by Edward Cline
Peter Randolph sighed. “Searching for a time when this House negatived its own determination, or at least changed its mind on some matter.”
“To what end, sir?”
Randolph shook his head. “To put a stop to some very disturbing business, Master Thomas.”
Jefferson frowned. “The resolves?”
Randolph nodded. “Only one. Perhaps others. We shall see.”
Jefferson did not reply. He stood looking over his cousin’s shoulder as the man pored though one tome, then another. The Surveyor-General did not stop his perusal until he noticed, with some embarrassment, that the public space was filling up with spectators, and that John Randolph and his clerks had arrived and were waiting to prepare the table for the day’s sitting. He put the last tome in its place beneath the table and, without a word to Jefferson or anyone else, rose and left the chamber.
With some chagrin, Jefferson saw that all the public benches were now occupied. He resigned himself to standing again at the lobby doors. As he passed the railing, he nodded once to the inquisitive Frenchman, whose name by now he had forgotten. The little man looked happy; he had a front-row seat.
William Ferguson retrieved his brass bell and went out to the courtyard, rang the bell, and returned with most of the burgesses in tow. There were now only thirty-four members left. When John Robinson took his seat in the Speaker’s chair, he rang it again to mark the beginning of the day.
Hugh Kenrick, seated above Henry’s other allies, Johnston, Fleming, and Munford, had greeted Jack Frake and his party in the courtyard before leading them inside to procure seats. Nothing in Jack’s or Etáin’s manner reminded him of the terrible night before. After he had greeted them, he glanced around and asked, “Where is Mr. Barret?”
“He left for Caxton early this morning to begin setting his press to print the resolves,” said Jack.
“He believes he can get broadsides of them onto some vessels riding now at Caxton and Yorktown,” said John Ramshaw, “and into the hands of newspapers up and down the coast. I have asked him to set aside a few for me. The Sparrowhawk will be stopping at New York and Newport on our way back to England. We’ll weigh anchor in two days. And I know some men in the papers back home.”
“Mr. Barret is very proud of his country,” remarked Etáin.
John Proudlocks remained silent. He noticed the dark rings around Hugh’s eyes, and wondered what ordeal his friend had endured between their supper last night and this morning.
In the chamber now, Hugh observed with alarm the reduced number of members. After a brief conference with Munford, Johnston, and Fleming, he learned that three of their party had gone home, or were preparing to. He in turn advised the older men that when he came into the Capitol lobby with his friends, he saw several members of their party descending the stairs from the committee room above, their faces pale and closed. “They did not return my greeting, and went out to await the bell.”
“‘Beware of skullduggery,’ indeed,” sighed Johnston. “I believe the enemy has rallied and reformed to our disadvantage.”
“We shall fight on,” said Colonel Munford.
From his own seat on the second tier, Hugh sensed a new tension in the House. Among the spectators, it was caused by the absence of the man they had come to see and hear. The older members across the floor seemed imbued with a confidence that verged on smugness, while most of the members on Hugh’s side seemed less bold and less certain.
Speaker Robinson said, “It was stated yesterday that there are two more resolutions to be introduced and possibly added to the five adopted yesterday by this House. Let the House resolve itself into a Committee of the Whole, so that they may be introduced.”
Colonel Munford seconded the motion. As the golden mace was removed from atop the Clerk’s table, Robinson and Peyton Randolph switched seats. Fleming rose and was recognized by the Attorney-General. The burgess for Cumberland addressed the House. “Sirs, my colleagues and I view these last resolves as logical and ineluctable extensions of the first five, and propose that they be adopted by this committee and by the House in the same spirit.”
“Proceed,” said Peyton Randolph, who stared with patient boredom into the space before him. His one word was spoken in an ominously dismissive tone, thought Hugh, as though he already knew the fate of the last two resolves. That one word convinced him that, no matter what was said here today, the last two resolves were doomed to rejection.
