New York - The Novel

By “whores,” however, he meant the royal governors.
    Though there were honorable exceptions, like Governor Hunter, most of these men came to America only to line their pockets, and the colonist knew it. And the present governor was among the worst. Governor Cosbywas venal. In no time he had made illegal grabs for money, rigged courts and elections, and thrown out judges who did not give him what he wanted. The only newspaper in the city being under the governor’s control, some of the merchants had started another of their own, to attack Cosby and expose his abuses. They’d hired a printer named John Peter Zenger to produce it. The governor was determined to close it down. And to this end, last year, he had thrown Zenger in jail, and was now about to try him for seditious libel.
    Eliot Master placed his fingers together. As a lawyer, he saw several issues. “My first comment,” he began, “refers to the manner of Zenger’s arrest. I understand that he is not a rich man.”
    “He’s a poor immigrant from Palatine Germany,” said the merchant. “Trained here as a printer. Though he’s turned out to have quite a talent for writing.”
    “And having arrested him, the governor arranged for his bail to be set at an outrageous sum, which Zenger could in no way afford? And as a result, he has languished in jail for eight months?”
    “That’s correct.”
    “Then there is a point of principle here,” the Boston lawyer said, “concerning excessive bail. It should not be allowed. But the main issue,” he continued, “is that the royal governor has been offended.”
    “We’re all ready to offend this royal governor,” his host remarked, “but because poor Zenger printed the paper, he’s being used as the scapegoat. Our people are determined to provide him with a good defense. And the new jury are quite decent fellows. I believe seven of them are even Dutch, so no friends of the governor’s. Has the fellow a chance?”
    “I think not,” answered Eliot. “If it can be shown that Zenger did in fact print the offending articles, the law says that the jury must find him guilty.”
    “There’s not much doubt that he printed the piece,” said the merchant. “And he’s continued to put out new issues of his journal by passing fresh articles to his wife under the door of his cell. But what about the fact that every word he printed about Governor Cosby is true? Shouldn’t that count for something?”
    “Our British law of libel says that’s no defense,” the lawyer answered. “And if the words insult the king’s representative, they are seditious libel. True or false, it makes no difference.”
    “That is monstrous,” said the merchant.
    “Perhaps.” Eliot nodded. “My present concern is that the law is being misused. And that is why I am so anxious to see this trial.”
    “You must be,” his cousin remarked, “to come all the way from Boston to see it.”
    “I will tell you plainly,” Eliot Master continued, “I think this no small matter. The Zenger trial, in my opinion, goes to the very root of our English liberties.” He paused a moment. “A century ago, our ancestors left England because King Charles I was setting up a tyranny. When Members of Parliament challenged his right, he tried to arrest them; when honest Puritans printed complaints of his sins, he cut off their ears, branded them and threw them in prison—using this very same charge, we should note, of seditious libel. Eighty-five years ago the tyranny of King Charles was ended when Parliament cut off his head. But that did not end all future abuses. And now, in the little tyranny of this governor, we see the same process at work. This trial is sent to us, I believe, as a test of how we value liberty.” During this speech, he had raised his voice considerably.
    “Well, cousin,” said the merchant with a new respect, “I see you are quite an orator.”
    It was not often that Kate heard her cautious father speak with such passion. It made her feel proud of him. Hoping he would approve, she joined the conversation now.
    “So when Locke speaks of natural law, and the natural right to life and liberty, would that not include the liberty to speak one’s mind?” she asked.
    “I think so,” said her father.
    “Locke?” queried Mrs. Master, looking bemused.
    “Ah, Locke,” said their host. “Philosopher,” he said to his wife, as he tried to remember something about the thinker whose doctrines, he knew, were