The Pox Party

by M. T. Anderson

  I figured ’twas some personage and mayhap one of the King’s soldiers so I repaired to the house and brought out my gun. We have slaughtered early and we are smoking now for to sell to the militia. We drew open the door to the shed, and at first our eyes were blinded by the smoke, and then we saw this uncanny sight: for it was a boy knelt upon the floor, regarding a hung swine stripped of skin as if it taught him a lesson, and his legs were curled under him. The plumes rose around him through the slats in the floor. He didn’t move just regarded the swine.

  ’Twas a negro boy of maybe fifteen or seventeen years. He was covered in mud but dressed fancy in breeches and an old coat and I figured he must have been a gentleman’s valet. I pointed the gun at him and said he should not move. He did not move a hair, but wiped his eyes which he couldn’t barely hold open to witness the world. His face was covered with tears from the smoke and his eyes they were red. I told him he was caught. He got up and started walking towards me. Standing he was taller than sitting, and I grew apprehensive for my safety and wondered should I have to discharge the gun?

  He walked to in front of the muzzle. He stood and waited to receive the shot.

  I said, I will shoot you. He stood firm. I said again that I would shoot him. He pressed his chest to the gun and closed his eyes.

  I stood amazed, and I didn’t know how to threat, he offering himself.

  I looked at him standing against the gun, and it was like he was dead already, there was — I known’t how to give it expression — there was a flatness in this boy and a gray; he was already dead; and the mud which was upon him it was like the integuments of the tomb.

  Come with me, I said.

  He didn’t move, so I drew the gun away.

  His hand came out and he grabs the muzzle and points it at him again.

  No, I say. That’s a sin.

  We didn’t move. Fire, he says.

  You come with me, I say.

  He closes his eyes and pleads: Fire.

  I went to hit him over the head with the gun and he attacked me and my boy he run at us to get by us. I tried to grab him and I did grab his coat but he fought me. We fought for some time but fear must have made him strong because I am no little wrestler and he threw me and run off. I said to my boy to call the neighbors and we would find him because he was escaped, but I didn’t want to send the boy alone, so we went and got the horse and raised the alarm. The neighbors they searched for him but we could not find him.

  We looked through the papers for advertisements and we thought it was most likely he was yourn. We tried our best to get him for you and we hope that you will remember us financially for giving you some hint of where he might be.

  God help you on your search, because he is a silent and dangerous one.

  Surely as I am

  Your humble servant,

  Elijah Tolley

  May 11th, 1775

  Fruition — Sis — Shun — bosom Friend —

  So saith the Lord from out his Shrub of Flame: Proclaim LIBERTY, every one to his Brother, and every Man to his Neighbor! And I to my sister.

  O Fruition, dear Sis, the Spirit of Liberty stirs the Countryside like Sap, & everywhere I am sensible of the Blossoms. I am in such Spirits I cannot describe the like. As we march towards Boston, we meet every Mile upon the Way another Column of Patriots bound for the Encampment at Cambridge. There is much talk upon the Road of Boston & its Captivity, for Parliament’s Army hides within — silent — mum — & its Citizens trapped, while without, our Numbers grow.

  Among our Townspeople, you may report to Aunts & Belles & Fathers — ALL WELL. Mr. Wheeler wishes I should write to Mrs. Wheeler his Regards — nay (he stops me) — his Love — which is a momentous Word, from him; & he further says, to give his Regards to little Josephine and Aaron, pat them on the Head, hold Aaron by the Hair, and tell them their Pa is marching and thinks on them oft.

  Mr. Bullock, he hath overheard Mr. Wheeler, & adds his Sentiments of affection for Mrs. B. and his Regard for her. Yea, & the Rest, who will line up Tomorrow & belabor my Quill, tho’ they hear this Missive is already sent.

  Shem and John, they is competing for Blisters. Though warned by One and All, they still, around the Fire, will pick & pick & pick — & bleed & bleed & bleed. You are welcome to Shem, Shun, when he returns Home decorated — his feet like Hives a-weeping Honey.

  I hope Ma is well. Tell her stop putting her Hand through the Window-Glass & that before she knows I’m gone, I’ll be bounding up the Meadow to watch her burn the Cobbler & dry up Turkey as in days of yore. Give her a kiss on each Cheek & don’t avoid the Mole for she is the sweetest Mamma a Man could have, or you, Sweetness, too.