“Resolved,” said Fleming, “that His Majesty’s liege people, the inhabitants of this colony, are not bound to yield obedience to any law or ordinance whatever, designed to impose any taxation whatever upon them, other than the laws or ordinances of the General Assembly aforesaid.”
George Wythe narrowed his eyes in hostility. Richard Bland looked perplexed. John Robinson looked bored. The Attorney-General raised one eyebrow, and seemed to smile.
“Resolve the seventh,” said Fleming, “that any person who shall, by speaking or writing, assert or maintain that any person or persons, other than the General Assembly of this colony, have any right or power to impose or lay any taxation whatever on the people here — ” Fleming paused to clear his throat, for he seemed to be afraid to pronounce the next words “ — shall be deemed an enemy of His Majesty’s colony.” The burgess nodded once to Randolph, then sat down.
A very curious thing happened then: nothing. Hugh and the other members had been ready for a demonstration of outrage similar to that which greeted the fifth resolve yesterday. But, other than some expressions of restrained shock or distaste, none of the older members reacted during the reading or after it. Other than some whispered commentary among the spectators, the chamber was quiet.
Hugh was now convinced of two things: that the last two resolves were doomed, and that Randolph and his allies had foreknowledge of them. Nothing else could explain their odd, passive behavior. He glanced at some of the members he had seen descending the stairs to the lobby, but then remembered the only other member with whom had been shared the texts of all seven resolves: Edgar Cullis.
“What say anyone to these resolutions?” asked Peyton Randolph.
George Wythe rose to be recognized. For five minutes he fulminated against not only the new resolves, but the ones already adopted by the House. “They are all treacherous and treasonous, and I propose that this committee — this House — redeem itself and save itself and this colony much sorrow by first rejecting these last two pugnacious resolutions, and then by withdrawing the first five.” Even his manner was out of character, noted Hugh. He sounded as though he was calmly prescribing an herb for a mosquito bite.
George Johnston rose to reply, and for the next two hours the House was locked in a debate more acrimonious than yesterday’s. Johnston began with, “This House may redeem itself, sir, by asserting the liberty that is threatened by the Stamp Act! If we do not make that effort, then we may be stained with the blots of treachery, treason, and cowardice!”
Richard Bland rose and proclaimed, “In regard to the sixth resolution, I must remind this body that we are obliged to obey Crown law until any injustices contained in any of its parts have been corrected! In that manner, we may preserve our liberty! That is not cowardice, sir, but the way of prudent wisdom!”
Colonel Munford rose and replied, “What is to move Parliament to rectify or correct those injustices, sir?” He remembered something of Henry’s speech from the day before. “Have you knowledge of a motion to be made in the Commons to restage, on the floor of that House, Mr. Addison’s Cato, so that the members there will be filled with remorse and shame, and rush to beg our pardon?”
Landon Carter rose and said, “The seventh resolve, by brazen implication, casts the authors of the Stamp Act in the role of enemies! That is so bold an affront that I would not blame Parliament or His Majesty for believing that this colony is governed by renegades and brigands!”
Hugh rose and replied, “If this His Majesty’s colony can be said to be a polity of liberty, the
n any man or body of men that threatens that liberty may be rightly cast as an enemy of this colony. And if His Majesty approves of such perfidy — and there on the Clerk’s table is proof of his endorsement! — then he joins the company of the true rebels and brigands, and that action blots his station…and we must look upon him as an enemy of his own dominion!”
One of the older burgesses rose and shook his fist at Hugh. In the manner of a dare, he shouted across the aisle, “Long live King George the Third!” His face was livid and he looked ready for a fight.
“Long live George the Third!” shouted another burgess. “Retract your treasonous words, sir!” demanded another member. All the older members shot to their feet now, and hurled their loyalty at the men on the other side of the chamber. “Long live our gracious sovereign!” “Long may his empire bless our lives and fortunes!” “Long live George the Third!” “God save the king!”
Hugh felt the thrill of being alive. He raised and spread his arms and closed his hands into fists. He shouted above the din, “Long live Lady Liberty!”
