Caxton (15 page)

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 society 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 and 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….”

The worlds occupied by the two kinds of men were irreconcilable, and Francis
Fauquier, loyal servant of the Crown, knew that he owed his station and future
to the one and not to the other. Beyond this conclusion, he was unable to go.
That the two worlds must eventually conflict and war was an unfathomable projection
beyond his ken. He would never understand why he failed to govern Virginia to
anyone’s satisfaction.

Hugh Kenrick, sitting alone that evening in his room at the Raleigh Tavern,
reflected on his visit to the Palace that day and on his time with the Governor.
Although it was a near-obligation, the visit had been a pleasant chore. He had
even come close to liking the man, allowing himself to hope that the echo of
comprehension and agreement he saw in the man in response to his words was evidence
of some power and willingness to think and act on those words. But Hugh was
certain that it was only an echo. In private, the Governor could think and speak
and act as a private man. In his public capacity, he was duty-bound to be a
symbol of the Crown, and the private man vanished.