Hellfire Rebellion tw-10

by Simon Hawke

  “Let us pass.” said Hallowell.

  Nobody moved.

  Hallowell swallowed nervously.

  “Let us pass. I said!”

  “Get the bloody bastard!” someone shouted.

  The crowd surged forward. Irving tried to draw his sword, but it was snatched from him and broken. He went down beneath a flurry of swinging fists. A club snuck Hallowell’s head and he crumpled to the ground, blood streaming from his forehead.

  “Run. Dick!” Harrison shouted to his son.

  In an instant, the mob was upon them and Harrison cried out as a club glanced off his shoulder, he lashed out wildly and felt his fist connect with someone’s face. He felt hands clutching at his coat and another club struck him in the hack. Someone punched him in the face and blood spurted from his nose. He heard his son cry out behind him. They had knocked him down and several men were kicking him, then they grabbed him by his hair and dragged him screaming through the street. As more blows rained down upon him, something in Harrison broke and with a keening sound, like some wild animal, he thrashed and shoved his way through the press of men as hands and clubs struck out at him. He stumbled, but regained his balance, and then, miraculously, he was in the clear and running down the street as fast as his legs could carry him.

  He heard them running in pursuit and blind panic surged through him as he bolted down a narrow alleyway, tripped, fell, scrambled to his feet again and kept on running, not even knowing where he was running to, just fleeing in abject terror. He didn’t stop until he was blocks away, completely out of breath. He collapsed against a pile of wooden crates stacked in an alley and cowered there, trembling, his breath rasping in his throat, tears streaming from his eyes and mingling with the blood. He drew his legs up to his chest, put his head down in his arms, and sat there, weeping in the dark.

  Back at the docks, the mob hauled Ben Hallowell’s pleasure skiff out of the water, tied ropes to it, and dragged it through the streets to the Common, where it was set on fire. One group broke off to go running across the open grass to Hallowell’s house, where they pelted the windows with rocks and bricks. Another group stoned Harrison’s windows white his wife cowered inside, hysterical with fear. Eventually, the mob broke up, to proceed in small groups to the taverns on the waterfront, where they toasted one another’s courage and patriotic ardor before stumbling to their homes.

  Boston had no street Lights yet, so at night, the streets were as dark as country roads. Zeke Chilton, Johnny Long, Dick Tillotsen, and Edward Crenshaw were staggering and weaving down Fish Street, their arms around one another’s shoulders and their voices raised in drunken song when they were hailed by the watchman.

  “Who goes there?”

  “Freedom lovin’ Sonsh’a Librty, God damn yer eyes!” roared Chilton. He was the one whose club had felled Ben Hallowell, as he had proudly boasted no fewer than two dozen times that night to anyone who’d listen.

  “You’re drunk.” the watchman said.

  Chilton heaved a bottle at him and it shattered on the street. Mumbling curses to himself, the watchman beat a hasty retreat.

  “That’ll show’im,” Chilton slurred, “God damn ’is eyes!”

  “Liberty an’ prop’ity!” shouted Johnny Long.

  “God damn their eyes!” said Chilton, staggering against him.

  From behind them came the sound of hoofbeats rapidly approaching.

  “Liberty an’ prop’ity!” yelled Tillotsen, turning around to face the rider, but he froze when he saw the horseman bearing down on them, his long black cloak billowing out behind him. “S’truth!” he said. “It’s ’im!”

  The horseman’s wild laughter echoed through the night.

  A whip cracked. Tillotsen screamed with pain and dropped down to his knees, clutching at his face. Eyes rolling, the black horse reared up before them and the whip cracked once again. It snaked around Chilton’s throat and pulled him to the ground. Crenshaw turned to run, but suddenly a dark figure was before him. A club flashed and Crenshaw fell, unconscious. Drakov swung the club again and Johnny Long crumpled to the street. A moment later, Chilton joined him, and then Tillotsen was struck down

  The next morning. all four men were discovered hanging from the stout boughs of the Liberty Tree in Boston Common. Pinned to the chest of each corpse was a placard reading. “Hellfire to the Sons of Liberty!”

