Authors: Edward Cline
J
ack Frake agreed with Hugh about Reverend Acland. It made no difference to him, however, what other official presided over the marriage. He accepted his friend’s offer to ask Governor Fauquier to perform the ritual. And so, on a sunny mid-April afternoon, a short, simple ceremony was held in the ballroom of the Governor’s Palace in Williamsburg, witnessed by Etáin’s parents, Hugh, John Proudlocks, and three members of the Council who happened to be there on colony business.
Outside the Palace, Hugh told Jack that he had business upriver at West Point the next day, and so was obliged to return to Meum Hall that afternoon to prepare for the journey. “Also, some of the bashaws in Gloucester have been pestering me with invitations to call on them, and I won’t hear the end of it until I have knocked on a few of their doors.”
Even though there was no hint of an ulterior motive in Hugh’s words and manner, Jack sensed without thinking it why his friend was leaving Caxton, and said nothing. With a last shake of Jack’s hand, and a brief, decorous embrace of Etáin, Hugh bid the wedding party goodbye and departed for Meum Hall, leaving them behind to celebrate the occasion.
From Meum Hall the next morning he rode to West Point, crossed by ferry the Pumunkey and Mattaponi Rivers, and rode back east along the opposite side of the York, stopping for a day or two at several plantations. His reputation preceded him, and the hospitality shown him by the owners — powerful men who owned far larger plantations than his own or Reece Vishonn’s — helped him to forget, for a while, both Jack and the woman on whose bare shoulders his own hands would never have a right to rest.
At one point, on the riverfront lawn of an ancient plantation that was almost a town by itself, his host pointed to some dots far across the York. “That’s your place, sir, if I’m not mistaken, and just up a bit from it, that’s Morland Hall, your neighbor.” The patriarch laughed and remarked in jest, “Why, we’re practically neighbors, too, sir — after a vigorous row across the water!”
Some tenacious benevolence in his soul allowed Hugh to smile, not in response to the jest, but at the sight of one particular dot, in acceptance of an intimate, personal fact. “One of my sadder virtues,” he thought to himself. But was it so sad a virtue? The circumstances were sad, he admitted, but not the virtue that allowed him to endure them.
* * *
Men who have lost in love will try many things to fill the melancholy void. They may mourn the loss until they are emotionally drained, and can feel no more, not even their love, or become addicted to the crushing disappointment, until they can feel nothing else. They may seek to erase the pain by indulging in plebian pastimes, such as gambling, horseracing, or other diverting panaceas. They may drink to distraction, or even to tragedy. They may allow their melancholy to swell into a maddening, unrequited obsession, or fester into a malicious envy or jealousy. They may grow permanently bitter, and so poison their capacity for love, murdering it within themselves. They may commit suicide, or vanish to another city or country, or grow so distant in the eyes of their lost loves and close friends that they become cold, unknowable strangers. Men may grow in that sweet hell, or they may shrink in its fumes and flames.
Rarer are the men who choose none of these remedies, but turn instead to a life-saving course of action. They redirect the energy and vitality of their souls to other passions, passions that share the wellsprings of their lost loves. They may redouble their efforts to improve and perfect their property, or hone the powers of their minds by immersing themselves in the wisdom of their time. Or they may go into politics, if they believe that this realm would benefit from their presence and participation.
Hugh Kenrick, exponent of the Enlightenment, veteran of the discipline of reason and proponent of its properties of salvation, did all these things. He wished to live, not merely to exist or survive. He did them, in part, in the unacknowledged honor of the person who would never grace his life or house as his spiritual partner.
He designed and had constructed atop a pine tower at the side of the great house a water collection tank in order to have running water inside the house and the attached kitchen, and had iron pipes installed with taps and basins in many of the house’s rooms. He designed and had built an underground ice-cellar. He reduced the acreage devoted to tobacco — the
market for the leaf had declined in Europe, at least temporarily — and planted more wheat and corn. His brickworks grew in reputation, and vessels called regularly at his pier to load pallets of the brick for customers as far away as Richmond and Fredericksburg. He journeyed to Philadelphia on business to see his and his father’s agents, Talbot and Spicer, to see Novus Easley, and for pleasure, to buy books not carried by the printers’ shops in Caxton and Williamsburg.
