Caxton (25 page)

* * *

Once the novelty of his homecoming had passed, Hugh could not resist
the temptation to revisit his old haunts. He journeyed to London alone, and
wandered through the city he knew so well and missed. On the Strand, the
Ram’s Head Tavern had replaced the Fruit Wench. He went inside and
back to the partitioned private room where the Society of the Pippin had
held its meetings. On Quiller Alley, under the shadow of St. Paul’s Cathedral, he stood across the street and gazed up at the garret atop the tenement
where Glorious Swain had lived. He strode through Charing Cross, past the
equestrian statue of Charles the First, and by the pillory, now vacant, on
which he had defied a mob and Glorious Swain had died. He walked to
Windridge Court, and saw by the busyness of the stable hands and
coachmen in the courtyard that his uncle the Earl was in residence.

On his way back to the Strand, he encountered Alden Curle, once his
uncle’s valet and now the
major domo
of Windridge Court and the family
seat in Danvers, returning from an errand. The man did not recognize him
and rudely brushed by him.

Hugh turned and tapped him once on the shoulder with his cane. Curle
stopped to face him with an indignant, superior expression. Hugh said, “I
have not forgotten your role in Mr. Hulton’s dismissal, Mr. Curle.”

The servant gasped and stared at him in growing, stupid recognition.
He attempted to reply, but could only sputter unfinished words. The parcel
he carried, something bulky wrapped in paper and string, slipped from his
hand to the ground with a muted shatter of glass or porcelain. Curle’s
glance darted down and he gasped again.