  The Company of Kedron hath a new Recruit who is somewhat extraordinary & it happened this Way. Yesterday Evening, we having some several Hours still to march before we reached the Encampment at Cambridge, we halted for the Night & pitched tents near an Inn in this town; and my Brother Soldiers retiring for Refreshment in the Tavern, I followed. There we all boughten our Cup of Flip & we raised a bumper Toast of Health to the King & Long Life, & Confusion to Parliament & the King’s Ministers & the E. India Company that Own Them, & may they all die Penniless &c.

  There was Music, & it was a Fiddler played an Irish Jig, and we would have thought no more on it, if he had not played it so slow, so doleful, that it set a perpetual Gloom over the Company. And it was not simply one Tune he played thus, for faith, every Dance he played thereafter was like to set us all a-weeping.

  He was a Negro Youth, a Tall, Gawky Thing, and he played upon a Fiddle built, I would hazard, from two Gourds & a discarded Peg-Leg, but, Shun, he played like a Seraph — a Disconsolate Seraph. Capt. Draper, he opined it was sure the sweetest Music he had heard.

  We was all somewhat Awed by his Solemnity & thinking of Home & our Danger but the Innkeeper did not hold that good for Custom & spake, “Oy, Mungo — you heard of Lilt? Or is it all yammer yammer yammer with you?” upon which the Boy stopped with his Bow, and waited for Instruction. Mine Host demanded something we could dance to, if we would; & not gouge our Eyes out with the Cutlery.

  Upon which Witticism all the Patrons laughed; and the Boy, somewhat confused, blushed & placed the Bow on his Fiddle, & drew it across in a fine Shake; following which, he played a pleasant Song by one of the old Italians — or mayhap Germans — or some other People — which Song silenced the Crowds, for soon there was a Tear in all our Eyes.

  Still, however, Mine Host expressed no Satisfaction, and said it was all too Dolorous, and that the Boy should get no Supper, at which the Boy looked with Supplication & Humility & said he had played all the Evening through. Capt. Draper could not countenance the Boy’s Hunger & so he said, “Sir, I shall pay for the Boy’s Supper,” & requested the Boy to play the Song again, which the Boy did, & the Sound, even on so mean an Instrument, was delightful, full of curious Turns and hearty Lamentation.

  And when we saw the Boy turned out of doors to sleep in the Stable, coughing prodigiously from a Chill he had caughten, his Head bowed as he went . . . When I shall tell you that from our Camp, we heard him coughing without Respite and went down to view him, & found him being chided by the Innkeeper for waking the Patrons (no more pathetic a Sight could be imagined) . . . When I shall tell you this, Shun, your generous Heart shall not question that we considered Means by which we might relieve him of his Suffering.

  ’Twas I came upon the Notion that he might serve us as Musician, our only Music being John upon the Drum, who keeps not so good Time. This Proposal being applauded by the Rest, excepting John, we petitioned Capt. Draper (Kindest of Men!) & he heard of the Indignity this Boy suffered and said such should not happen in a Land roused for Liberty.

  This Morning Capt. Draper spake to the Innkeep of hiring away the Negro & then spake to the Boy himself, telling him of coming Liberty; of the Need to stand with his Brother Man & resist the Tyranny of Those Who Own Us All, Slave & Free Alike; that Parliament are Protectors of the Slave-Trade, havi
ng Interests in it; that, can we Sting Parliament, they shall no longer think so easily to rob us, & we shall have Government founded not on Piracy & Slavery, but the Rights of Englishmen; & other Fiery Words. Capt. Draper offered a small Sustenance & Pay for the Boy’s excellent Music, could he rally us upon the Fife. We gave him the Fife for Trial & he said that though he had but little Training upon that Instrument, he would assay it yet; & his Tunes on it was fine & crisp & we applauded, if only for the Festival Air of these Times, when an Innkeeper’s Boy shall be a Musician & a Peg-Leg be a Fiddle & a Cooper be a Soldier & a Slave a Free Man & ALL SHALL BE CHANGED. We having heard him play several Tunes, Capt. Draper clapped the Boy upon the Shoulder and said that his services should be of indispensable Utility.

