by Edward Cline
“The Palace, you see, milord,” said the man, “is an extension of the magazine that is just up the way. There has never been enough room to store all the weapons owned by the colony, and I suppose it was judged convenient by past Governors to house them here, too. And, aside from their utilitarian presence, they serve a symbolic purpose, which is to remind his honor’s visitors and petitioners of his favors of the power and majesty of the Crown.”
Hugh knew little about Francis Fauquier’s career in Virginia, other than that he had assented to the tobacco act of a year and a half ago, the riders of which had become a liability to him. One of his first official vetoes, however, was of the removal of the colony’s scalp bounty law during the same session of the General Assembly. Queen Anne County’s major planters praised him, the middle planters did not fully trust him, while Jack Frake and Thomas Reisdale predicted that Fauquier would probably be the last popular Governor of the colony. “He cannot placate the burgesses and London, too,” was Reisdale’s comment one evening.
Hugh repressed a grin when the secretary showed him into the Governor’s office. Not only was Fauquier a foot shorter than he, but his friendly, almost puppyish manner contradicted and made ludicrous the Palace’s array of decorative armament. In the course of their initial cordialities, Hugh tactfully but firmly corrected the Governor. “My preferred manner of address, your honor, is sir,” he said. “It saves me the bother of unnecessary protocol, and others the effort of undue humility.” He then offered his hand to the Governor, something a titled aristocrat in those times would never have done for a commoner. Francis Fauquier was but an accomplished and respected commoner.
The Governor was momentarily startled, but smiled and timidly shook the proffered hand. He waved Hugh to an armchair of crimson silk damask and plopped down on a similar chair opposite him. In between them was a massive desk piled high with papers and books. “So,” he had said, “it is true…what some persons have written to me about you.” A servant knocked on the door then and came in with a tray of spirits and glasses.
* * *
Lieutenant-Governor Fauquier replenished his own glass with Armagnac, then set down the decanter. He said, “Thank you…sir. And, I am not unaware of that praise. However, the persons who praise me do not reside in London. All the burgesses and the whole Council know my instructions. Even these parsimonious parsons who bedevil me. If I followed the Board of Trade’s instructions to the letter, sir, I should become little better than a tyrant. Then I would merit the opposite of praise. My instructions leave me meager room for discretion and judgment. The originals I brought with me have been so amended, abridged, and supplemented, that I cannot be blamed for not knowing any more what they are. I expect more of that, and more than one rebuke from their lordships on the Board and the Privy Council.”
Fauquier made an anguished face. “But, if I am to lend some congeniality to the governing of this place, I cannot but employ my discretion and judgment, qualities I had presumed were responsible for my commission.”
He paused to sip his Armagnac, then put down the glass and gestured with his hands. “From Punchinello, I assume the guise of Jason in ancient Greece, caught between the man-eating monster Scylla — that being the Board — and the whirlpool of the Charybdis — that being the unending difficulties and concerns associated with this colony.” Fauquier rose suddenly and paced nervously before his desk. “If it is not the Cherokees who need presents and wooing, it is the Creeks, or some other amorphous ‘nation’ of barbarians. If it is not settlers on the frontier raiding Indians, it is the Indians raiding the settlers. If it is not the burgesses pressing me for assent to their laws, it is the clergy hounding me for their veto. If it is not the dearth of specie, it is the cascades of unsecured paper money. If it is not having money enough to raise an effective militia for the frontier, it is not enough men to fill the militia when the money has been voted. Creditors and debtors inveigh against each other. Tobacco prices are too high or too low. London’s merchants trade accusations of fraud and sharp practice with the planters. Oh, sir!” sighed Fauquier, sitting down again. “I could go on, but I fear I should distress you, too!”
Before Hugh could reply, the Governor leaned forward and wagged a finger. “Virginian lives and money purchased the forks of the Ohio at Pittsburg, but Pennsylvanians hope to claim them with no risk of men or money, and they are reluctant to take any action against the savages who imperil their own western frontier. Lastly, I thought — together with the Council and the burgesses — that we had finished with the Cherokees in the Carolinas and west of here, and that Governor Lyttleton’s treaty with them would hold, at least until the French war is concluded. But, not surprisingly, French agents among the tribes are stirring them up again. If it pleases you, sir,” added the Governor in a near whisper, and also because he could not forget that his visitor was of the aristocracy, “that bit of information may not leave this room. The House must be officially apprised of the situation.”
Hugh nodded.
Fauquier sat back in his chair, seemingly exhausted from his tirade. “I have been here only some two years, sir, yet I sometimes believe that the Governorship of Bedlam Hospital in London would be less aggrieving and troublesome.”
Hugh smiled in brief sympathy. “You have described to me your Charybdis, your honor. How does the Scylla worry you?”
Fauquier’s prominent eyebrows went up. “The Board? They wish me to work miracles, but ignore the fact that I lack the magic. They expect bounteous loaves and fishes, and a supine waiter to supply and serve them. For two thousand pounds per annum. No man could perform to their satisfaction for ten, or twenty! Look at Virginia, sir! It is half the area of France! Do the Board and the Privy Council actually believe that the most populous colony will do their bidding forever, without question or reservation, at its own cost?”