One hot afternoon, the summer following Jack Frake’s marriage to Etáin, Reece Vishonn rode from Enderly to Meum Hall to broach again the idea of Hugh standing for burgess. Although William Granby could have retained the seat and probably won reelection even though he had already moved with his wife to Fredericksburg and another county, he had expressed no interest in continuing to represent Queen Anne County. And no one else had announced his candidacy for the vacant seat. With Vishonn was Edgar Cullis, the remaining burgess.
The planter and his younger companion found Hugh on the top platform of the pine tower, wearing a straw hat and a carpenter’s apron that was heavy with nails, busy with another man hammering planks to the structure. Near the base of the tower were some thin, curved lengths of pine. Several workers were busy hewing and planing other lengths, while another group was engrossed in the task of fitting another length into a flat contraption that lay on the ground near the cooperage.
Hugh did not notice his visitors until the worker with him spoke to him. He waved his hat at them, then climbed down from the platform. He rinsed his face and hands from a bucket of water, then strode over to the mounted men. “Good day, sirs,” he said in greeting. “To what do I owe this call?”
Reece Vishonn nodded, but stared back at the tower and the activity around it. “What is it you’re putting up, Mr. Kenrick? A watchtower? Are you expecting Indian raids, or mischief by Mr. Swart?”
Hugh laughed, and explained the work that was going on. “…It’s not so strange a machine, sir. There are several like it in London. Once it is assembled, we must treat it like a ship. We will caulk the seams inside and out, even though the tongues will fit into the grooves and the weight will help seal the whole. Then we must tar the inside wall as well, to prevent further leakage. That will give the water a slight taste, but they say tar water has medicinal qualities. But, see here,” he said, as he showed his visitors around the cooperage, and pointed to the flat, oaken device that held a single curved plank. “This is an idea I’ve adapted from how carriage
makers up north fashion continuous rims for their wheels. Once a plank is ready, and its tongues and grooves finished, its length is forced into this mold and allowed to set until it assumes the necessary shape…. The tower vessels in London are rectangular, and their corners often spring leaks…. ”
Edgar Cullis squinted in thought, and asked, “But, sir, how is water to get into this receptacle?”
“By rainfall,” answered Hugh. “The roof, or lid, will have three wide funnels to collect it.” He grimaced. “Of course, I shall need to devise something to discourage birds from making nests over them.” He nodded to a pile of iron pipes that lay beneath the tower. “And, once the receptacle is finished, we shall connect the pipes. I’ve prepared two rooms in the house and the kitchen there to link the pipes with the tower.”
“Those are not
my
pipes,” remarked Vishonn.
“No, sir. I purchased those in Philadelphia, as well as the brass taps and the basins. Porcelain basins, no less.”
Vishonn shook his head. “You, sir, are a wonder. Who would have imagined that London plumbing would ever come to Caxton?” With an admiring glance over the tower and the scene around it, he added, “I shall have to look into constructing one of these for Enderly, Mr. Kenrick.”
“When you are ready to, I would be happy to offer my consultations.” Hugh waved his hat to the house. “Well, please come in, sirs. I shall ask Mrs. Vere to prepare some tea.”
When they were settled in Hugh’s study, Reece Vishonn stated his business. He knew that his host frowned on chitchat and idle talk. He and Edgar Cullis sat in their chairs, teacups in hand, and waited for their host’s answer. The ticking of the floor clock was interrupted by the muffled hammering of the workers on the water tower.
After a moment, Hugh smiled and said, “I have pondered for some time the question of whether or not I could tolerate a stint as burgess — provided I am elected. And, yes, I am willing to mount the hustings.”
Vishonn breathed a sigh of relief, as did his companion. “Your election will be practically guaranteed, sir. You have more friends in this county than you may realize.”
Hugh frowned, and took a sip of his tea. He asked, “Why solicit me, sir, and not, say, Mr. Frake?”
Edgar Cullis chuckled, glanced once at his companion, then leaned forward and addressed Hugh. “I warned the gentleman that you would ask that question, Mr. Kenrick. Truly, I did.”
