I lost no time after getting to Annapolis in confiding to Mr. Swain the
conversation I had had with my cousin Philip. And I noticed, as he sat
listening to my account in the library in Gloucester Street, that the
barrister looked very worn. He had never been a strong man, and
the severe strain he had been under with the patriots' business was
beginning to tell.
He was very thoughtful when I had finished, and then told me briefly
that I had done well not to take the offer. “Tucker would have made
but short work of such evidence, my lad,” said he, “and I think Master
Philip would have lied himself in and out a dozen times. I cannot think
what witness he would have introduced save Mr. Allen. And there is
scarcely a doubt that your uncle pays him for his silence, for I am told
he is living in Frederick in a manner far above what he gets from the
parish. However, Philip has given us something more to work on. It may
be that he can put hands on the messenger.”
I rose to go.
“We shall bring them to earth yet, Richard, and I live,” he added. “And
I have always meant to ask you whether you ever regretted your decision
in taking Gordon's Pride.”
“And you live, sir!” I exclaimed, not heeding the question.
He smiled somewhat sadly.
“Of one thing I am sure, my lad,” he continued, “which is that I have
had no regrets about taking you. Mr. Bordley has just been here, and
tells me you are the ablest young man in the province. You see that more
eyes than mine are upon you. You have proved yourself a man, Richard,
and there are very few macaronies would have done as you did. I am
resolved to add another little mite to your salary.”
The “little mite” was of such a substantial nature that I protested
strongly against it. I thought of Tom's demands upon him.
“I could afford to give you double for what you have made off the
place,” he interrupted. “But I do not believe in young men having too
much.” He sighed, and turned to his work.
I hesitated. “You have spent time and labour upon my case, sir, and have
asked no fee.”
“I shall speak of the fee when I win it,” he said dryly, “and not
before. How would you like to be clerk this winter to the Committee of
Correspondence?”
I suppose my pleasure was expressed in my face.
“Well,” said he, “I have got you the appointment without much
difficulty. There are many ways in which you can be useful to the party
when not helping me with my affairs.”
This conversation gave me food for reflection during a week. I was
troubled about Mr. Swain, and what he had said as to not living kept
running in my head as I wrote or figured. For I had enough to hold me
busy.
In the meantime, the clouds fast gathering on both sides of the Atlantic
grew blacker, and blacker still. I saw a great change in Annapolis. Men
of affairs went about with grave faces, while gay and sober alike were
touched by the spell. The Tory gentry, to be sure, rattled about in
their gilded mahogany coaches, in spite of jeers and sour looks. My Aunt
Caroline wore jewelled stomachers to the assemblies,--now become dry and
shrivelled entertainments. She kept her hairdresser, had three men in
livery to her chair, and a little negro in Turk's costume to wait on
her. I often met her in the streets, and took a fierce joy in staring
her, in the eye. And Grafton! By a sort of fate I was continually
running against him. He was a very busy man, was my uncle, and had a
kind of dignified run, which he used between Marlboro' Street and the
Council Chamber in the Stadt House, or the Governor's mansion. He
never did me the honour to glance at me. The Rev. Mr. Allen, too, came
a-visiting from Frederick, where he had grown stout as an alderman upon
the living and its perquisites and Grafton's additional bounty. The
gossips were busy with his doings, for he had his travelling-coach and
servant now. He went to the Tory balls with my aunt. Once I all but
encountered him on the Circle, but he ran into Northeast Street to avoid
me.
Yes, that was the winter when the wise foresaw the inevitable, and the
first sharp split occurred between men who had been brothers. The old
order of things had plainly passed, and I was truly thankful that my
grandfather had not lived to witness those scenes. The greater part of
our gentry stood firm for America's rights, and they had behind them the
best lawyers in America. After the lawyers came the small planters
and most of the mechanics. The shopkeepers formed the backbone of King
George's adherents; the Tory gentry, the clergy, and those holding
office under the proprietor made the rest.
And it was all about tea, a word which, since '67, had been steadily
becoming the most vexed in the language. The East India Company had put
forth a complaint. They had Heaven knows how many tons getting stale
in London warehouses, all by reason of our stubbornness, and so it was
enacted that all tea paying the small American tax should have a rebate
of the English duties. That was truly a master-stroke, for Parliament to
give it us cheaper than it could be had at home! To cause his Majesty's
government to lose revenues for the sake of being able to say they had
caught and taxed us at last! The happy result is now history, my dears.