John Randolph, in the meantime, was gaveling frantically to bring the House to order, but abruptly stopped when the first older burgess stepped away from his seat and began to cross the floor, striding straight for Hugh as he brandished his cane. Randolph dropped the gavel, jumped up, knocking over his own chair, and blocked his way. “Return to your seat, sir!” he said to the sputtering burgess. “Return to your seat, or I shall have the sergeant-at-arms escort you from the chamber! Please, sir!”
For a moment, the older burgess seemed ready to strike the Chief Clerk. But, with one last wicked look at Hugh, he snorted once, turned, and stalked back to his seat. Randolph breathed a sigh of relief, glanced at his brother Peyton, who was also on his feet, and sat back down at the table. His hands were shaking as he needlessly rearranged some articles on the cloth.
The Attorney-General also resumed his seat in the Speaker’s chair, and with a silent, imperious look invited the still-standing members to follow suit. One by one, they obeyed. The chamber was quiet for a long moment, so quiet that the rustle of leaves on the trees outside and the laughter of faraway children could be heard. Everyone knew, even the spectators, that they had just witnessed an unprecedented event. For Peyton Randolph and his allies, it was a precedent they could neither have foreseen nor desired.
Hugh Kenrick was the last to take his seat. He felt an odd kind of purity now, almost one of redemption. Unbidden, memories of his defiance of the mob on the Charing Cross pillory came to his mind. He looked across the floor at the burgess who had intended to thrash him. He smiled kindly and gratefully at that man.
Peyton Randolph rose from the Speaker’s chair and said calmly, “It is not for this Assembly to deem anyone a traitor to or an enemy of the Crown or of any of His Majesty’s dominions. I speak now as the King’s Attorney, and emphasize that to presume such a role would be to abrogate the prerogative of His Majesty and thus violate the ancient compact between him and Parliament, and so consequently leave us open to the charge that we are the traitors and enemies. This is a plain fact, sir, and I beg this House to entertain it with all the gravity its members are capable of.” Then he sat down.
Richard Bland rose and said, “I must further remind this body that what liberty we enjoy in this His Majesty’s dominion is granted to us by the king, and that when His Majesty engrosses a Parliamentary act, he does so as King-in-Parliament. It is not merely Parliament that we propose to charge with scandalous oversight, or whatever some others may call an action, but His Majesty! This, however, is not a point that can be properly addressed in so short a time.”
Landon Carter then rose and moved that votes be conducted on the sixth and seventh resolutions. Wythe seconded the motion. Randolph ordered his brother to prepare to record the votes, and asked John Fleming to read the resolves again.
After each new resolve was read, and the ‘Ayes’ and ‘Nays’ were recorded, John Randolph read from his clerks’ tallies: “For adoption, fifteen. For rejection, nineteen.”
Peyton Randolph managed to contain a smile of satisfaction as he announced, “The aforesaid resolutions have been rejected by this committee, and therefore will neither be reported to the House, nor communicated to Parliament or the Board of Trade.”
Munford, Fleming, and Johnston glanced at some of the younger members in disappointment, and wondered which of them Hugh had seen coming down from the committee room, and what had been said to them.
George Wythe thereupon rose and moved that Speaker Robinson retake the chair. Richard Bland seconded the motion. The golden mace was returned to its place on the Clerk’s table. Robinson, when he was comfortably seated, waited for someone to rise. It was Peyton Randolph who did, and who moved that new votes be conducted by the House in formal assembly on all the adopted resolutions. Before George Wythe could rise to second the motion, the older burgess who was restrained by the Chief Clerk rose and said, “I second that motion, and hope with God’s strength that those resolutions are all sent back to Hell whence they came!”
Everyone looked at the man, who seemed not to notice. Peyton Randolph and Speaker Robinson both blinked in surprise. Robinson said, “Well…. Let the clerk read each resolution — ”
But John Fleming rose to be recognized. Robinson nodded to him. This was to be expected, thought the Speaker.
