by Smith, Skye
"Perhaps the non-violence is the key here," said John Adams thoughtfully. "Fancy a trip down to Dartmouth with me, Sam?"
"Where is Dartmouth?" asked Britta.
"Strangely enough, it is the next big port north of Newport," said John, " strangely because there could be no place more different from that free-booting, free spending, sinful den of pirates. Dartmouth is a town of Friends. You know, Quakers."
"And why would we risk being away from Boston for a few days when the North End Caucus is thrashing about with all this ultimatum nonsense?" asked Sam.
"Because that is where Joseph Rotch now lives, even though his ships are still registered out of Nantucket. It is his Quaker ships that are favored by the Company. I think he will be very interested to hear our non-violent fears about this fight between the rich Anglican and rich Baptist merchants. If we guarantee his safety, he may even return with us to Boston."
"Excellent," said Sam. "Come, let's go and beg our wives for a leave of absence. Britta, tell everyone, especially John Hancock, umm, tell them only that we were suddenly called out of town."
"Oh very good, Sam," chuckled John. "Let the Northenders stew in their own juices. If it boils over, we can always say that we were out of town at the time."
"What if Mercy comes looking for you?" she asked.
"Oh my dear, you must always be fully truthful with Mercy. Tell her where we went and why."
"Should I tell her to expect a Quaker as a guest?"
"Possibly, though I would expect that he has family and Friends here in Boston."
* * * * *
* * * * *
MAYA'S AURA - Destroy the Tea Party by Skye Smith
Chapter 21 - The Tradesmen stand up
With the help of three young women in long skirts and hiking boots, Maya was loaded into Nana's wheel chair, and pushed away from the Occupy demonstration. Between police and crowds there seemed to be no direct way through to the small-boat marina where they had left the runabout, so they walked the path of least resistance away from the growing mayhem of the square.
The three young women left them on the first bench inside Boston Common and rushed away to get back to the demonstration and be a part of any excitement. Maya had been zonked out in the wheel chair the whole way, and now Nana's old knee's were paining her from the walk along concrete sidewalks, always the worst surface to walk on. She tried to wake the girl back to the present.
"Maya," Nana's voice was calling through the dream. "Maya, you must wake up." She felt herself being shaken. She tried fight the hand that was shaking her. "Whatsup, leave me alone." It was a very bony hand.
"Maya you have been zonked out for an hour. I think we should find a taxi and go back to the boat."
Maya sat up and looked around. It was very disconcerting, for there was no sign of Fanheuil Hall or of the square where she last remembered talking with some students. They were at the edge of some park and she had no recollection of how they got there. "Sorry Nana, where are we?" It looked sort of familiar.
"Boston Common. Look there is a taxi stand over there."
Maya's eyes were going all hazy and she felt oh so dizzy. The taxi stand was blurred, everything was blurred. Someone was calling her name, telling her to wake up, but it wasn't her name. Or was it? She didn't know anymore.
* * * * *
* * * * *
"Britta, Britta, wake up," Jon came running into the shop with the news. The shop had been empty all morning and his sister was snoozing with her head cradled in her arms. Everyone else was down at Boston Common waiting to see if any of the Company's consignees would be so foolish as to show up, and then like as not, be tarred and feathered.
"There was a big crowd," said Jon, out of breath, "but guess what? It was mostly tradesmen instead of the paid crews of merchants and smugglers, and they were angry. They say this feud between two sets of rich merchants was ruining their lives and they want it to stop. They said that they, the trades, were the true Sons of Liberty, not some fat cat merchants. They also told everyone to be careful of provocateurs that may be lurking in the crowd. Men sent to stir up trouble by either set of fat cats."
"Is the shop in danger?" asked Britta as a sudden worry crept through her muzzy, sleepy head.
"I don't think so. Once the tradesmen had their say, the crowd broke up." Jon walked towards the galley. "I think I'll get some more water boiling. I'm sure the shop will be full within the hour."