Hugh asked, “How is my uncle, Mr. Curle?”
The man blinked once and managed to stammer, “He is…fine…
milord.” He glanced again at the parcel that lay at his feet, then back up at
Hugh. “May…I inform his lordship that you enquired after his health…?”
he asked tentatively.
“You may, at the risk of your own,” Hugh said. He studied the frightened, trembling man for a moment, then abruptly frowned, turned, and
walked away. Although he felt nothing but contempt for the man, he suddenly realized that Curle was no longer worthy of any expression of that
appraisal.
One afternoon he went to the city with letters he had written to Jack
Frake, Etáin McRae, and Thomas Reisdale to give to Mr. Worley to put on
the first colonial vessel to clear the Pool of London, then walked to Serjeants’ Inn to meet with Dogmael Jones. They talked politics and law over
dinner, and then Jones took him to the reading room in the Middle Temple
where the Pippins were tried years ago.
Jones raised his silver-tipped cane and swept it in a gesture to the
chamber. “The place has a special significance for me, milord,” he said.
“Here is where your friends were condemned to their fates, where I met my
worst defeat, and where I began to follow a course that led me, ultimately,
to a seat in the Commons.” He faced Hugh. “I might have followed another
course and fruitlessly quenched my anger and despair in bottled spirits of
progressively cheaper quality, but for a brief visit by you. For that little
obtrusion, I am both grateful and in your debt.”
Hugh smiled at the barrister. “You may call me
sir
, or
mister
, Mr.
Jones.”
Jones nodded in acknowledgment.
They spent the rest of the day visiting bookshops. Hugh found several
copies of Blackstone’s
Analysis of the Laws of England
, while Jones recommended other learned disquisitions on the law and government by Samuel
Puffendorf, Hugo Grotius, Robert Molesworth, and Emeric de Vattal. “The
literature of liberty is vast, Mr. Kenrick,” remarked Jones as they carried
Hugh’s purchases in a hackney to Lion Key and Mr. Worley’s warehouse,
“as you undoubtedly know. Some of it is tedious, some of it is wrongheaded, and much of it peg-legged by its premises. But when it is right, it is
glorious.” Hugh put his purchases in a special crate that Benjamin Worley
had set aside for things his former protégé was taking back to Virginia with
him. “When the Crown runs out its entire array of legal guns against
Wilkes or a Pippin, the gun ports of liberty should snap open in answer,
one after another, to reveal the primed barrels of Mr. Locke, Mr. Sidney, Mr.
Harrington, and that whole potent armament of enlightenment. The order
of fire should be commanded by a master gunner, such as Sir Charles Pratt
— he has not had a last word on the matter of general warrants — and the
vessel captained by Aristotle.”
Hugh laughed. “I wish I could be in the gallery of the Commons when
you make your maiden speech, Mr. Jones.”
“I will send you transcripts of all my perorations.”
That evening the pair went to the Mitre Tavern for a light supper. The
place reminded Hugh of the Fruit Wench. It consisted of a large front room
with many tables and the bar, and a number of partitioned “rooms” in the
rear that were occupied by private parties. “I come here often,” said Jones
as he lit a pipe. “The patrons are a more homogenous and convivial sort,
given to weightier conversation than the raucous commentary on the mundane and grosser aspects of life that one usually encounters in most other
establishments. However, I do not as a rule participate in such conversation. I merely enjoy its proximity, of being in the company of men who
bring some spark to their speculations. It reassures me that I dwell in a
society not completely dominated by dolts, priests, and politicians.”
They sat at a table next to one of the partitioned sections, more to be
able to hear each other speak in the hubbub than from fear of being overheard. Jones regaled his companion with anecdotes about the Commons.
His remarks were humorous and condemnatory at the same time. Hugh felt
invigorated by the man’s vitality and outspokenness. At one point in their
conversation, the barrister declaimed against a schedule of things he would
work for the repeal of, ending with the king’s civil list and secret service
fund. “Nothing more encourages the preservation of a tepid, suffocating
status quo than rewarding members for having helped perpetuate it. A
vested and stubbornly inert personal interest is then acquired by them in
such genteel corruption. They come to regard this lawful subornation as
practical wisdom and entitling propriety.”
Hugh shook his head, not in denial of Jones’s points, but in frustration.
“But, sir, do you truly believe that a corrupt Parliament can be a vehicle of
reform for liberty? That body must first be thoroughly purged. Its members
must be put above bribery by the government, private interests, and by
those for whom oppression and slavery are ideal states of polity. It must be
reformed to eschew all purposes but that of preserving liberty. The Commons, and even Lords, while they no longer are the servants of the Crown,
instead must be bribed to accomplish the same
quid pro quo
. By your own
account, many stalwart members of the Opposition regularly cross the floor
upon being granted places by their enemies in the government.”
Jones frowned in thought, then cocked his head once in concession. “It
is a harsh conundrum that you pose, sir, and I have not the answer to it. It
must be solved by a sage, or by general disgust. My own disgust has not yet
made me sagacious enough to solve it.”
They were aware of a lively discussion taking place in the private room
beyond the thin partition. At that moment, a voice in that quarter bellowed
loudly and distinctly enough for them to hear, “…If the abuse be enormous,
nature will rise up, and claiming her original rights, overturn a corrupt
political system!”
Both Hugh and Jones were startled by the words. Hugh remarked, “You
were right about this place, Mr. Jones. I have not heard that sentiment even
in Virginia.”
Jones chuckled and asked, “Overturn? Or sever all ties to it?” He shook
his head. “I recognize that voice. It is Dr. Johnson’s. He and his friends
come here oftener than do I. I have gained a greater understanding of my
enemies by discreetly auditing his numerous and disjunctive pearls of
thought, from this very table.”
“He spoke a truth, though,” remarked Hugh.
“So he did,” said Jones, “about that, and many other matters. But for
how long will his pension permit him to speak his own mind, to proclaim
errors of his own judgment, as well as truths?”

L
ike any holiday crammed with endless leisure and cherished company, Hugh’s stay in England passed with a swiftness that caught
him by surprise in late August. As September came nearer, his parents and sister began to regard him with expectant, wistful longing. With
an odd melancholy of reluctance and anticipation, he found himself
making brief, conscientious preparations for his voyage back to Virginia.
He regretted neither having come, nor having to leave.

