War (5 page)

Tallmadge shifted in his chair and replied as tactfully as he could, “But, your lordship, I had thought that the Proclamation of ten years ago ordered that part of the continent closed to settlement.”

Dunmore shrugged. “To private settlement by these land companies, yes. However, it does not bar the Crown from formulating its own designs on the region.” He sighed. “But, private settlers aplenty there are there, and scruffy shirtmen and other English barbarians by the score. They range over the area at will, poaching as they like and clearing land for farms and provoking the savages. But, the region is ripe with possibilities in land and trade. Why, George Washington and I discussed the idea of a joint venture there just the other day, while his fellows in the House were plotting the offense for which I dissolved them. Mr. Washington — a likeable fellow, but at times too full of himself, I would say — likes to be called ‘colonel,’ a grave disappointment to me. Seems his task was to keep me away from the Capitol while they did their dirty work.” He snorted once in the lingering humiliation of having been duped.

Tallmadge kept his thoughts to himself. He had heard of the Earl’s appetite for land. It was in conflict with the Crown’s. He doubted that the ministry would approve of the “initiative.”

Dunmore’s brow furled in curiosity. “What is your regiment, Captain Tallmadge?”

“None at present, your lordship,” replied Tallmadge. “I am on detached service. However, I was ensign with the 20th Regiment of Foot under Major General William Kingsley at Minden, and brevetted lieutenant at that action. Since the war, I have served in a number of diplomatic posts, and taught artillery at Woolwich. Also, I have sat for Bromhead in the Commons for eight years.” He took a sip of the wine that a servant had poured him, then added, “Lord Barrington himself interviewed me for my present mission, and pressed upon me its importance.”

“And why do you and your aide present yourselves to me out of uniform?”

Tallmadge, sensing that Dunmore was a little vexed by this fact, attempted some humor. “Because we do not have a regiment behind us, your lordship.” Dunmore simply stared at him, unamused. “We judged discretion
the better part of valor, in this instance, given the troubles here, and chose to make our inquiries in gentlemen’s garb. In the course of our journey from South Carolina, we learned that in many venues, His Majesty’s scarlet was most assuredly not welcome. We could not have gathered as much information as we have, had we flaunted our presence and purpose.”

Dunmore hummed in concession to his guest’s reasoning, but still did not like it. “Well, Captain Tallmadge, what
have
you learned?”

Tallmadge sighed. “I can offer you an assessment, your lordship, in lieu of an incomplete report from my journal notes. It is that if there is trouble, the army will have a difficult time reestablishing authority and order.”

“Why do you think so?”

“I would say that fully one-third of the armed populace here would be enough to tax the army’s abilities, and that this one-third would outnumber our forces by five to one. And, it would not adopt regular methods of fighting. One-third of the populace seem to be loyal, and the remaining third indifferent.” Tallmadge felt obliged to qualify his assessment. “What the militia lack in discipline and order, they would make up in numbers and tenacity. In any military action, our army might prevail and carry the field, but it would be at obscene cost.”

Dunmore waved the assessment away with a hand. “You over-worry the situation, Captain. I see the solution immediately. The loyal third could be treated as allies of our forces, and the navy could blockade the ports here to prevent arms or munitions from reaching any rebels.”

“If they are merely rebels, your lordship. The Americans here would fight on, no matter what steps were taken to debilitate them. And, they are quite adept at smuggling, as you doubtless know.” After a pause, Tallmadge ventured, “I believe it would be a fatal error to regard them as mere rebels.”

“Why do you say that, sir?”

“They would be fighting for their liberty. That one word has rung in our ears all the way from Savannah.”

Dunmore snorted again and shook his head emphatically. “All this talk of liberty and such, it’s just a moonraker for the merchants and planters here! Makes ’em feel good about their treason and grasping ways, and lets ’em bedazzle the noodles of the common folk! High talk by and for low men, that is all it is! Don’t let it scruple your assessment, Captain.”

“No, your lordship. Of course, not.” Tallmadge exercised the discretion he had boasted of, and refrained from reminding His Excellency that it was
not a London mob that the army could be faced with, rioters who could be dispersed with a single volley from grenadiers and a charge by sword-wielding cavalry, but an army largely and ably officered by men who had seen service in the late war.

