Empire (30 page)

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 by 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.

“A
bove 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.”

“Managing the affairs of this House,” replied Randolph with nearly offensive courtesy, “is more difficult work than you might appreciate.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that, Mr. Randolph,” said the Commissary with a short laugh. “And you are to be commended for your skills. Still, you must admit that, if there were any justice, Mr. Henry would not have had the opportunity to present you with the task of planing and blunting his mischief.”

“What do you mean, sir?” asked Bland.

“Why, yesterday was the
second
instance that he has uttered chargeable treason,” scoffed the Commissary, “the first being his offensive speech two Decembers ago in Hanover. I am quite certain that you gentlemen have knowledge of
that
affair! Everyone else has. It would account for so large a public interest. So it is amazing to me that he is tolerated here, allowed to tread the same floor as you gentlemen. It is
more
amazing to me that you have accommodated him! By the justice I speak of, he ought to be a guest in this city’s jail, chained hand and foot to the wall of his cell, awaiting his fate.”

George Wythe narrowed his eyes. “While we are all here loyal subjects of His Majesty, sir, and pledge our hearts and minds to England…there are some aspects of the mother country that we are happy are not to be found here.”

Commissary Robinson raised his eyebrows at this rebuke, then shrugged. “Well,” he said, “in all honesty, the events that have occurred here are so disturbing that I feel obligated to write the Bishop of London about them, and report to him my own observations. In point of fact, it is my
duty
to report them, and it is one I shall take pleasure in performing.”

Peyton Randolph saw his chance, and replied with a mock smile, “Then, sir, pray attend to your duty, and allow us to attend to ours.”

Commissary Robinson looked regretful. “Sultry weather we’ve had lately,” he remarked. “I wonder if it will rain.” He stepped back and bowed slightly. “Good day to you, sirs.” He turned and left the lobby.

No one in the group doubted that Reverend Robinson would write the Bishop of London, Richard Terrick, who himself was a distant cousin of the Commissary’s, and a Privy Councilor to boot.

“That man,” said Robert Carter Nicholas in a low voice as he watched the man leave, “sees himself as the first bishop of New York and all the colonies.”

“God save us from the duty of kissing his ring,” said Randolph.

The group agreed to meet early in the evening in the upstairs committee room and to work until they had completed a draft of the resolves. They broke up and went their separate ways.

Outside, as they walked together across the Capitol grounds to Randolph’s waiting carriage, the Attorney-General and Wythe came upon Thomas Jefferson, who noticed them approaching. His young brow was furled in thought.

“My congratulations to you,” said Jefferson to the pair. “A most bloody contest. I hope it was worth the strife.”

“Very bloody,” agreed Randolph, who sensed that the young man was addressing him exclusively, “but very much worth the strife.” He saw a strange look in Jefferson’s eyes, one that made him feel apprehension. “Still, I suspect that the House has been divided in a unique and permanent way. And I hope you have learned something of the way of true politics.”

Jefferson seemed to nod with difficulty, then asked in too casual a tone, “May I presume that you found the five hundred guineas with which to purchase a vote or two, sir? I did not know there were so many to be found in the colonies. Guineas, that is.”

Wythe gasped, then blushed in supreme embarrassment. Randolph exclaimed, “
What
?” and stared incredulously at his distant cousin. Wythe opened his mouth to upbraid his protégé, but Randolph, roused to fury by the comment, leaned closer to Jefferson’s face and spat into it, “No, sir! Say, rather, one hundred guineas! Ask me another indecorous question, my fine, untrained puppy, and I shall have
you
banished from the House! Out of my way!” He pushed past Jefferson and stormed off to his waiting carriage.

Before Wythe followed hurriedly in his wake, he stopped to jab a finger on Jefferson’s chest several times. “You, sir, have insulted a great man! I will speak with you later!”

Inside the carriage, which would take them a short distance to Randolph’s home a half mile from the Capitol, Randolph said, “By God, Mr. Wythe! What are things coming to? What confounded brass! He is a decent fellow, that lad, but have you neglected to instruct him in manners and discretion? Has he allowed Mr. Henry’s fever to addle his noggin?”

“I shall speak with him, sir,” said Wythe.

They were quiet for a moment as the carriage bumped along the road that led to Randolph’s spacious home. Then Randolph said, “The Governor will dissolve us over this affair. I believe you promised him defeat of the resolves.”

Wythe shook his head, and sighed. “He will surely dissolve us, sir, no matter how well we correct the grammar.”

* * *

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Capitol, the advocates of the resolves held a hasty conference of their own. “Well,” said George Johnston, “at least there are four resolves, where before there had been none.”

John Fleming grunted in disgust. “They are but a cart without a horse, Mr. Johnston, and by the time that committee have finished with them, they will be a cart without wheels!”

Colonel Munford remarked with bright sarcasm, “Why the despair, sirs? Mr. Robinson’s party was obliged to adopt some of them! By next session, they may be persuaded that five shillings make a crown! That is some progress!”

Hugh Kenrick said, “I do not doubt the effect
all
the resolves will have here, and throughout all the colonies, sirs. It is unfortunate, however, that those who fought so stubbornly against them may in half a year’s time be credited with their adoption, and perhaps even with their authorship.”

Munford nodded in agreement. “And they will accept that credit, and very likely author their own little pamphlets to support their new-found patriotism!”

Johnston looked thoughtful, and said, “I confess I am a mite uncomfortable now with our project, sirs. After all, only four of the resolves were adopted, yet Mr. Kenrick’s friend will print and post all seven to the four corners of the empire. Parliament and the king and everyone on these shores will believe that these resolves are the accomplishment of the House.” He paused. “Is this not an exercise in
deceit
?”