His only true disappointment was having to settle for a single afternoon with his friend, Roger Tallmadge, before the younger man departed
the next day with a commercial envoy to Denmark, “to discuss the levies
on our goods taken there, and other matters,” explained the lieutenant,
“among them, the price of Baltic timber that Danish brokers sell to our
Navy. The Admiralty think their fees are too high. As his secretary, I shall
aid Mr. Everett in drafting reports of his negotiations to their lordships. A
fine irony it is,” he remarked as they strolled along a path, “that an Army
officer should be selected to assist an emissary of the Navy in his spelling
and pointing.”

Lieutenant Roger Tallmadge conducted Hugh on a tour of the Woolwich artillery park and the practice range where gunnery officers, under
his watchful and impartial eye, applied what they learned from classroom
lectures.

Hugh chuckled and said, “Irony or no, Roger, you have done well for
yourself. I would never have imagined it, but a military life seems to agree
with you. You look splendid. Now we are both something.”

Roger grinned and stopped in his tracks. He bowed in acknowledgment
of the compliment. Today, in honor of his guest, he was in the full dress
uniform of a junior officer of the Grenadier Guards, from which he was
detached to be an instructor at the Academy. The silver epaulettes on his
scarlet coat flashed in the sun, as did the silver gorget at his throat. An
immaculate red sash divided his spotless white breeches and waistcoat, and
the black, polished, knee-length gaiters made him look taller. One hand
rested on the pommel of the sword at his side; the other reached up and
briefly doffed a silver-traced tricorn in a personal salute. “To hear those
words from you, sir, means more to me than you might imagine —
elder
brother
.”

His friend’s last words startled Hugh, and caused him to remember the
man to whom he had addressed the same words, on a pillory at Charing
Cross, long ago, followed by an almost effortless recollection of the comradely badinage between him and Roger as boys in Danvers, when he had
granted Roger the privilege of being his younger brother. The associations
startled him, and pleased him. He smiled and inclined his head.