Hugh shook his head. “I do not think it is a matter of what they believe, your honor. Belief is immaterial to them. It is a matter of what they want.”
Fauquier grunted in agreement. “The people here are accustomed to governing themselves, for better or for worse, in many matters, and London did not much interfere. Until very recently, the colony’s and the Board’s interests were amicably meshed. Now, though, it seems that the Board and the Privy Council have expunged the word reciprocity from their own dictionary!”
Hugh remarked, “As you imply, your honor, the situation is sown with future conflict and tragedy.” He paused to finish the contents of his glass, then ventured, “The people here — and I now count myself as one of them — may be accustomed to governing themselves, but they should not be surprised if the Board and the Privy Council frown upon their actions and laws, and act to constrain a presumptuous colony. It is not so novel a notion. Are not the prisoners of Newgate and the Fleet obliged to pay their own turnkeys?”
The Governor’s face abruptly turned stern, and he studied his visitor for a moment. His expression was now that of a man in command. “What are your thoughts on the Indians, sir?”
Hugh considered his answer for a moment, then said, “They are nature’s orphans, your honor, and our society is an irresistible force. It matters not how frequently they assault the western settlers. They are doomed — or, rather, their preferred mode of living is doomed, and if they do not abandon it, they themselves will be doomed. They wish to hunt and roam about in the wilderness without the benefit of ownership, patent, or industry. They wish to trade with us, but reserve the option of making war if the trade is not to their liking. They have little or no notion of rights, liberty, or property. Their view of the world extends not much farther than the range of a shot arrow. They depend on the lottery of fortune, error, oversight, or our benevolence to preserve their mode of living.” Hugh waved a hand in dismissal. “I would no more treat with them than seek a peace with the sea’s natural predators, for they are of a fickle, unpredictable mien. They sense the mortal threat to their precarious state of savagery, and they know well that our so
ciety will not be contained east of the Alleghenies, regardless of the Crown’s assurances, and that they will be driven farther and farther west.”
Hugh saw reluctant concession in the Governor’s expression. He went on. “If the Crown must devise a policy, your honor, the most honest one might be to issue a proclamation to the Indians: Join us, mingle with us, or perish — and if perish, then by a provoked sword. Discard your bear grease and scalping knives, and discover Locke and Diderot and Newton. For we shall not remove ourselves, and you have no other alternative but to remove yourselves clear to the Pacific Ocean, or suffer a violent, sad, and certain demise.”
Fauquier frowned, then exclaimed, “By God, sir! You are a flinty man!”
Hugh shrugged. “I have as little compassion for their predicament, your honor, as I might have for that of a Thames coal heaver, who, chancing upon a means to leave his brutal employment and improve his condition, spurns it because it would require effort and cogitation; and, eschewing reason, tosses it back into the river, allowing his mental caducity to choose his future, which is to lug coal for pittance for the balance of his short and ekish life.”
Fauquier seemed to nod in agreement, and said, “But if we do treat with them, honor requires that we observe the terms, especially if they confound the claims and patents of land made by speculators here.”
Hugh shook his head. “There is a snare in such honor. On one hand, it would oblige us to extinguish, if not our ambitions, then ourselves in order to protect barbarism and wilderness. On the other, it would be a disservice to the Indians to assure them a continued life of ignorance and abject poverty. If compassion is to be the moral measure of our treaties with them, I believe my policy would be the most merciful. It would not permit broken promises, because no promises would be made. The parties would be spared a folie à deux: on the Indians’ part, the fragile delusion that their chosen state of living was guaranteed; on the Crown’s part, the disgrace of failing to honor terms it had no power — indeed, no motive — to enforce.”
Fauquier thought to himself: “Sir, if there were a vacancy on my Council, I should immediately nominate you to fill it.” Aloud, he said, “You seem to have given much thought to our vermilion brethren, sir. What have you to say about the sable race?”
Hugh knew by the Governor’s expectant look not only that his views on slavery had been communicated to Fauquier by one or more persons in Caxton, but that his answer would reach sympathetic ears. “That the trade in those people be abolished, and that they be manumitted and instructed in the arts of living as free subjects.” He paused. “It is a simpler, grosser wrong we discuss, your honor, requiring a simpler solution.”
Fauquier glanced out his window, and saw that the snowfall had stopped. He rose suddenly and said, “Come, sir. If you don’t mind it, take a turn with me through the garden. When it’s in bloom, it is quite as pretty as any in England.”
As they strolled through the frigid, snow-dusted garden in the rear of the Palace, the pair talked of many things: of London, music, the theater, and other missed amenities offered by the faraway metropolis. Fauquier was an accomplished violinist, and promised to invite Hugh to the Palace the next time he planned to play with other musicians in the town and legislature.
As they came near the end of their circuit, the Governor remarked with a sigh, “I could talk with you the rest of the day and into the night, sir, and introduce you to my wife, Catherine, and my son, William. However, some members of the Council are coming over soon, and I am afraid their business shall fill the rest of my day. Are you staying in town?”