Hugh scoffed. “No, sir. The resolves, all of them, are what ought to have been adopted. I do not see our project as an exercise in deceit. Rather, it is an effort to proclaim a truth, and every one of those resolves states a truth.” Hugh chuckled in dark irony. “And among other effects the dissemination of the resolves will have, will be some compensation for our apologies.” He shook his head again. “Let those who opposed the resolves write their fragments. They must, in time, come to agree with all seven resolves. We will have sown justice in the wind, sirs, and I am certain we will see a great harvest.”

“So we may,” remarked Johnston. “We may also see Governor Fauquier dissolve the Assembly before its time. I do believe that Mr. Wythe pledged him our defeat.”

* * *

After he had exchanged farewells with his companions, Hugh walked alone down Duke of Gloucester Street. He had promised Jack Frake and his party that he would meet them at Mary Gandy’s house, from which Jack,
Etáin, Ramshaw, and Proudlocks would begin their journey back to Caxton. As he was passing Raleigh Tavern, he heard someone call after him. He turned and saw Thomas Jefferson hurrying down the sidewalk. “Mr. Kenrick! I was afraid I missed you!”

Jefferson rushed up, took one of Hugh’s hands, and shook it, this time without any hesitation. “I wished to thank you, sir, for your…inspiration, and for your words…and for everything else I have witnessed these last two days.”

Hugh shook his head. “Do not thank me, sir. Thank…necessity.”

“You, and Mr. Henry, and the others,” protested Jefferson, “even those who opposed you so vigorously, have caused me to stand back and see a broader vista of matters.” He smiled. “I own that I am in your debt.”

Hugh grinned. “You may consider that debt repaid, Mr. Jefferson, when your mentor, Mr. Wythe, openly and with rock-hard conviction agrees with Mr. Henry and me and with everything that was said by us these last two days. You are the one for that task. I failed, as you saw. You may not.”

Jefferson laughed. “What a Herculean labor you assign me! Perhaps even a Sisyphean one! He is a very crafty fellow in cool argument, you know, who allows one to believe that one has convinced him on a certain legal point, only to have him assail one with a barrage from Coke or Kames.”

“I am certain that you will someday become his equal,” said Hugh.

“Thank you,” said Jefferson. He glanced up at the gray roof of clouds that had gathered over Williamsburg. “Well, it is time I took up no more of your own,” he said. “I must prepare to leave for Shadwell and my duties there, now that the Assembly has concluded its business, and,” he added in a lower voice, “has so displeased Governor Fauquier that he will certainly dissolve it some days before its natural conclusion. I have farewells to say to friends, including his honor.” Jefferson’s expression now became serious. “I remember our talk of a while ago, Mr. Kenrick, last December, I believe, and something you said to me. I promise you here that, if there is no honor now in the lawyer’s profession, I shall work in the future to imbue it with some.” He paused. “And perhaps you and I shall someday share a bench in the House.”

“I would like to see that day,” said Hugh.

After they had said their final goodbyes, Hugh continued down Duke of Gloucester. Something Jefferson said tickled an old memory. Then he smiled, for he remembered the day, long ago, when he had remarked to his
tutor in Danvers that he would bring honor to the family name.

He was passing another tavern, lost in this pleasant memory, and wondering about the implacability of justice, when he noticed John Proudlocks in the distance, coming toward him. He saw the man frown then, just as he heard someone behind him roar, “
You! You traitor! You regicide!
”

Hugh turned in time to hear more than see an object swoop down, then hear more than feel the object strike him on the head with an ear-splitting crack. As his knees buckled and he felt himself falling, he caught a glimpse of the face of the older burgess who had tried to attack him in the House. He had only enough time to note the flesh-distorting malice on that face before he lost consciousness.

But he was unconscious for only a moment. When he opened his eyes again, the man was still there, hovering over him, but being held by three men, one of them Thomas Jefferson, who had apparently rushed back across the boulevard when he heard the fracas. The burgess struggled against his captors, yelling oaths in a drunken slur. He had emerged from the tavern just as Hugh was passing it. He still held his cane, and his eyes never left Hugh.

As Hugh propped himself upon his elbows, he saw Proudlocks snatch the cane from the man’s grip, raise it in the air with both hands, then bring it down and break it in half over his upraised knee.

“You!” yelled the burgess. “You blackamoor! Give me a sword! I’ll teach you — ” Then he stopped ranting, and seemed to realize where he was and what he had done. Proudlocks stared hard at the man, and offered him in one hand the two halves of the broken cane. The burgess sneered at him, and with his free hand knocked them from Proudlocks’ grip. The silver-tipped halves clattered to the ground.

Proudlocks shrugged, then bent to help Hugh to his feet. A crowd of men, women, children, and slaves had gathered around the scene. One of the men holding the burgess asked Hugh, “Sir, do you wish him arrested? You won’t lack for witnesses! I saw him strike you without provocation! So did others here!”

One of the onlookers stepped forward. “You can’t arrest him, as well he might be! This is John Chiswell, a burgess of the city! He is immune from charges while the Assembly sits!”

Hugh began to feel a throbbing pain not only on his head, but in his ribs and shoulder. The burgess had struck him several times before he was restrained. He studied his assailant for a moment. The malice in the man’s
eyes had softened a little, but not much. He was breathing hard, as a drunken man will after a tremendous exertion. Hugh imagined he saw a glimmer of hope in the man’s eyes.

He felt something warm slither down one side of his face, and put a finger to it. It was blood. He grimaced in disgust, then said, “Then he is fortunate on two counts: he is immune, and I do not carry my own sword. Let him go.”