Dunmore continued briskly, “If there is trouble, Captain, it will be easily dealt with. No doubt, when you passed through North Carolina, you learned how Governor Tryon dealt with the Regulators there some years ago, when they stirred up disaffection in the hills and challenged Crown authority. He marched out and thrashed them in battle, then executed many of their leaders even as the smoke cleared. Mr. Tryon now governs New York, and I daresay he will act with like verve if there is trouble there. I will act with no less authority, at the first sign of rebellion.”

After another gulp of wine, the Governor continued. “It’s intolerable, the way these people behave and talk! To listen to them, you would think they resided in France, or Prussia, or Spain and were pauperish wretches who never had two coins to rub together! And, the seditious literature they pass around among themselves! Outrageous, libelous twaddle! But the London papers republish it as though it were amateur poetry!” The Governor paused to lean forward over his desk and shake a finger at his guest. “Mark my words, Captain, when the Crown moves to settle scores, English as well as colonial necks will snap by the dozen, there won’t be enough hemp for all the hangings, and there will be weeping and wailing and the gnashing of teeth in many a house on both sides of the Atlantic!”

“Yes, your lordship.” After a moment, Tallmadge recovered from this tirade and replied, “We did hear of the Regulator episode.” He did not add that he had also heard that the Regulators’ chief complaint was that they were not represented in that colony’s legislature, and as a consequence were taxed and harassed without any legal means of redress.

Dunmore looked mischievous. “You know, I was Governor of New York for a while, as well, but received instructions to occupy this Palace after less than a year there, while Governor Tryon was reappointed to New York. I offered to trade posts with him, but he turned me down. I think I got the better part of the bargain!” When he saw the courteous but blank smile on his guest’s face, he said, “Well, you have journeyed through one-half of Virginia, Captain. What is your assessment of trouble here?”

“Again, your lordship, I judge the populace here to be divided in thirds. I do not expect that assessment to much change as we go on. If your lordship could provide me with whatever numbers he might have on the militia
he commands, it would greatly aid my purpose.”

“I see. Well, my secretary, Captain Foy, can oblige you with those. See him about it. What are your immediate plans?”

“Lieutenant Manners and I will tarry here for a few days, collecting what information we can, then continue our journey northward, through Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey and New York. We will end our survey in Boston, where we will report to General Gage.”

“Is he expecting you?”

“Doubtless he has been apprised of our presence and mission and expects our arrival.”

“How did you come here? By way of Norfolk? There’s a loyal town!”

“True, your lordship,” Tallmadge replied, remembering all the Scottish merchants in that city, which was far larger than Williamsburg. “We passed through it, and Portsmouth, as well. We took a ferry from Surrey to Jamestown and arrived yesterday afternoon, and found lodging. We came into town just as the burgesses were reassembling at a tavern here.”

“Recalcitrant beggars, those men!” exploded the Governor, hammering a pile of papers before him with a closed fist. “Why, do you know that I tried to get them to pass a bill that would pay Captain Foy a salary from public funds, as was a proper arrangement? They dug in their heels and refused to! Now I must pay him from my own chest! Well, that will change! Many things will change! The government, I hear, are getting up enough bottom to rewrite all these bothersome charters. Massachusetts is just the beginning! There comes a time when a parent must cease coddling his bairns. I told my oldest son that, just the other day, as a warning.”

Tallmadge let the Governor rant on again about the ingratitude of the colonies and the treason of the agitators, and nodded mechanical agreement at the appropriate times. He thought he could sympathize with the legislature that defied such an abrasive person. Abruptly, Dunmore’s features softened. “Well, Captain! Enough business for now! Would you and your lieutenant be my guests at supper tonight? I am certain, that after so much time in the saddle, you must be starved for decent fare and civil company.”

Tallmadge had planned to frequent several of the town’s taverns and coffeehouses over the next two days to pick up intelligence, beginning today, and knew that the sooner he and his aide saw to it, the sooner he could make his way to Caxton to see his friend and brother-in-law, Hugh Kenrick. But, he could not decline an invitation from the Governor, for
whom he was developing a marked dislike. He said, repressing a sigh, “We would be honored, your lordship. Thank you.”