  “Utility,” says the Innkeep. “He speaks Latin. I beg you to find the Utility in that.”

  But the Negro hath this Day as we marched provided us with much merry Music upon the Way.

  Upon the Road, we passed a prodigious Number of Companies, & some went towards Cambridge & some away, & there seemed a great Confusion. When we was got to Menotomy, there was in the middle of the Road a Gentleman at a Desk. There was Papers on the Desk helt down with Rocks. The Gentleman asked us for Company and Regiment & marked them down on a Book & then clapped & a Boy came out of a Shed by the Side of the Road & took a Note from him & went into the Shed. Others came upon the Road & the Gentleman, knowing them, directed them to proceed, or to take some several Barrels which had been marked for them. There had been some Rain & the Earth of the Road was soft & his Desk was somewhat mired as he leaned upon it.

  After perhaps a portion of an Hour, another Gentleman come out of the Shed and asked us, was we the Kedron Company, and Serj. Lammas replied we was, & this new Officer, who was some Muster-Master, directed us ride North to the Shore to a Town where we should find others of our New Hampshire Brethren and there await Orders.

  So now we are come to the Shore and encamped & tomorrow after a short March shall gain our Goal, which is the Town of Dulwich.

  ’Tis now near time for Sleeping & so I shall end —

  dreaming of my Home & my Sister,

  who am her Heroical Brother,

  Private Evidence Goring

  One final Word, Shun, which is that if you see Liz when the Girls gather to Clack, you might read her this Letter (excepting this Note) & mention how Fine a Brother I am & an excellent figure of a Man & invested in all Virtues &c. For this great Kindness, Sis, thank thee (if I may “thou” you), thou most Perfect of Sisters & thou most Sweet of Siblings & may Blessings settle like a Mess of Doves all over thy Hair. — yr Ev.

  Dulwich, Massachusetts

  May 15th, 1775

  My dear Fruition —

  Earlier this Week, a Day of Marching in the Rain hath brought us to Dulwich, where we is encamped upon the Green.

  Along the Road, we had a Prospect of Boston Town across the River Charles, which Warren of Unfortunates shewed no Activity — being mere Roofs & Steeples & Quays & the Masts of Warships in the Bay. This blank Scene regarded, productive of no Intelligence, we marched onward.

  We do not know what transpires within the Town, but there is much Word among the assembled Regiments that it is become a Prison & only those who obtains Passes from Gen. Gage may leave. Many are the Women and Children held therein by the King’s Army, & they is held hostage so we will not bomb. I tremble for them.

  Our Tents are pitched, 5 for 21 of us. Would that we were encamped like unto the Israelites, according to our own Tribes, every Man by his own Camp, & every Man by his own Standard, throughout our Hosts. But we are in close Quarters, there being 4 in my Tent — Shem, John, the Negro, & me. The Others, they call us The Wags for our Raillery though the Negro is hardly a Wag, him never speaking. We may the rest of us be Wags, but I am no Rascal, which John & your Beau Shem is, & they weary me. They are always teazing the Negro on his Silence, in hopes of drawing him out, saying, “The Negro stares at a Tree. Han’t he seen a Tree before?” & “The Negro stares at a House,” & “Now the Negro stares at Cattle,” & “Now he gapes at his Feet. This the first time you seen your Own Feet?” They mean it in Jest, but I told them still to mum up or we shall all Beat them silly.

  Our Tent is pitched beneath a spreading Oak, for Shem & John held that the Green of Leaves cooled their bleeding Stumps. I am not well pleased by the Arrangement since we is in some kind Culvert & I am in continual Fears of us all being washed away by Floods. I have told the Negro that I would sleep by the Flap because he is ill and the Water will come in & wet him. ’Twas a fine Piece of Chivalry when I spake it, but now it is but a few Moments until we sleep & I have little Relish for the Swamp which I shall cuddle to me Tonight.

  Capt. Draper hath asked me to watch this Negro Fiddler & acquaint the Boy with the Ways of our Company. He is a curious Baggage, the Fiddler — odd — unspeaking, & there is a Jest that Capt. Draper hath asked me to be the Acquainter owing to me talking for 2 Men & he talking for None.