They walked on. “Well,” Hugh said, “you
do
look splendid. I’ll wager
you attract the attentions of many worthy ladies.”
Roger laughed. “And many more
unworthy
,” he said. “Whether in a
tavern or a ballroom, if one is not trying to cadge a shilling from me for her
rent, another is trying to wheedle me out of my half-pay for the price of a
Fleet marriage, and I’m certain you know the ignominious fate of those
intemperate unions.” He paused to sigh. “Women can be so…mercenary, I
needn’t tell you. I sometimes believe that they are more predatory than are
men.”
Hugh glanced at Roger. His friend had campaigned with the British
army that was attached to Prince Ferdinand, and had seen action at Bergen,
Warburg, and Minden, yet he saw no scars on him. His words, however,
were evidence of another kind of wound. “Who was she?” asked Hugh.
Roger’s mouth creased in bitterness and he shook his head. “No one
you knew, Hugh. I will spare you the details. I am trying to forget them
myself.” This time, he glanced at Hugh. “Do you hear from Reverdy?”
Hugh shook his head in turn. “No. Nor she from me.”
“I see her now and then, when we both happen to be visiting our families in Danvers. I do not speak to her. I cannot forgive her for her treatment of you.”
Hugh’s reply was brief but brittle. “Do not trouble yourself about it,
Roger,” he said. “I don’t.” And then his anger was gone.
Roger led him to the end of a line of cannon. The range was empty and
quiet, except for the sound of crickets and faraway crows. “I make my
‘cadets’ form their own crews, so that they can know what to expect from
the crews they will command,” he said. “Most of these officers resent that,
at first, but I have received letters of appreciation from some.” He nodded
with pride to another of his innovations, a line of “straw men” in the distance that represented an enemy formation. “I had a deuced time persuading the school to put that up,” he explained, “and of convincing them
of my reasoning. The purpose of artillery being, chiefly, to prompt opposing
troops to abandon their ranks and so skew a formation, and thus thwart a
commanding officer’s tactics, intentions, and effective fire, I introduced the
notion of scoring against an officer in training for smashing a bundle of
straw, and in his favor for dropping a cannon ball in front of it and missing.
Knocking a man down is the task of the firelock, that of a field gun of
instilling in him the frightening prospect of being rearranged beyond the
arts of surgery. A musket ball, at least, can be removed from him, provided
it does not cause instant or certain death. A six- or eight-pound ball, however, will simply remove the man, and perhaps the man behind him, and
continue on its terrifying way until its force is spent. And, firing a cannon
ball expends almost as much powder as a regimental volley. But, every soldier knows the terror of a cannon ball, and fears the thing, and acts accordingly, whether he is English, French, Austrian, or Prussian. He will dart
from the path of a bounding, hurtling orb of iron, no matter how many
lashes on his bare back his sergeant has promised if he breaks ranks.” Roger
swept a finger over the long, distant row of straw men. “One day, though,
some fiendish mind will perfect the fuse and fashion exploding cannon
balls, and that will be the end of infantry tactics, and even fortifications, at
least as we know them. And, I fear that our army will be the last to appreciate that advance.”
Hugh studied his friend with admiration. The boy who had needed his
protection and guidance was now a mature man, self-confident, certain of
his capabilities and worth, and unafraid. Hugh was unaccountably proud
of the way Roger had turned out. He said, “If you ever tire of the Army,
Roger — or, if it tires of you — see my father. You might find the merchant’s business interesting. Mr. Worley would welcome the help. Then,
there is Swire’s bank. I am sure that if you can calculate the arcs and distances of flying eight-pound balls, you can master interest rates and percentiles. I’ll speak with my father about it before I leave.”
“Thank you, Hugh,” said Roger. “I don’t expect either party to tire of
the other, not in the foreseeable future, at least. But, I will keep your suggestions in mind.” He paused, then grinned. “Still the elder brother,
looking out for me?”
Hugh laughed, and shrugged. “If you were a spendthrift, or one of
those presumptuous fops I saw at the school back there who are your
brother officers, no, I would have disowned you. But, I still feel like a
brother to you, though I confess I also feel somewhat helpless, because I can
no longer tell you what to do.”
Roger touched his friend’s arm, and with the gesture added, “And, I
can now load and fire six volleys in a minute.”
The officer checked two mounts from the Woolwich stables, and the
men rode down to Greenwich for supper in a tavern. “At dusk, we must
part,” said Roger as they followed the road. “I must finish stuffing my kit
this evening, and see to some school business. Tomorrow I take a packet to
Great Yarmouth to await Mr. Everett and his party. From there, we sail to
Copenhagen. I was informed that the mission will last perhaps three
months. And you?”
“I will depart later this month, or early next, on the first vessel available. I hope to be in Virginia by late October.” Hugh paused. “Three
months, versus the three years we may not meet again.”
“Who knows?” said Roger. “When my secretary’s task is completed, I
will be asked to continue on at Woolwich. In the meantime, I could enquire
about a posting to the colonies.”
Over their supper in Greenwich, they talked of their pasts, presents,
and futures. And when they had made their final toasts to each other with
glasses of ale, they rode back to Woolwich in the dusk. Hugh reclaimed his
own mount from the stables, and leaned from the saddle to shake his
friend’s hand. “Be well, Roger,” he said. “Write to me about Copenhagen
and your duties there. Perhaps you will find a Danish beauty, and bring her
back as a bride.”
Roger touched his hat in another salute. “Calm seas, Hugh, and a prosperous voyage. Be sure to write, so I’ll know that you’re safely home. Send
your letters to my parents in Danvers. They will ensure that I get them,
wherever the Army next posts me.”
With a touch of his own hat, Hugh pulled on the reins to turn his
mount around, then trotted away. When he reached the Thames again near
Greenwich, he turned west for the ferry that would take him back across
the river.

* * *

Emery Westcott, the portrait artist commissioned years ago by the Kenricks to do the entire family, was brought in again to render Hugh for his
parents. Hugh reciprocated by commissioning him to paint a group of his
parents, sister, and principal servants in a domestic tableau. “The walls of
my supper room are quite bare,” he told his mother. “Mr. Westcott’s skills
will allow me to be with you and this household every evening. Besides,”
he added in a mock confidential tone, “this picture will also allow me to
show you off to my friends.”