  4

  For a change, no one interfered with the sheriff when he went to cut the latest display down off the Liberty Tree. Boston’s mood was suddenly subdued. There had been riots, there had been looting and destruction, men had been beaten bloody and senseless, but this was the first time men had died.

  Lucas, Finn, and Andre stood apart with Hunter on the fringes of the silent crowd that had gathered to watch Greenleaf and his men remove the corpses Andre wore male clothing and to look at her, no one could tell she was a woman. She looked like a young boy of eighteen.

  “It’s started.” Hunter said. “I had a feeling it would come to this.”

  “Hellfire to the Sons of Liberty,” said Lucas. He glanced at Hunter. “That mean anything to you?”

  Hunter shook his head. “I haven’t been associating much with Tories. I’m one of the Sons of Liberty, you know.” He reached inside his shirt and pulled out a small silver medal on a chain. It was stamped with an image of the Liberty Tree. “They all wear these,” he said. “They were contributed by the silversmith, Paul Revere.”

  Ben Edes spotted Hunter and approached them. “A grim sight for a spring morning; he said tensely.

  “Aye, that it is,” said Hunter. “You know anything about this?”

  Ben Edes shook his head. “A few of the people in the crowd are saying that the horseman did it.”

  “The horseman?” said Delaney

  Edes glanced at them. “It seems that Boston has a ghost, sir. One who rides a black horse and has no head. Forgive me. but I haven’t had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”

  “Oh, my apologies,” Hunter said. “These are old friends of mine. Ben. Allow me to present Mr. Finn Delaney, Mr. Lucas Priest, and young squire Andrew Cross. Mr. Delaney’s ward. This is my good friend. Benjamin Edes, editor and publisher of the Boston Gazette.”

  They shook hands. “Would that we could have met under more fortunate circumstances.” Edes said.

  “You’re new to Boston?”

  “We only arrived yesterday,” said Lucas, “from New

  York.”

  “I hear that there are many Tories in New York.” said Edes, watching them closely for their reactions.

  “Yes, but we have had our share of demonstrations, too.” said Finn. “Of course. General Gage and his troops are quartered there, and they have largely kept events under control.”

  “Yes, so I have heard.” said Edes. “I understand that Governor Bernard has requested aid from General Gage. He thinks that Boston should have troops. Would they have prevented this? I wonder. They say the horseman rode the streets last night and that this is his grisly handiwork

  “No one saw anything?” asked Hunter. Edes shook his head. “A watchman saw Chilton and the others in the street last night.” he said. “He said they were all drunk as lords. You heard about the Liberty affair? Hallowell seized Hancock’s ship for smuggling. The Romney’s crew towed it out into the harbor, where it is protected by the Romney’s guns A crowd gathered, but they were too late to prevent the ship being seized, so they turned their anger against Hallowell and his agents. Hallowell was beaten senseless. Harrison also, though he managed to escape. His son, Dick, was badly beaten and dragged through the street by his hair. Thomas Irving was set upon, as well. An ugly spectacle. Yonder you see what’s left of Hallowell’s boat. The mob dragged it from the water and burned it on the Common. They stoned Harrison’s and Hallowell’s homes, as well. Chilton was one of the mob’s leaders, or at least so he claimed. They say he was boasting that it was he who broke Ben Hallowell’s head for him and led the riot. He claimed to be a So
n of Liberty, but Sam swears he had nothing to do with what occurred last night.”

  He glanced uncertainly at Lucas, Finn, and Andre, as if suddenly afraid that he had said too much.

  “It’s all right.” Hunter said. “They’re with us in the cause.”

  Edes nodded. “Forgive me, but these are troublesome times.” he said. “A man cannot be too careful. The council is meeting even as we speak. Hancock has lodged a formal protest against the seizure of his vessel and a delegation is to be sent to Governor Bernard, requesting that the Romney be removed from port. Meanwhile, the customs agents have left their homes and taken refuge in Castle William. Nor can I blame them. No one ever wanted it to come to this.”

  “What has Sam said?” Hunter asked.

  “He has called a special meeting at the Long Room.” Edes said “I was just now on my way there.”