“For one night only, your honor. I have a room at the Raleigh.”
Fauquier said with a chuckle, “Well, I have heard some good things about that place — and some bad.” He patted Hugh’s arm. “You must come again, sir, and soon. I shall make the time to show you more of the Palace.” He paused as they mounted the steps that led back inside the mansion. “I must apologize for having regaled you with the adventures of my office. But those burdens and duties remind me of Galba’s advice to Licinius Piso, whom he named his successor as emperor of Rome. ‘You are going to rule over men who can endure neither complete slavery nor complete liberty.’ I often wish the Board of Trade had appended that consilium to my instructions.”
Hugh smiled and said, “Perhaps the Board was wise not to, your honor, because its members recalled the fate of Galba and Piso. But, about Galba, I believe Tacitus commented that he was, ‘in the judgment of all, capable of ruling, if he had not ruled.’ So, I do not think the Board is at all influenced by the lessons to be found in Tacitus’s chronicles of political folly.”
Fauquier studied his companion. “You are a daring yet compelling young man, sir. I do not believe the word moderation is much exercised in your thoughts.” His eyes narrowed in mischievous challenge. “How do you propose to free a single slave, when that action depends not only on the approval of the House and my Council, but, ultimately, on my assent?”
Hugh only smiled again. “That remains to be seen, your honor. Perhaps Ishall not require your assent or any governing body’s approval.”
The Governor hummed in doubt at Hugh’s reticence. “Why do you oppose the institution, sir?”
“Among my reasons are purely selfish ones, your honor,” Hugh said. “When I look at a man, I do not wish to be troubled by pity for him or by the injustice of his involuntary station. When a man looks at me, I do not wish it to be with deferential envy, honey-masked hate, or obsequious fear.” Again, he smiled in answer to Fauquier’s startled expression, and added, “Aristotle may have been in error concerning the movement of the earth and sun, but he was entirely correct about the expectations and norms of a virtuous man.”
“So,” queried the Governor, “I should not expect to hear word of you declaiming from the benches of the House chamber on whether a slave ought to be counted as real estate, and so eligible for the payment of a portion of his owner’s quit-rents, or treated as personal property?”
Hugh shook his head. “I would sooner take up conjugal residence with an addled slattern, your honor, than suborn my mind by concocting such petty, irrelevant distinctions.”
Fauquier permitted himself a single, short laugh. “I fear, good sir, that there are not so many addled slatterns who would long tolerate you. Even ignorance and inelegance have their limits. I mean that as a compliment, of course.” He paused to reach for his silver pocket watch. “And, I fear, I must go. The Council members must have already arrived and be pacing worriedly upstairs.” Hugh opened one of the double doors, and they went inside. “I’ll see you to the foyer, sir,” said the Governor as they walked down a hallway. “In regard to your bold intentions, however…far be it from me to oppose miracles, should you manage to accomplish one. No more than that can I say.”
In the foyer, a footman brought out Hugh’s greatcoat, which he had left in the care of the housekeeper. Fauquier waited until he had donned it, then, after some hesitation, held out his hand. “Thank you for your call and your diverting and invigorating conversation, Mr. Kenrick. I do hope that we have many more hours of such talk, in less hurried circumstances.”
Hugh clasped the Governor’s hand and shook it. “As well, I, your honor. Thank you for your time, and I look forward to the pleasure of listening to you play Vivaldi.” With a slight nod of his head, Hugh turned and strode casually out the door that was held open for him by the footman.
* * *
As he conferred with the Councilmen for the rest of the afternoon on anumber of matters likely to be discussed by the burgesses during the next General Assembly, Francis Fauquier had difficulty sustaining in his mind the reality of Hugh Kenrick. The Councilmen were the kinds of men he dealt with daily, and occasionally he caught himself comparing them with the young man, and imagined the comparison in terms of meringue pies and cannon balls. He would chuckle involuntarily then, and these cautious, well-heeled, timid men would pause and glance at him, and he would shake his head a
nd gesture to one of the gentleman to continue making his point.
He had been communicated many of the particulars of Hugh Kenrick’s background and family, but it was only after the young man’s departure that the Governor remembered that he had forgotten to enquire about the family and especially about the allegations, so palpable was that person’s presence. He was more than a little disturbed by this lapse in his usual diligence. He wondered also what it was about Hugh Kenrick that made him confess so much to him.
The reality of the Councilmen, however, triumphed in the end. The details of his gubernatorial duties, together with the absolute necessity of appeasing the powers in London, sapped the strength of the Governor’s mind to retain the reality of his visitor. Later, though, in his most private moments, and at the oddest times, the image and hard reality of Hugh Kenrick would flash through his thoughts. It would gladden him, when it occurred, if he happened upon some unanswerable idea, principle, or eloquence while reading a political tract in his library. Or, it would shame him, when it occurred, if he was laboring to compose the draft of a report to the Board of Trade, and he found himself writing such things as, “In explaining my latest actions, I hope to receive the approbation of my royal Master, which is the height of my Ambition. His gracious acceptance of my poor service will be an additional Spur to me to merit it in the future. His Majesty’s approval will always cause my humble Gratitude….”