Men were starting to arrive in small groups and everyone was speaking at once. John Hancock limped in and went straight to Britta. "Where is Samuel?"
"He and his cousin John got an urgent call from some village committee. They didn't tell me which village. Did they not send word to you?"
"Damn, damn, damn," he said. "Why now? We've got big trouble."
"Then I suggest that you do as they told you and get the North End Caucus to sponsor a meeting with free ale at the Hall. Sam is wise in the ways of mobs. He probably expected this."
"Or engineered it," Hancock said and turned slowly and limped away.
She walked beside him to the door. "Have you found out what is causing the gout yet?"
"I don't have time!" he snapped at her, but then apologized.
"I warned you that the vinegar wouldn't work forever. Have you given up spirits yet?" She knew he hadn't. He reeked of rum.
* * * * *
Two days later when Jon returned from the meeting at the Hall, the shop was again very quiet. The North End Caucus of fat cat merchants had called a town meeting, though not an official one. Most of the mob had attended to drink the free ale, even Jon. It was good ale. Adam's Ale.
"Mr. Hancock spoke well," Jon told Britta in ale slurred words, "but it was much talk to little result. He had them adopt the resolutions that Philadelphia had sent to us, but of course that was all meaningless since it wasn't an official town meeting. Then they created yet more committees to go and speak to the consignees. There must have been at least three hundred or even four hundred men in the hall, going by the amount of ale that was drunk."
"So nothing happened."
"A lot of words is all," said Jon. "I think the tradesmen that marched on Boston Common have got everyone thinking that the Northenders are just protecting their own rich businesses, and getting everyone else in trouble for their own ends. Most of the men I was talking to were crew from the ships that belong to the Northenders, including some of Hancock's crew."
"Well, it was very quiet while you were gone," said Britta. "Do you think we should stay open for the after meeting crowd?"
Jon looked at the two old men just finishing a game of Damas. "No, who needs the trouble of drunks. Oye," he called to the old men, "there may be trouble later on the streets. Go home now so we can close up."
* * * * *
When the Adams cousins returned from Dartmouth, they found a very angry John Hancock waiting for them at the shop, on his fourth cup of coffee. Britta had to usher them into their meeting room because his angry words were disturbing the whole shop. She stayed in the room a while waiting for Sam or his cousin to order drinks.
"Calm yourself, John," said Samuel. "We heard that you did very well as moderator of the meeting, and that the meeting was well-attended."
"Did you organize the trades against us," Hancock accused "for they now claim to be the true Sons of Liberty."
"No, but I welcome it. Perhaps it is time that this movement be championed by a class other than self-serving lawyers and smugglers and merchants."
John was about to take offense until he realized that Sam had included his own friends in the wide criticism.
"Calm yourself, John, and listen," said Sam. "We have just had a remarkable meeting in Dartmouth with the Society of Friends. They, in their quiet and plain way, share our own aims and goals, and are well-connected to the Friends in Philadelphia. We went to them to inform them of what was happening, and instead they informed us."
John Adams saw Sam's eyes go out of focus as he did
when he was about to ramble through a long story. He didn't have time for that today. He hadn't been home yet so he interrupted. "The crux of it is that the Friends have pushed the Philadelphia committee into recommending a standing congress be formed to represent all twelve provinces so that we can resist the divide and conquer tactics of the Empire. This war with the Company over consignees has won us that much solidarity.
Do you hear me, John? The war against the Company has been won and no one else could care less about some side battle between North End merchants and Hutchinson's merchants. Our Boston caucus must ignore it and move beyond it to the next step, else we will be left far behind Philadelphia."
"You mean..." said John Hancock.
"We mean," said Sam, "that we would rather support the trades and gain their support, than risk losing it by being seen as the puppets of wealthy merchants. It is time for you to make the same choice. Are you with us, or with the Saint Andrews Masons and the North End Caucus?"
John Hancock rose slowly, deep in thought, and then begged time to consider and left quickly, or at least as fast as his limp would allow.