And this is not a history, tho' I wish it were. What occurred at Boston,
at Philadelphia, and Charleston, has since caused Englishmen, as well
as Americans, to feel proud. The chief incident in Annapolis I shall
mention in another chapter.
When it became known with us that several cargoes were on their way
to the colonies, excitement and indignation gained a pitch not reached
since the Stamp Act. Business came to a standstill, plantations lay
idle, and gentry and farmers flocked to Annapolis, and held meetings and
made resolutions anew. On my way of a morning from Mr. Swain's house
to his chambers in the Circle I would meet as many as a dozen knots of
people. Mr. Claude was one of the few patriots who reaped reward out of
the disturbance, for his inn was crowded. The Assembly met, appointed
committees to correspond with the other colonies, and was prorogued
once and again. Many a night I sat up until the small hours copying
out letters to the committees of Virginia, and Pennsylvania, and
Massachusetts. The gentlemen were wont to dine at the Coffee House, and
I would sit near the foot of the table, taking notes of their plans.
'Twas so I met many men of distinction from the other colonies. Colonel
Washington came once. He was grown a greater man than ever, and I
thought him graver than when I had last seen him. I believe a trait of
this gentleman was never to forget a face.
“How do you, Richard?” said he. How I reddened when he called me so
before all the committee. “I have heard your story, and it does you vast
credit. And the gentlemen tell me you are earning laurels, sir.”
That first winter of the tea troubles was cold and wet with us, and the
sun, as if in sympathy with the times, rarely showed his face. Early in
February our apprehensions concerning Mr. Swain's health were realized.
One day, without a word to any one, he went to his bed, where Patty
found him. And I ran all the way to Dr. Leiden's. The doctor looked at
him, felt his pulse and his chest, and said nothing. But he did not rest
that night, nor did Patty or I.
Thus I came to have to do with the good barrister's private affairs. I
knew that he was a rich man, as riches went in our province, but I had
never tried to guess at his estate. I confess the sums he had paid out
in Tom's behalf frightened me. With the advice of Mr. Bordley and
Mr. Lloyd I managed his money as best I could, but by reason of
the non-importation resolutions there was little chance for good
investments,--no cargoes coming and few going. I saw, indeed, that
buying the Talbot estate had been a fortunate step, since the quantities
of wheat we grew there might be disposed of in America.
When Dr. Leiden was still coming twice a day to Gloucester Street, Mr.
Tom must needs get into a scrape with one of the ladies of the theatre,
and come to me in the Circle chambers for one hundred pounds. I told
him, in despair, that I had no authority to pay out his father's money.
“And so you have become master, sure enough!” he cried, in a passion.
For he was desperate. “You have worked your way in vastly well, egad,
with your Whig committee meetings and speeches. And now he is on his
back, and you have possession, you choose to cut me off. 'Slife, I know
what will be coming next!”
I pulled him into Mr. Swain's private room, where we would be free of
the clerks. “Yes, I am master here,” I replied, sadly enough, as he
stood sullenly before me. “I should think you would be ashamed to own
it. When I came to your father I was content to be overseer in Talbot,
and thankful for his bounty. 'Tis no fault of mine, but your disgrace,
that his son is not managing his business, and supporting him in the
rights of his country. I am not very old, Tom. A year older than you, I
believe. But I have seen enough of life to prophesy your end and you do
not reform.”
“We are turned preacher,” he says, with a sneer.
“God forbid! But I have been in a sponging-house, and tasted the lowest
dregs. And if this country becomes free, as I think it will some day,
such as you will be driven to England, and die in the Fleet.”
“Not while my father lives,” retorts he, and throws aside the oiled
silk cape with a London name upon it. The day was rainy. I groaned. My
responsibility lay heavy upon me. And this was not my first scene with
him. He continued doggedly:--“You have no right to deny me what is not
yours. 'Twill be mine one day.”
“You have no right to accuse me of thoughts that do not occur to men of
honour,” I replied. “I am slower to anger than I once was, but I give
you warning now. Do you know that you will ruin your father in another
year and you continue?”
He gave me no answer. I reached for the ledger, and turning the pages,
called off to him the sums he had spent.