Effney Kenrick smiled a sad smile. “I’m so happy that you have friends
there, Hugh.”
“Friends I have, Mother, and they are as close and fiery as Mr. Jones.”
Westcott completed both his tasks a week before Hugh was to leave for
the Pool of London to await the clearance of a colonies-bound merchantman.
And when the week was past, the whole family rode to Mr. Worley’s
offices at Lion Key. The agent had found Hugh a cabin on the family’s own
Busy
, which sat at anchor and in moorings at the Key and would be piloted
back down the Thames the next morning.
The farewells were as emotional and wrenching as they were on the
Weymouth dock five years earlier. Alice sobbed, Effney Kenrick cried, and
the Baron managed to be nervously stolid. But this time they were able to
board the vessel and see Hugh’s cabin, his home for perhaps the next two
months, and the family was together until the early evening. The captain
of the
Busy
, Thomas Rowland, had them in his own quarters for supper.
Hugh accompanied his family back down the gang-board to the Key
wharf. Waiting for them there was Sir Dogmael Jones, who had been
expected earlier. The barrister greeted the Baron and his family, and apologized for his lateness. He waited again while Hugh escorted the family to
their chaise and gave them his last consoling assurances, then said, “I come
to wish you
bon voyage
, sir, and to present you with a token of my esteem.”
He gestured to the vessel with a leather satchel he was carrying. “May we
talk in your cabin?”
In that confined space near the captain’s quarters, Jones laid the
satchel on the cabin table. “In my new career, sir, I have found it necessary
to cultivate some familiarity with men of all kinds of professions, particularly those in the lairs of power and other Crown venues. Most of these
placemen naturally assume that I am cooking them for favors, when in fact
I seek only intelligence.” He scoffed. “It is no more revolting a pastime than
frequenting the company of common rogues, who differ from the placemen
only in a want of manners, the crudity of their garb, and an absence of fine,
cunning discretion.”
He paused to tap the satchel once with his cane. “
This
required the
application of not a little mental stealth and some expenditure of guineas.
Your father will be similarly honored tomorrow. I ask you not to peruse the
contents until you are well out to sea, preferably in midocean. If you read
them now, or even when our island is but a smudge on the horizon, you
may very well resolve to remain here. But, I assure you, Mr. Kenrick, that
the contents will be of greater value to you in Virginia. It is there that they
can make a difference.” He studied his attentive host. “I have a second
request: that you do not divulge the contents of this parcel to any officer of
the Crown, be he parson, Governor, or customs man.” He paused again.
“Have I your concession on these points, sir?”
Hugh nodded, mystified by Jones’s caution, but ready to give his word.
“You have, sir.”
“Good,” said Jones with a sigh of relief. “Forgive me the ominous preamble, but I promise that you will not regret having heeded my advice.”
“And, I will heed it, Mr. Jones.” Hugh indicated a bottle of claret, a gift
from Captain Rowland. It stood next to the satchel. “Will you join me in a
glass, sir?”
Jones nodded. Hugh found two glasses and poured the claret. Jones
said, “Pray do not allow the contents to sour the memory of your visit. That
is not my intention or hope. If they do, I offer my apologies. But, after your
perusal, I urge you to adopt a view of greater breadth than that of the sentiments you will read. That is the only answer to perfidy.”
Hugh could only smile in answer. He handed the barrister a glass, then
raised his own. “To your health, sir.”
Jones’s stern, guarded expression softened a little. “And, to your health,
sir.” He touched Hugh’s glass with his own. “And, long live Lady Liberty.”

* * *

An uneventful three weeks at sea passed before Hugh remembered
Jones’s satchel, which he had secured in one of his bureau drawers. Until
now, his mind had been occupied with memories of his visit, and with some
speculation prompted by Jones’s remark about “a view of greater breadth.”
A notebook lay open before him on the cabin table, and an inkstand, and a
hand holding a quill that paused at the end of a sentence. A squat hurricane
lamp with a stubby candle swayed over his head, suspended from a chain,
and cast moving shadows in time with the swaying and creaking of the
ship.