The older planter by then had marshaled his thoughts, and cleared his throat. “Because, sir — and forgive me if I speak frankly about your friend, and mine — his views are too, well,
violent
. Written in stone, so to speak. I am in agreement with many of them, of course, but not all, mind you. However, there are many planters and freeholders here who would not agree with him on the quality of a leaf or ale, never mind any matter that concerns the Crown. I confess that I fear him, but only a little. Others, though, tremble at the thought of him speaking his notorious mind in the Assembly.” Vishonn assumed an apologetic look. “
That
is why we have never solicited Mr. Frake’s candidacy.”
“But that is what the Assembly is for, sir,” said Hugh. “For our representatives to speak their minds.”
Edgar Cullis shook his head. “Pardon me, sir, but not at the price of repeated prorogations by the Governor, which surely would happen every time Mr. Frake rose to speak. And that would happen if Mr. Robinson or Mr. Randolph or Mr. Wythe failed to move for a censuring of him.”
Hugh grinned in concession. “You have answered half my question,” he said to the older planter. “And you have portrayed Mr. Frake as a kind of golem, when in truth he should be dubbed Gog to my Magog. My views are compatible with his in every aspect. Surely you know that.”
Vishonn shook his head this time. “Not in every aspect, sir. Whereas you hold out hope of persuading the Crown of the value of these colonies — and of Virginia in particular — Mr. Frake seems resigned to the worst possible predicament, and is adamantly fatalistic in that regard.”
“That is true, insofar as we differ about a resolution. But that is our sole difference.”
“It is a difference that makes you a far more eligible candidate, sir.”
“And a far more credible one,” added Edgar Cullis.
“And now I answer the second half of your question,” said Vishonn. He rose and paced back and forth before Hugh’s desk. “It is through steadfast moderation that we have a chance to outflank and foil the forces that require our absolute obedience and observance of the Crown’s laws. There is a coolness in your wit, sir, that has seduced many of us in Caxton. And it is cool heads that will be wanted in the Assembly in the future. The Assembly is at this time roughly balanced between men of Mr. Cullis’s generation, and men of my own. Younger, hotter blood, however, is beginning to be returned by the counties, and these are impetuous youths who I believe would prefer to send fire-ships of rhetoric to king and Parliament
over civil remonstrances and addresses. Their immoderate language could only invite reprimand and retribution.”
Hugh put down his cup and saucer and thought for a moment. Then he asked, “If you believe that the Crown is of that character, why would you wish to clasp the hands of men whose first impulses are reprimand and retribution, and not reason?”
“We do not believe that all ministers are determined to bridle us, Mr. Kenrick,” said Edgar Cullis. “It is unthinkable that all the Crown’s men are hostile to the colonies, or are blinded by plain avarice. There are many in Parliament, too, in both Houses, who question the wisdom of Crown policies, past and contemplated.”
Hugh’s face brightened, for two reasons. He thought of Dogmael Jones, member for Swansditch, and the coterie of allies he had drawn around him in the Commons. But he said, “You are mistaken, sir, only about the ministers and members of Parliament being blinded by avarice. Most of them know full well the motive and ends of their policies.” He had thought, too, of his uncle, and of Henoch Pannell, and Crispin Hillier. “Do not underestimate their determination to subjugate us, nor should you overestimate their capacity for civil persuasion. If they were so susceptible to reason and good sense, we should never know their names, nor feel the consequences of their actions, except if they wrote books on logic or music, or authored papers on anatomy or the best way to grow tobacco.”
Vishonn cocked his head in studious concession, but which Hugh sensed was dismissal of an irrelevancy. He sat down again. “You are better acquainted with these gentlemen than we are, good sir, and we defer to your appraisal.”
Hugh smiled again, and rose from his desk to pace thoughtfully behind it. Then he turned to his visitors, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Here is a sample of a speech I would likely make in the House, sirs. Please listen to it, and then tell me that you still wish me to run for burgess.”
Vishonn and Cullis glanced at each other, then nodded.
Hugh rubbed the palms of his hands together once, then spoke. “Does not the Board of Trade behave like another unelected legislature, so that we, the unenfranchised liege subjects of His Majesty, are cornered by both it and Parliament? Are not the Board and Parliament two horns of the Crown bull that, in turn or together, regularly gore us, so that the weighty beast can more easily grind and crush us beneath its hooves?”