  “Would it be possible for my friends to come, as well’?” asked Hunter. “Or would that be an imposition?”

  If they are patriots, sir, and you vouch for their discretion, then they are indeed welcome. And I am sure our friends would want to know how things are going in New York. Come. I will take you there.”

  They went down Treamount Street, then turned into Dock Square. From there, they took Ann Street for a block or two until it became Fish street. The same streets in Boston often had different names from block to block; the better to enable citizens to orient themselves since there was, as yet, no organized system of house numbering. Fish Street became Ship Street after a few blocks, running close by Clark’s Shipyard. They passed The Castle and The Mitre taverns and turned into the Salutation, a tavern on the corner of Salutation Alley and Ship Street whose devotees were fervent Whigs. It was not a fashionable tavern, catering mostly to the North End shipwrights, caulkers, and mast-makers, but its sign depicted two gentlemen bowing to each other, which resulted in the tavern being nicknamed “The Two Palaverers.” It was not as rowdy or notorious a tavern as ‘Ole Bunch of Grapes, but it was here where the North Caucus met in its private room.

  Sam Adams belonged to all three of Boston’s caucuses, the North, the Middle, and the South. It was Deacon Adams who had first organized these clubs, the word having grown from “caulker’s club.” since the majority of the original members were all in the shipbuilding trade. Here, in the smoke-filled private chamber known as the Long Room, much of the business of the Boston Assembly was actually conducted around a bowl of punch, with a roaring fire in the hearth. There were some sixty members in the North Caucus, but today, the group that gathered here were the members of the original Loyal Nine and the leaders of the Sons of Liberty.

  There was Sam Adams’ young cousin John from Braintree, plump, boyish-looking, and quick to speak. Hunter pointed out Dr. Joseph Warren and Dr. Benjamin Church; William Molineaux, the hardware merchant; Bill Campbell, the owner of the tavern; John Pulling, whose fame was to be eclipsed by Paul Revere’s., though it was he who would hang the lanterns in the Christ’s Church steeple to give Revere the signal that the British troops were coming; the gargantuan silversmith. Benjamin Burt, who weighed almost four hundred pounds and required the room of two men at the table; James “Jemmy” Otis. the flamboyant orator whose reason was slowly slipping away, rendering him unpredictable and temperamental, given to frequent emotional outbursts that often made no sense at all; young Josiah Quincy; the Cooper brothers, Samuel, the pastor of the Brattle Street Church, and William, the town clerk; Thomas Dawes: John Winslow and Thomas Melville, still only in his teens and fresh from Harvard, whose grandson Herman would one day write the immortal epic Moby Dick. The silversmith, Paul Revere, was also in attendance, stocky, square-faced, with his brown hair unpowdered, and his simple homespun looking shabby next to the slender Hancock’s tailored finery. And. of course, there was Sam Adams, portly and rumpled, looking like someone’s absentminded uncle, yet the real power behind the coming revolution. He called the meeting to order.

  “Gentlemen, your indulgence, please,” he said, rapping on the table with his knuckles. The room grew silent. Adams looked around. “I see that most of us are here. However, I note a few unfamiliar faces.”

  “These are Reese Hunter’s friends, recently arrived from New York,” said Edes. “Mr. Lucas Priest. Mr. Finn Delaney, and young Andrew Cross. They’ve come to observe events in Boston for themselves and report back to our friends in the New

  York colony. Reese vouches for them.”

  “Very well.” said Adams, nodding. In that case welcome, gentlemen. You have arrived upon a dark day, indeed. Four of our number have been foully slain and we are met to discuss how to proceed.”

  He looked around to make sure he had everyone’s attention.

  “There have been times.” he said. “when we have not acted nobly. Yet, hard times demand hard actions. And the mobs cannot always be controlled. Things have been done in the name of our cause that I regret, despite the fact that our cause has been advanced by them. Men have been set upon and beaten, and yet I cannot truly say that they did not well deserve a beating. There are those whose homes have been invaded and torn down, yet they were men who, by their actions, sought to invade our rights and to tear down our liberties. Men have been pressured to resign their offices, and yet it can be said that tyrants have no business holding office.”

