so the town was more crowded than usual with visitors. The two horsemen, one of whom held the reins of a third mount that carried their baggage, were not the only spectators of the parade. Merchants, farmers, planters, lawyers, and families who had come to Williamsburg on business for the “public times” and market days, also lined the boulevard to watch the irregular procession and to speculate or comment on its cause.