N
otwithstanding the renewed ill-feeling between the Governor and the burgesses, the ball held in the Capitol in honor of Lady Dunmore the evening of the next day was a grand, well-attended affair, enjoyed by all. The burgesses’ chamber was filled to capacity, overflowing into the adjoining hallway and even to the piazza. Many burgesses still in town had brought their wives with them in anticipation of the event. Minuets, court dances, country-dances, reels and jigs were performed. The town musicians hired for the occasion seemed to be in tireless fettle. The event served to reassure everyone that all was well and that no clash of wills could ever have occurred.

Most attending Virginia ladies found that Lady Dunmore, even after having birthed seven children, was still a charming, attractive, and genial woman; a few of them remarked in private that she deserved a “better circumstance,” that is, a worthier, more admirable, and certainly a less boorish husband. They reserved judgment on the royal couple’s three older sons (the youngest had been left behind in England) and three daughters, who also were present at the festivities; they seemed well-behaved but a tat condescending, especially Lord Fincastle, who was attending the College. “As full of himself as his father,” whispered many.

Beneath the gaiety, gossip and music, however, ran an undercurrent of concern and regret — regret that such an occasion might never be experienced again, and concern about the Governor’s intentions. The concern was more often discreetly expressed by men in the piazza than in the crowded chamber, away from all the inquisitive ears there.

Near the statue of Botetourt, two gentlemen, one young and one old, discussed the Governor and his actions. “He claims that the Pennsylvania government is lax in protecting the western settlers from the Indians,” observed the younger gentleman in reply to the other’s indiscreet and somewhat ribald remark about the Governor, “and that the settlers there would likely prefer to be governed by Virginia. He commissioned a chap by the name of John Connolly to act as governor there.”

“Prefer to be governed by Virginia?” scoffed the older. “Say, rather, by Lord Dunmore! And how long would that happy union last, once they got
to know His Excellency’s means and aims?”

“He plans, I am told, to rename Fort Pitt after himself, and will send Connolly to occupy it.”

“The hubris of him! What has he in mind? A war between our two colonies? What blindness! What temerity! His Majesty won’t stand for it, not for a moment! He’ll intervene, and then perhaps we’ll be blessed with a wiser governor and more just laws!”

The first gentleman demurred a reply to this latest aspersion, and instead effortlessly redirected the conversation. “I have heard that a Shawnee chief by the name of Cornstalk intends to wipe out our settlements along the Ohio, and perhaps carry a war into western Virginia, as well. The Governor could only do his duty and call for the militia in answer.”

“Perhaps he must, sir! But, wouldn’t that fit nicely into the Crown’s designs, to keep us penned east of the mountains?” said the older gentleman with bitterness. “I know it would please His Excellency no end! Going to war with the Shawnees and Ottawas up there would distract our attention from his designs here, and cast him unfairly in the role of savior and hero! Then his
earlish
prerogative would allow him the pick of patented lands that others have already paid for! Royal robbery, I say! We know what he’s up to!”

Again, the first gentleman ignored the calumny. He accounted for it by supposing that his companion owned patented land west of the transmontane, which he could now not even lawfully visit, let alone exploit. He delicately raised the topic of a possible rebellion against Crown authority. “I am told that he opines that any rebels would be pinched betwixt loyal subjects and indifferent ones, not only here, but throughout the colonies. I am afraid he may be correct in that assessment. One may observe no unanimity in dissent in the colonies.”

“Did he now?” The other gentleman looked quizzically into his companion’s face. “Zounds! You are a mine of information, sir!” He paused to take a generous sip from the stoneware mug he held. “Speaking of western settlers, what of our own? No new counties may be created by the Assembly without Crown approval, and no approved county could be represented in the Assembly! More robbery!”

The other gentleman ventured ruefully, “Why, they would be
virtually
represented in your Assembly, just as nine-tenths of the populace of Britain are represented in Parliament.”

“Bosh! What
Assembly
?” dismissed the second gentleman with a wild gesture to the House chamber with his mug, whose contents flew out and splashed to the ground. “They are intent on committing
liberticide
!”