Fleming said, “These resolves have already been adopted by the House, sir. What is the precedent for this…unique action?”
“There is none, sir,” answered Robinson. “But in these circumstances, one must be made. And I may be in error. In the long and glorious history of this House, I am certain that a precedent may be found.”
“Then I move that these votes be postponed until such a precedent can be found, sir.”
Robinson shook his head. “Mr. Randolph’s motion has already been carried, sir. And there is no time. This session is too near its end.”
Fleming’s eyes narrowed in obvious contempt. “It would seem, sir, that a new hand has been dealt here over these resolves, or a pair of weighted dice!”
The Speaker came out of his chair and took a step toward Fleming. His face shook in anger and he spoke with an emotion that the House had rarely heard him express. “You will withdraw that remark, sir, or I will move to have you censured and expelled from the House!”
“I will not withdraw it, sir,” answered Fleming. “It is clear to me now —”
“Withdraw that remark, sir!” demanded Robinson. “Apologize to the chair!” He pointed to it with his cane.
Colonel Munford reached up, touched Fleming’s sleeve, and whispered urgently, “Do it, John! It is nearly over!”
Robinson pointed his cane at Munford. “Silence, sir! There will be no more apologies by proxy! Let this man speak his own regrets!”
Fleming sighed, briefly closed his eyes, then nodded slightly to Robinson. “I…withdraw the remark, sir, and beg the chair to accept my apology.”
Robinson grunted once, then said, “All right.” He turned and plunked himself back in the chair. He glared at John Randolph. “Let the Clerk read the first resolution!”
Three hours later — again past the customary time for dinner recess — and after several hundred vituperative and grandiloquent words were exchanged between both sides of the House — Speaker Robinson, who by now looked close to a nervous collapse, ended the debates. The first four resolves survived the fury by diminishing margins of twenty to fourteen for the first, nineteen to fifteen for the second, eighteen to sixteen for the third and fourth, while the fifth resolve’s fate hung in the balance.
Spectators and burgesses alike rode on each vote as the members stood to pronounce Aye or Nay. And everyone knew the result before John Randolph read it from the tally sheet. “On the fifth resolution adopted by this House: fifteen for its retention, nineteen for its expunction. The fifth resolution is so abandoned, and will be erased from the record.”
Speaker Robinson accepted a motion b
y Peyton Randolph and appointed a committee to draft the four resolves into a formal document to be sent to London. There being no more business for the House to pursue, he ordered an adjournment.
This time it was many of the younger members who rose in a body and first left the chamber. All the older members remained behind to chatter about their victory.
Chapter 13: The Dissolution
“Above all, let us correct the grammar.”
“Yes. The grammar must be corrected, in all the resolutions. It is too sharp, and gaudy, and conceited. It must be planed and blunted.”
George Wythe and Peyton Randolph were the speakers. With them stood Landon Carter, Richard Bland, and Robert Carter Nicholas, burgess for York County. They stood in the lobby of the House, hastily convened there in the rush by members and spectators alike to find a late dinner or early supper in the inns and taverns near the Capitol. They comprised the committee appointed by John Robinson to draft the resolves in a document to be sent to Edward Montague, the House’s agent in London, whose duty it would be to see it introduced in the Commons. A copy would also be addressed to the Lords of Trade. They were in agreement that they should meet some time in the evening, and had only to agree on a place.
“The present grammar, I say, is an aspect of the author of these resolutions, reckless and vile. I do not envy you gentlemen the task of sweetening it.” So opined Reverend William Robinson, Anglican Commissary of Virginia and a cousin of the Speaker. He had been among the spectators, and had joined the group on his way out. His company was not particularly welcomed by the burgesses, but he was the Speaker’s cousin and had to be tolerated. He now shook his head gravely. “The violence of these last two days will remain in my memory to the end of my own days. And I am pained by the outcome. I had expected you gentlemen to extricate yourselves from Mr. Henry’s trap and commence tarring him with his own fanfaronade.”