  Your Heart would melt if you could see this Wretched, Silent Boy. When I waked at Night, I seen that he does not sleep, but sits staring at the Walls. Even when he curls beneath his Blanket, his Eyes are open. I can see them by the Candle before I snuff it — the Eyes peering.

  His Name, he tells me, is Prince.

  Your bro., your Prince —

  Priv. Evidence Goring

  [Written on the back of the letter, apparently the same day]

  Prince’s Catechism

  At Capt. Draper’s Request, I have asked the Negro boy Questions to prepare against we should be asked them by the Adjutant, should we ever find an Adjutant, and I have received the following answers for my satisfaction.

  Where are you from?

  Answered not.

  Did you flee Boston?

  Answered not.

  Where learned you to play so skillful on the Violin?

  Answered not.

  Where learned you Latin?

  Answered not.

  Do you have Papers to show you is free?

  Answered not.

  Where, formerly, did you live?

  Answered not.

  Come, sir. Did you live in an House?

  Answered not.

  I see. Did you perhaps live outside, then?

  To which he replied, “I have lived outside, sir.”

  Did you live recently in a House with a Family?

  Countenance cast down — yet defying Answer — he whispered: “I have never even dwellt inside myself.”

  I fear, Shun, faith — look ye, I fear he is fled from some tyrant Master, which is Capt. Draper’s Belief. I disclosed no such Suspicion, but said to him simply, “Slavery & Subjugation shall soon enough fall away, sir.”

  And so they shall, in the coming Tumults, as Peter’s Chains slipped from off his Wrists when the Angel smote him upon the Side; & the Gates shall be opened, & we shall issue forth, & the Meadows shall lie before us all.

  And God shall curse those who hold their fellow Men as Slaves; and in the Last Day, they shall know Weeping, when Christ comes striding from the Skies, Hands drizzling His Blood, Eyes filled with a Sorrow at what He must do: For then they who hold others in Bondage shall know the Lash & Shackle — & shall remain enchained to this Flesh, hobbled with Bone, when the Rest are released from their Gross Bodies into the hallowed Air.

  [From Mr. Richard Sharpe to Mr. Clepp Asquith of Virginia, a Trustee of the Novanglian College of Lucidity]

  Canaan, Massachusetts

  Sir —

  Thank you for your letter of the 2nd inst. It is with regret that I confirm the report that has come to your ears: The experimental subject has indeed absconded from the property, and, at present, has not been located. It pains me to provide you with this intelligence, for truth should sit with comfort, falsehood with vexation; and yet, in such a case, verity — though discomfortable — is absolutely required. Your forbearance in this matter shall be a testimony to the equilibrium of your temperament, and provid
e us with yet another example of the amplitude of your generosity.

  I may assure you that every pain is currently being taken to find the boy. We have reason to believe that he headed to the east, perhaps planning to join the militia encampments outside the city of Boston. As of this morning, I dispatched two riders to make inquiries in the towns of (a) Roxbury; (b) Charlestown; (c) Cambridge; (d) Salem; and (e) Newburyport, these last being ports of possible embarkation. If he is amongst the militia encampments outside the town, we shall locate him in the next few days — and you will receive full satisfaction from —

  Your humble & affectionate servant,

  Richard Sharpe, Esq.

  Dulwich, Massachusetts

  May 18th, 1775

  My dear Fruition —

  In my Fancy, you perch in the Cooperage & I smell the Peel of the Wood, & the Staves are around you & the white Hogsheads newly bound & the Shavings curled and looped upon the Floor, silver and gold — & you are eating a fat Mushroom.

  There is little Word from Boston. What have you heard in Kedron? Some Men of this Village put out in Whaleboats for to survey Boston’s Streets from the Water — but Boats are harassed by the Fleet strung across the Harbor & they could not tarry long.

  What can be seen in the City? Regiments of Redcoats parading through the Streets & still encamped upon the Common; Officers fishing off Balconies above the Water; Ladies in wide Windows, applying Lineament to each other’s Elbows; &c; the Stuff of Nothing. No News.

  Here, Drills & Drills & Drills. March & turn & march & turn & affix Bayonets & present Bayonets & Charge. We want Precision; we shall meet soon with the King’s Regulars, & they shall be precise enough, I trow.