It was the first time the other gentleman had heard the term, though he needed no definition of it. He knew that his companion was emboldened in his incautious remarks by the potent rum punch being served this evening. Drunk for a penny, nearly under the table for tuppence! But angry, as well; perhaps rightfully so, he reflected. Still, one thing he had learned during his years as a diplomatic attaché, was that diligent sobriety in many upright men was an iron door whose key was often simply a few judicious bumpers of excellent wine. Skillfully, liberally, and patiently applied, spirits could nearly always open that door to bare the soul and most secret thoughts of the most guarded courtier, confidant, or envoy.

With a smile he gently removed the mug from the gentleman’s hand and placed it on a corner of the pedestal. Like most of the other drinking vessels being employed at the ball this evening, the mug sported a cameo silhouette of John Wilkes on one side, and “No. ’45” on the other. He supposed that the presence of these mugs was a subtle act of defiance by the burgesses, but one apparently lost on the Governor. His companion did not seem to notice the courtesy. “Who, sir, is committing liberticide?”

“All the men upholding Crown authority!” The gentleman again studied his companion more closely with squinted eyes, and inquired, “Who
are
you, sir? I don’t recollect your name or viz.”

The handsome, equally well-attired gentleman smiled and replied, “Roger Tallmadge…of Boston. I am touring Virginia in search of a purchase, perhaps a tired plantation I might revive.”

“Well, you’d better hurry, sir, before our Governor beats you to it!”

Tallmadge nodded to his companion. “I should agree with you about that, I am told, as well.” He smiled again and asked, “And you, sir? With whom have I the pleasure of speaking?”

“Reece Vishonn, sir!” boasted the gentleman. “I am master of Enderly plantation in Queen Anne County!” Vishonn put a friendly hand on Tallmadge’s shoulder. “If you plan to pass through my parts, please accept my hospitality! I must warn you, though, there is no property there for sale!”

“Thank you, sir. If I happen in that direction, I will surely pay a call.” The captain was tempted to ask his companion if he knew Hugh Kenrick, but decided against the query.

Much of his “hearsay” was communicated to him by Lord Dunmore
over supper at the Palace the previous evening. He had been personally invited by the Governor to the ball tonight. He had accepted, half hoping that Hugh might be in attendance. But, his friend was not here.

And, he had accepted because his estimation of Lord Dunmore’s character and governing policy was growing more and more negative. The man seemed prone to churlish vindictiveness. He was certain that to have refused the invitation would have sent the Governor into high dudgeon. He concluded that the man’s character was so overbearing and sensitive to abrasion that, had he declined the invitation and incurred the man’s animosity, it was likely that the Governor would have broadcast his identity as a serving officer in the Crown, and his mission, as well.

After a few more minutes of conversation with the planter, whom he left leaning against a column in a besotted but pensive mood, Tallmadge returned to the ballroom and took his leave of the Governor and his lady, thanking them for the invitation and informing His Excellency that he would depart Williamsburg early in the morning. The couple wished him Godspeed and a fruitful journey.

When he returned to Maupin’s tavern later that evening, he found affixed to the door of that establishment a freshly printed broadside entitled “An Association, signed by 89 members of the Late House of Burgesses,” bearing today’s date. He gently removed the broadside from the door, folded it, and put it inside his frock coat. Inside, after a brief exchange of pleasantries with the proprietor, he ascended the stairs to the room he shared with Lieutenant Manners. Here he reopened the broadside and read it with some amusement but little offense, and searched through the numerous, densely packed rows of names printed at the end of the statement. He did not see Hugh Kenrick’s.

He thought its absence very curious.

“How was the ball, sir?” asked the junior officer, who sat in his nightshirt at a small desk in the corner, reading a military manual by candlelight, Clarke’s 1767 translation of Roman general Flavius Vegetius Renatua’s treatise,
De Re Militari
. Tallmadge had read that, and many French army manuals, plus Frederick the Great’s own military treatise years ago, and insisted that his aide read them on the mission for “diversion” and “edification.”

“Instructive, Mr. Manners,” answered Tallmadge. “Very instructive. If His Excellency has his way, this colony may well need to adopt ‘Land of the Leal’ as its particular anthem.”

