The year 2026 marks the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. Cardinal News has embarked on a three-year project to tell the little-known stories of Virginia’s role in the march to independence. As part of this, I will be writing occasional columns about the politics of the era, written the same way I’d write them today. The events described here took place in December 1763.
This project is supported, in part, by a grant from the Virginia American Revolution 250 Commission. You can sign up to receive a free monthly newsletter with updates.
It turns out that the king may not reign supreme, after all.
At least not in Hanover County, anyway, or perhaps anywhere in Virginia now.
What began as a contentious, but largely procedural, legal case over how much Anglican clergy should be paid has now turned into a cause celebre over the powers of the crown — with a Hanover County jury ignoring cries of “Treason!” as it delivered an unprecedented rebuke to His Majesty George III.
Virginia has not seen a ruling like this before — no colony has. It may take years before we fully understand the implications of the case that played out recently in the Hanover Courthouse.
For those of you who may have only heard the news retold at the local tavern, let’s recap why the case now being called “The Parson’s Cause” is so significant — and why we’re likely to hear more of the winning attorney, a young lawyer named Patrick Henry.
We begin with three basic facts known to all: First, the Anglican church is the official church of the land, which means that its ministers are paid with our taxes, whether we attend the official church, some dissenting congregation, or none at all. Second, those salaries have traditionally been paid in tobacco, because in Virginia, tobacco is more common than currency. Third, the price of tobacco has fluctuated wildly.
In 1748, the House of Burgesses set the salary for clergymen at 16,000 pounds of tobacco per year. That seemed quite fine until the droughts of the 1750s reduced the size of the harvest. The laws of supply and demand took effect: Less tobacco in the marketplace meant higher prices for the tobacco that was available, which meant that the clergy got a raise that no one intended — or, in some cases, could afford. At the time, the going rate for the golden leaf was often 4 to 6 pence per pound. In 1758, the House of Burgesses passed the Two Penny Act, which temporarily fixed the rate of clergymen’s salaries at 2 pence per pound.
You remember what happened. The clergy was outraged; they felt they were being cheated out of part of their promised salary. You may also recall that taxpayers, particularly tobacco growers, felt they were hard-pressed to pay what they owed the government.
All revenue measures passed by the House of Burgesses are supposed to be suspended until the Privy Council in London can review them. However, our royal governor, Francis Fauquier, well understood the feelings prevalent in the colony — and decided to let the law go into effect right away. He pleaded to London that to delay the measure was to effectively deny the economic relief that was so desperately needed. This is why Fauquier is one of the most popular colonial administrators we’ve ever had, and quite deserves the county that has been named after him (even if it’s said that he won the land in a poker game). He has always had a keen ear for what the public is thinking. “The country were intent upon it, and both the Council and the House of Burgesses were almost unanimous in their pressing it,” Fauquier said. “I am persuaded that if I had refused it, I must have despaired ever gaining any Influence either in the Council or House of Burgesses.” For the impudence of listening to the colonists, Fauquier earned a rebuke in London from Lord Halifax, president of the Board of Trade, who tersely sent word that Fauquier should “for the future strictly observe and obey” his instructions.
Fauquier’s reprimand was not the important part, though. The Two Penny Act was a particular outrage to the Rev. John Camm of York County. He’s clashed with colonial authorities before when he felt they were infringing on the rights of the clergy. In this case, he took it upon himself to sail to Britain to argue against the Two Penny Act — and won in London what he could not win in Williamsburg.
Camm presented a one-sided story in London. There was no talk of the financial hardship of Virginia taxpayers, instead only dire warnings that Virginians have been ignoring both the church and the crown and need to be set straight. Not surprisingly, the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of London lent a sympathetic ear to Camm’s account. And, in time, the king disallowed the Two Penny Act. By then, the economic emergency had largely passed but the hard feelings on all sides remained, with the clergy feeling they’d be singled out for punishment and taxpayers stinging at the cost of supporting the clergy.
All that might have passed, as hard feelings often do, if it hadn’t been for the Rev. James Maury of Louisa County. He felt he was entitled to back pay — and sued.
It’s notable that Maury did not sue in his own county, apparently because he knew the political climate there would be hostile to his cause. Instead, he went venue-shopping, and filed suit next door in Hanover County. At the time, Maury’s choice of venue seemed astute: Other judges have ruled that the Two Penny Act valid until London overruled it. However, Judge John Henry of Hanover County ruled that it was invalid from the beginning, setting up Maury for a big payday. The case then moved on to arguments over just how big that payday should be.
It was at that point that the judge’s son, Patrick Henry, took over the case for the defense — the tax collectors of Louisa County. (There’s some belief that the previous attorney, having lost the legal arguments, saw no reason to continue.) Pay no mind to that conflict of interest of a son arguing a case before his father; we often see those in such a small colony. Instead, pay attention to what came next. At first, Patrick Henry did not seem to be a threatening litigator; he’s only three years past being admitted to the bar. He soon proved himself a formidable orator, though.
Maury saw trouble arise early when the sheriff presented the jury pool. Maury later called the juror “the vulgar herd.” They included three religious dissenters, hardly likely to be sympathetic to an Anglican cleric, and one was a cousin of Patrick Henry. Henry saw no reason to object: “They were honest men, and, therefore, unexceptionable, they were immediately called to the book and sworn.”
Maury’s attorney, the able and renowned Peter Lyons, presented computations to support his argument that the clergyman was owed 300 British pounds in cash.
The young Henry then arose and, after a faltering start, gained his footing. He called the Two Penny Act a good law and then stunned his listeners by declaring that if the king disallows good laws, then he violates “the compact between the king and people” and thereby forfeits the expectation that his subjects will obey him. Indeed, Henry cried out that such a king then “degenerates into a tyrant and forfeits all rights to his subject’s obedience.”
Lyons objected that Henry had “spoken treason.” Others in the courtroom murmured the same, but the judge — Henry’s father — let the young fellow go on. Henry wasn’t done with attacking the king; he attacked the king’s clergymen, as well. “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 mich cow! the last bed — nay, the last blanket — from the lying-in woman!”
Henry might well have voiced what many in Virginia are thinking but none have dared say it — until now.
By virtue of the judge’s ruling, Maury was entitled to something. Henry dismissively suggested that the jury award just a single farthing. The jury deliberated just five minutes before coming back with a verdict: It quadrupled that award — to a single penny. It was clear the jury had no use for Maury — or likely any of his spiritual brethren.
The jury’s ruling is not just a rebuke to Maury, or the Anglican clergy in general, it is a rebuke to Great Britain itself because it calls into question who has the right to make laws for Virginia — our own elected House of Burgesses or a distant government in London that we did not choose. It also seems likely to elevate young Henry to greater prominence. When the lawyer walked out of the courthouse, the assembled crowd hoisted him onto their shoulders and paraded him around the courtyard like a conquering hero. It would not surprise anyone if Henry sought to capitalize on his sudden popularity by seeking a seat in the legislature. Maury claims that after the ruling Henry apologized to him for the intemperate things he said, explaining that he had said them only “to render himself popular.” That sure sounds like something a future politician would say. A Virginia jury has already ruled for a lawyer who has dared suggest the king is a tyrant. What happens if Virginia voters are next?
Historical sources consulted for this piece include Encyclopedia Virginia, “Virginia: The New Dominion” by Virginius Dabney and “Forced Founders: Indians, Debtors, Slaves & The Making of the American Revolution in Virginia,” by Woody Holton.