* * * * *
In the third week of November, Britta was surprised by the sight of a tall young Quaker at the door of her shop. Luckily today she had dressed in Puritan drab, as it was the day of the linen market which always brought wives into her shop.
She wiped her hands and smoothed her smock and went to greet him, for he seemed to be hesitant to come in. "Please come in sir. You must be Mr. Rotch," she gave a slight curtsey, a simple courtesy to such a handsome young man.
"And thee must be Mistress Fisher," he tipped his hat. "They did not exaggerate your beauty. I was hesitant because I saw women customers and thought that perhaps there was a gentleman's salon by another door."
"It is a coffee shop, not a coffee house. There are no spirits nor lewd behavior here. I take pride that wives may wait for their husbands or for their rides in the safety of my shop."
"I do not drink spirits, but would welcome a black tea with milk." The man gave her a warm smile.
"Of course, come and sit. Would you like the window so you can watch out?"
"I think somewhere less visible. I am here to meet with Samuel Adams and he asked me to be discrete." He was pleased that she sat him near to the galley. He kept himself amused by watching the striking woman do her work. "Are thee of German blood?" he finally asked.
"No, Frisian."
"Ah, a fine seafaring people. Great shipmakers. Great defenders of freedom."
"As are the Society of Friends," replied Britta, putting down one of her small sampler cups. "Try my chocolate. It is one of the reasons that the women stop in." He was just moaning in appreciation of the flavors when Samuel Adams walked into the shop.
"Ah, so you have already discovered Britta's charms," Sam said. "Britta, Mr. Francis Rotch will be in Boston for a few weeks. I have offered him the use of our meeting room when I myself am not using it."
Later, after Mr. Rotch had left, Britta asked Samuel, "I assumed an older man."
"This is the son, not yet twenty-four. His father Joseph was too ill to come."
"Why would he need our meeting room? He must have agents in Boston."
"Because he is a Quaker, and Boston is a Puritan town. The old prejudices die hard. This is a safe place for him, as well as close to the docks."
* * * * *
Indeed Mr. Francis Rotch came into the shop almost every day, and she and he began using first names and often sat together when the shop was not busy. He was very charming and very handsome, and he had a way of carrying himself and of speaking that drew her to him. He was proud and yet humble. Well-groomed and yet modest.
"Have thee ever had a visitation from our Lord?" he said one day as he munched his way through a fish pie. Fenwick Flounder of course, for the fishing sloops were not venturing out of the bay this late in the season. "I only ask because thee seem so collected and aware for a woman so young."
"I think I have, but I fear to talk about it," she replied. She switched to a whisper. "Especially with religious folk for I am afraid that the Puritans will accuse me of witchcraft."
"Ah, we Quakers welcome visitations, and encourage folk to speak of them."
She kept her voice low. "But you see, in my visitations the Lord appears as a woman."
"Of course. Do thee think our Lord would not respect thy modesty."
"So this is not a sign of witchcraft?"
"No, it is a sign that the Lord has made thee a woman," he said. "If these Puritans threaten thee, thee would be welcome at any community of Friends. We would accept thee into our society, and ensure thee were safe by matching thee to a good husband." He put his hand on hers, meaningfully.
She let him keep his hand on hers and softly said thank you, but he withdrew his hand immediately when a boy came running into the shop and up to them. "Are you Mr. Rotch?" the boy asked, and to the nod he added, "a ship flying your pennant is coming into the harbor."
"Ah, what I have been waiting for. Excuse me, I must go and welcome her."
Britta yelled to Jon that she was going to the market, and then grabbed her cloak and boots and a market basket and ran down the street to catch up to Francis.
He walked beside her, but did not offer his arm, towards Long Wharf to see his ship. It was moving slowly through the fishing dories that surrounded each fishing sloop in the bay. Once it was dark, the dories would light their bright lanterns to draw the flounders to their lines. Occasionally some passerby would hiss at them. "Forgive them their rudeness, Britta. It is a cross all Friends must bear in a Puritan commune. Look, it is the Dartmouth."