“Bloody, greedy Scots!” muttered the lieutenant.

Tallmadge mildly rebuked his aide. “Be kind, Mr. Manners. They are half the backbone of the empire, in commerce and in troops.”

Captain Tallmadge and his aide rode out of Williamsburg the next morning, the rising sun on their backs, and reached the Hove Stream bridge outside of Caxton by mid-day. The captain asked a passing farmer on his way to Williamsburg with a wagon of produce for directions to Meum Hall. Soon, in the distance, over a rise on Freehold Road that paralleled the stream, they could see the undulating red pennant and furled topgallant sails of the masts of a merchantman at rest, and, beyond them, a broad gray-blue streak of the York River.

* * *

Jack Frake sat in his library, estimating on paper the number of tobacco seedlings that were now being transferred from the seedbeds to the fields by the tenants. He glanced up now and then to watch them at the task through his window. The rye and barley sown last winter were coming up, and the corn and oats had already been planted. Together with an uncertain political situation — all of Caxton knew that the Governor had dissolved the Assembly two days ago — it was becoming more difficult to plan the proportions of his crops now, because of the uncertainty of their markets and transportation.

There was a knock on his door, and Ruth Dakin, a house servant and wife of Henry Dakin, the cooper, opened it and stood at the threshold. She exclaimed excitedly, “Master Frake! Look who’s come home!” She stood aside to reveal the figure of John Proudlocks, who wore a broad grin.

Jack dropped his pencil and rose instantly to go to his friend and former tenant. He took the man’s hand in both of his and shook it vigorously. “Welcome back, John!” he laughed.

Proudlocks also laughed. “It’s good to be back, sir!”

“
Sir
??” queried Jack with astonishment.

Proudlocks shook his head. “I have learned to avoid unintended assonances, Jack.”

Jack waved his friend to a chair in front of his desk. “How was the crossing?”

“Uneventful,” Proudlocks said, coming in. “Six weeks before a good set of winds. Mr. Geary called them soldiers’ winds. He will come up shortly
with your mail.”

Jack said to Ruth Dakin, “Ruth, some port, please.”

The servant nodded and left the room to fetch the refreshments.

When he was settled in his own chair behind the desk, he studied Proudlocks, who was garbed in a fine frock coat and other gentleman’s wear. Proudlocks removed his tricorn and put it on Jack’s desk. His hair had been barbered, and was tied in back with a brown ribbon.

Jack noted a great difference in his friend, one that not even their frequent letters between Caxton and London over the last three years could have prepared him for. He saw a broader wisdom, a vaster knowledge, and, somehow, a completion in the man whom he thought had been complete when he saw him board the
Sparrowhawk
to begin his voyage to England to study law.

Proudlocks braved the scrutiny with an amused smile. “I have not changed, Jack.”

“No, you haven’t,” answered Jack. “Did you come here directly from the waterfront?”

“No. I stopped at Sachem Hall first, to look at the place.” Proudlocks paused. “I have not yet reconciled myself to the fact that the place is mine. I left so soon after Mr. Reisdale’s passing.”

“Mr. Corsin has kept it going properly,” said Jack. Enolls Corsin was the business agent and steward of the late Thomas Reisdale’s plantation. “I helped him dispose of some of your crops, and Mr. Dakin and Mr. Topham repaired some of the outbuildings.” He grinned. “You know, your staff has taken to referring to you as ‘Prodigal Proudlocks.’”

“Yes. You mentioned that in one of your letters. I
have
been the absentee owner, haven’t I?” remarked Proudlocks with a chuckle. “Where is Etáin?”

“At Mr. Kenrick’s, talking music with Reverdy. She’ll be delighted to have you back. You must stay for supper.”

“I will, thank you.” Proudlocks added, “I brought her a bundle of sheet music.”

“She will thank you for it.” Jack sat back in his chair. “Well, was it worth the time?”

“Yes, it was well worth the time.”

Ruth Dakin returned with a tray holding two mugs and two bottles of port. She served the men, then left the room.

After a sip of his port, Proudlocks said, “I shall miss London. I almost
felt as though I belonged there. There is so much to see and do there. It is a stimulating city. I must accustom myself again to Caxton’s more leisurely ways.”