“Oh, have done, d--n it!” he cried, when I was not a third through. “Are
you or are you not to give me the money?”
“And you are to spend it upon an actress?” I should have called her by a
worse name.
“Actress!” he shouted. “Have you seen her in The Orphan? My soul, she
is a divinity!” Then he shifted suddenly to whining and cringing. “I am
ruined outright, Richard, if I do not get it.”
Abjectly he confessed the situation, which had in it enough material
for a scandal to set the town wagging for a month. And the weight of it
would fall; as I well knew, upon those who deserved it least.
“I will lend you the money, or, rather, will pay it for you,” I said, at
last. For I was not so foolish as to put it into his hands. “You shall
have the sum under certain conditions.”
He agreed to them before they were out of my mouth, and swore in a dozen
ways that he would repay me every farthing. He was heartily tired of the
creature, and, true to his nature, afraid of her. That night when the
play was over I went to her lodging, and after a scene too distressing
to dwell upon, bought her off.
I sat with Mr. Swain many an hour that spring, with Patty sewing at the
window open to the garden. Often, as we talked, unnoticed by her father
she would drop her work and the tears glisten in her eyes. For the
barrister's voice was not as strong as it once was, and the cold would
not seem to lift from his chest. So this able man, who might have sat
in the seats of Maryland's high reward, was stricken when he was needed
most.
He was permitted two visitors a day: now 'twas Mr. Carroll and Colonel
Lloyd, again Colonel Tilghman and Captain Clapsaddle, or Mr. Yaca and
Mr. Bordley. The gentlemen took turns, and never was their business so
pressing that they missed their hour. Mr. Swain read all the prints, and
in his easier days would dictate to me his views for the committee, or
a letter signed Brutes for Mr. Green to put in the Gazette. So I became
his mouthpiece at the meetings, and learned to formulate my thoughts and
to speak clearly.
For fear of confusing this narrative, my dears, I have referred but
little to her who was in my thoughts night and day, and whose locket I
wore, throughout all those years, next my heart. I used to sit out under
the stars at Gordon's Pride, with the river lapping at my feet, and
picture her the shining centre of all the brilliant scenes I had left,
and wonder if she still thought of me.
Nor have I mentioned that faithful correspondent, and more faithful
friend, Lord Comyn. As soon as ever I had obtained from Captain Daniel
my mother's little inheritance, I sent off the debt I owed his Lordship.
'Twas a year before I got him to receive it; he despatched the money
back once, saying that I had more need of it than he. I smiled at this,
for my Lord was never within his income, and I made no doubt he had
signed a note to cover my indebtedness.
Every letter Comyn writ me was nine parts Dolly, and the rest of his
sheet usually taken up with Mr. Fox and his calamities: these had fallen
upon him very thick of late. Lord Holland had been forced to pay out a
hundred thousand pounds for Charles, and even this enormous sum did not
entirely free Mr. Fox from the discounters and the hounds. The reason
for this sudden onslaught was the birth of a boy to his brother Stephen,
who was heir to the title. “When they told Charles of it,” Comyn wrote,
“said he, coolly: 'My brother Ste's son is a second Messiah, born for
the destruction of the Jews.'”
I saw no definite signs, as yet, of the conversion of this prodigy,
which I so earnestly hoped for. He had quarrelled with North, lost his
place on the Admiralty, and presently the King had made him a Lord of
the Treasury, tho' more out of fear than love. Once in a while, when he
saw Comyn at Almack's, he would desire to be remembered to me, and he
always spoke of me with affection. But he could be got to write to no
one, said my Lord, with kind exaggeration; nor will he receive letters,
for fear he may get a dun.
Alas, I got no message from Dorothy! Nor had she ever mentioned my name
to Comyn. He had not seen her for eight months after I left England,
as she had been taken to the Continent for her health. She came back to
London more ravishing than before, and (I use his Lordship's somewhat
extravagant language) her suffering had stamped upon her face even more
of character and power. She had lost much of her levity, likewise. In
short, my Lord declared, she was more of the queen than ever, and the
mystery which hung over the Vauxhall duel had served only to add to her
fame.
