Patriots by A. J. Langguth Read Free Book Online Page A

said nothing else, andwhen he sat down the crowd was disappointed. Lyons concluded his argument by demonstrating that except for the discredited Two Penny Act, the parson would have received four hundred and fifty pounds. He called on the jury to award Maury three hundred British pounds in back pay for the year 1758. Pressing that claim, Lyons praised the Anglican clergy long and reverently.
    When Henry’s turn came, he got to his feet slowly, bowed to the bench and ambled over to the jurors. His first words came falteringly, and after Lyons’ assured performance a lost cause looked doomed still further. Townspeople who liked Henry looked away from him, and the parsons on their bench were seen exchanging smiles. One onlooker thought that Judge Henry seemed ready to slide under his seat from shame.
    Then Patrick Henry underwent a transformation. His mind seemed to turn on and generate heat until he began to glow. His shoulders straightened, and he looked for the first time as though he might be six feet tall. His movements had become graceful, even elegant, but when he turned his eyes on the jurors they saw lightning in them. One man swore afterward that Henry’s voice had made his hair stand on end and his blood run cold.
    Parson Maury was appalled by the beginning of Henry’s harangue, which he considered only a barrage of irrelevant precedents aimed at confusing the jury. But then Patrick Henry went beyond all decency. He announced that a king and his people had a binding contract. The king was duty bound to protect the people, and they were pledged to obey him. The Two Penny Act of 1758 had been good and valid legislation. When King George II did not approve it, he had given evidence of misrule. Whenever that happened, a king ceased to be the father of his people and degenerated into a tyrant.
    At that point, Peter Lyons rose from his chair. “The gentleman has spoken treason,” Lyons said, “and I am astonished that your worships can hear it without emotion or any mark of dissatisfaction.”
    From around the room came murmurs of support: “Treason!” “Treason!”
    The bench refused to interrupt. One juror nodded vigorously at Henry, who rounded now on the parsons. Was a clergyman supposed to set an example of selfishness? Should he want more than his brother outside the church? When a parson became graspingor worldly, was he serving God or serving himself? Shame on greed! said Henry. But especially, shame on pulpit greed!
    “We have heard a great deal,” he went on, “about the benevolence and holy zeal of our reverend clergy. But how is this manifested? . . . Do they feed the hungry and clothe the naked? Oh, no, gentlemen!
    “These rapacious harpies would, were their power equal to their will, snatch from the hearth of their honest parishioner his last hoe-cake, from the widow and her orphan children her last milch cow! The last bed—nay, the last blanket—fromthe lying-in woman!”
    That picture of a mother shivering as she gave birth set the parsons to muttering among themselves. Then they rose from their seats and filed out to the courtyard. Henry went on for almost an hour. In conclusion, he pointed out that the jurors weren’t obliged to award any damages at all. But if they chose to do so, let the damages be nominal. He suggested a farthing.
    After Peter Lyons had spoken again, the jurors went out to deliberate. A moment later, they were back. They had decided that to award a farthing would be insulting to Parson Maury. Instead, they awarded four times more—one penny.
    There was uproar in the court. As the sheriff demanded order and Lyons called for a retrial, spectators lifted Patrick Henry to their shoulders and carried him out to the courtyard. There he sought out James Maury and apologized for any offense he might have given. This time, Henry’s habit of deprecating himself may have provoked him into going too far. Maury told a friend later that Henry had admitted that his only reason for