  “Hear, hear,” said someone. We must, of necessity,” said Adams. “use whatever means are open to us in order to achieve our ends, and sometimes those means are hard, indeed… but, gentlemen, we have never yet committed murder.”

  “Not yet,” said Quincy, grimly, and several of the men grumbled their assent.

  “Not ever.” Adams said. “Not ever.” He looked around at all of them. His hands began to tremble, so he clasped them. “We are patriots, my friends, not murderers. And if the time should ever come when blood is to be spilled, then let it be in honorable warfare, and not foul murder in the night!”

  At the mention at the word “warfare,” the men began to mumble among themselves. “Yes, gentlemen, war.” said Adams. “It is the first time we have used that word among us, though I have known for some time now that war must inevitably come. It is not yet time for us to speak of war in public, but those of us present in this room must give due consideration to that eventuality. For I am certain that it must come to that. We in the colonies are not, as they call us in Parliament ‘rebellious children.’ We are grown into adulthood and the time has come for us to make our own way in the world, independent of Great Britain.”

  “Amen to that!” said Edes and several voices joined him in chorus.

  “But must it come to war’?” said Otis. “Gentlemen.” he said. rising to his feet, “there is no more noble society on earth than that of Britain! Why, we are all of us Englishmen! True. I will admit, we have had our disagreements with our mother country, but surely these disagreements can be settled without resort to-”

  “Oh, do sit down. Jemmy,” Hancock said softly, in a weary tone.

  “I have the right to speak!”

  “Sit down. Jemmy.” said Bill Campbell. “Sam has the floor.

  Amid a chorus of “Sit down. Jemmy! Sit down!” Otis reluctantly resumed his scat and fixed a morose gaze upon the punch bowl. He said nothing more. but his lips moved silently.

  “There was a time. Jemmy,” said Adams. Sadly, “when your fire was the brightest flame among us. But now the time is past for speeches. And the time is long past for talk of reconciliation. English we may be, by law, but when we are denied our rights as Englishmen under England’s law, then that law has ceased to serve us. Englishmen we may be. but Americans we must become!”

  “Well said, well said!”

  “Spoken like a patriot!”

  “Enough.” said Adams. As I have said, the time is past for speeches. We must free ourselves from England. but England will never willingly let us go. It is our duty, gentlemen, to prepare the populace for what must come. We must gain their sympathy and unite them to our cause. But we cannot hope to
do so if we should stoop to murder. There must be no killing.’

  “There has already been killing,” said John Winslow.

  “And we must not add to it,” said Adams. “Tell that to Macintosh and Swift.” said Edes “They are not men to turn the other check. Sam.”

  “No one asks them to turn the other cheek. Ben,” Adams said. “The murderers must be found and brought to justice. Aye, let them hang, but let them be tried for murder in a court of law and be brought to their punishment by jury! We must have no lynching by the mob! There are those in England, gentlemen, who are sympathetic to our cause. They will not long remain so if we start to murder our own citizens. Boston sets an example for all the other colonies. Their eyes are all upon us. Already, there are many who decry our methods, who condemn mob violence, as we must openly condemn it. You saw how the people at the town responded when the mob destroyed Hutchinson’s house. What will they say of us if we start to murder Tories? Governor Bernard has petitioned General Gage for troops. Would you play into his hands by giving Gage a reason to dispatch them?”

  “The troops may well be sent in any case,” said Church, sourly.

  “Then let them come as a further affront against our liberties.” said Adams, not as protection for the citizenry against roving killers in the night. How can we cry out, in indignation, that the Tories murder freedom-loving men if we respond in kind? I say again, the killers must be found and brought to justice. Our hands must remain clean in this affair.

  “But how are we to find the murderers?” asked Cooper.

  “Aye, where does a man look to find a ghost?” asked someone else.

  “I have never heard of a ghost who was political,” said Adams, wryly. “Rest assured, gentlemen, this mysterious so-called ‘headless horsemen’ we’ve all heard of is made of flesh and blood. Tory flesh and blood. He is someone with the wit to hide his face so that he remains unknown and, doubtless, he has Tory confederates to help him. We must find out who they are so that they may be punished for their crime.”