"The Dartmouth, I came here from England on the Dartmouth." Britta told him.
"She was built as a supply ship for our whaling fleet. She is safe in foul seas and fast in calm ones." Something caught his attention on the dock. "If I leave thee, will thee be safe to go home by yourself?"
"Of course, the people here all know me," she said.
"Then I ask permission to leave thee, for there is some problem at the Long Wharf and they are waving the Dartmouth towards Fort Hill. Ah, perhaps they want them to tie up at a wharf closer to the garrison for protection."
"Of course you may leave. I will double back to the market." She wiggled her basket.
She had not even reached the market when she was grabbed by two men, one on each arm. Daniel had taught her to always do first what is expected of a helpless woman. She put back her head and readied a scream. The man to her right clamped his hand over her mouth before a sound left her lips.
The other took the opportunity to fondle her breasts. She struggled to fight off the groping hand. Why do they always go after the breasts. She tried to bite the hand over her mouth. Then she remembered her training and stopped struggling. It was hard to do while she could hardly breath and while her breast was being squeezed. She knew that eventually they would loosen their hold on her and then she would kick them and try to run.
An angry voice spoke out from behind her and she recognized it as belonging to John Hancock. "You were with Rotch, you little traitor. Why have they waved his ship off?"
She caught the tiniest bit of skin between her teeth and pinched it with all the strength in her jaw. The man screamed and pulled his hand away and shook her by her cloak. There was the tearing sound of stitches letting go.
"Tell them to let me go," she said softly, forcing herself to be calm, though her blood was racing. Hancock must have signaled them for they released her. "Mr. Rotch does not know why. He has gone to find out. He mentioned that it may be to put the ship within easy reach of Fort Hill."
"Of course," Hancock said, thinking. "That makes sense. You," he said to one of his men. "Run ahead and tell the crews to follow the ship to where ever she docks. Tell them to block whichever wharf they use." He glanced at the girl. She had backed away from them and was turning to leave. He let her go.
Once she was free of Hancock she ran back to the shop,
terrified that any moment those men would catch her. In the short time she had been gone, the shop had filled with men seeking news about the Company ship in the harbor.
Daniel was controlling the door, and he caught her by the arm and told her to catch her breath. He gently pulled at her sleeve that was dangling, ripped. She finally was able to puff out, "Hancock is with some rough men, from one of his crews I think. They are following Rotch. They may mean him harm. Go, catch Rotch and see to his safety. He was heading towards the wharf near to Fort Hill. Umm. " she tried to remember the name.
"Griffin's wharf," Daniel said, and she nodded. He pushed her inside and called out for Jon to watch the door, and then he was gone. Britta pushed past Jon without a word and ran into the meeting room without knocking.
John Adams took one look at the disheveled Britta and her torn sleeve, and pulled a pistol from under his coat and cocked it. He was halfway out the door before Britta could stop him. "No, John, there is no trouble in the shop."
Meanwhile Mercy was dragging her away from the doorway with one hand, while searching in her own basket with the other. "Ah ha," she said pulling a pistol out of the linens it was hidden in. She waved it over everyone’s head so that she could point it at the door, and the three other men in the room winced and ducked low under the tables.
Britta reached out a hand and gently pushed the barrel of Mercy's pistol upwards towards the ceiling. "There is no trouble in the shop, but there could be trouble at Griffin's Wharf." and she told them of her episode with Hancock. She finished by saying, "So Mr. Hancock has finally shown his colors, and they are not ours. He has chosen the Saint Andrews Masons and the North End Caucus."
"Damnation," said Samuel, "That means that Joseph Warren will go with him." He was pushing past John. "I have to find Daniel."
"I ordered Daniel to find Mr. Rotch and keep him safe. He has already left." said Britta, now looking at the damage to her blouse and wondering how to fix it.