Dorothy having become cognizant of Mr. Marmaduke's trickery, Chartersea
seemed to have dropped out of the race. He now spent his time very
evenly between Spa and Derresley and Paris. Hence I had so much to
be thankful for,--that with all my blunders, I had saved her from his
Grace. My Lord the Marquis of Wells was now most conspicuous amongst her
suitors. Comyn had nothing particular against this nobleman, saying that
he was a good fellow, with a pretty fortune. And here is a letter,
my dears, in which he figures, that I brought to Cordon's Pride that
spring:
“10 SOUTH PARADE, BATH,
“March 12, 1774.
“DEAR RICHARD:--Miss Manners has come to Bath, with a train behind
her longer than that which followed good Queen Anne hither, when she
made this Gehenna the fashion. Her triumphal entry last Wednesday
was announced by such a peal of the abbey bells as must have cracked
the metal (for they have not rung since) and started Beau Nash
a-cursing where he lies under the floor. Next came her serenade by
the band. Mr. Marmaduke swore they would never have done, and
squirmed and grinned like Punch when he thought of the fee, for he
had hoped to get off with a crown, I warrant you. You should have
seen his face when they would accept no fee at all for the beauty!
Some wag has writ a verse about it, which was printed, and has set
the whole pump-room laughing this morning.
“She was led out by Wells in the Seasons last night. As Spring she
is too bewildering for my pen,--all primrose and white, with the
flowers in her blue-black hair. Had Sir Joshua seen her, he would
never rest content till he should have another portrait. The Duc de
Lauzun, who contrived to get two dances, might give you a
description in a more suitable language than English. And there was
a prodigious deal of jealousy among the fair ones on the benches,
you may be sure, and much jaundiced comment.
“Some half dozen of us adorers have a mess at the Bear, and have
offered up a prize for the most appropriate toast on the beauty.
This is in competition with Mrs. Miller. Have you not heard of her
among your tobacco-hills? Horry calls her Mrs. 'Calliope' Miller.
At her place near here, Bath Easton Villa, she has set up a Roman
vase bedecked with myrtle, and into this we drop our bouts-rimes.
Mrs. Calliope has a ball every Thursday, when the victors are
crowned. T'other day the theme was 'A Buttered Muffin,' and her
Grace of Northumberland was graciously awarded the prize. In faith,
that theme taxed our wits at the Bear,--how to weave Miss Dolly's
charms into a verse on a buttered muffin. I shall not tire you with
mine. Storer's deserved to win, and we whisper that Mrs. Calliope
ruled it out through spite. 'When Phyllis eats,' so it began, and I
vow 'twas devilish ingenious.
“We do nothing but play lasquenet and tennis, and go to the
assembly, and follow Miss Dolly into Gill's, the pastry-cook's,
where she goes every morning to take a jelly. The ubiquitous Wells
does not give us much chance. He writes 'vers de societe' with the
rest, is high in Mr. Marmaduke's favour, which alone is enough to
damn his progress. I think she is ill of the sight of him.
“Albeit she does not mourn herself into a tree, I'll take oath your
Phyllis is true to you, Richard, and would live with you gladly in a
thatched hut and you asked her. Write me more news of yourself.
“Your ever affectionate
“COMYN
“P.S. I have had news of you through Mr. Worthington, of your
colony, who is just arrived here. He tells me that you
have gained a vast reputation for your plantation, and likewise that
you are thought much of by the Whig wiseacres, and that you hold
many seditious offices. He does not call them so. Since your
modesty will not permit you to write me any of these things, I have
been imagining you driving slaves with a rawhide, and seeding
runaway convicts to the mines. Mr. W. is even now paying his
respects to Miss Manners, and I doubt not trumpeting your praises
there, for he seems to like you. So I have asked him to join the
Bear mess. One more unfortunate!
“P.S. I was near forgetting the news about Charles Fox. He sends
you his love, and tells me to let you know that he has been turned
out of North's house for good and all. He is sure you will be
cursed happy over it, and says that you predicted he would go over
to the Whigs. I can scarce believe that he will. North took a
whole week to screw up His courage, h-s M-j-sty pricking him every
day. And then he wrote this:
“'Sir, his Majesty has thought proper to order a new Commission of
the Treasury to be made out, in which I do not see your name.' Poor
Charles! He is now without money or place, but as usual appears to
worry least of all of us, and still reads his damned Tasso for
amusement.
“C.”
Perchance he was to be the Saint Paul of English politics, after all.