by Smith, Skye
"You ordered Daniel," Mercy said. "Let me make sure of this. You gave an order to Daniel and he obeyed."
"It's something that Lydia taught me. If you want to train a man you wait until he is about to do something and the instant he starts, you order him to do it. Eventually he will learn the habit of doing what you order him to do."
Samuel scolded Mercy for her gales of laughter. "This is serious. So Britta, let me surmise. You said that the Dartmouth is to be docked near Griffin's Wharf, at the end of Hutchinson street and under the guns of Fort Hill. Rotch is headed there. The crews of the Northenders are going there to block the wharf. Daniel has gone there to find Rotch. Correct?"
Cousin John sat back down. "We need to get some trustworthy men to Griffin's Wharf right away to make sure that there is no violence."
"I was thinking the same thing." said Samuel. "Go, John. There are men enough in the shop. Lead them there." He watched John put his pistol away under his coat and walk to the door. "And send Jon in."
Mercy wanted Britta to go to the retirement room and repair herself, but Britta refused to move until she heard why Samuel wanted Jon.
"Mercy," said Sam, "find that card that Jon gave us a few weeks ago. It was of a cabinet maker. He was the spokesman of the tradesman who stared the Northenders down under Liberty Tree and stopped that ultimatum nonsense. I want Jon to go and find him and see if he will meet with us."
Britta was satisfied that Jon would be safe, so she went off to repair herself and get back to the business of running a coffee shop.
* * * * *
* * * * *
MAYA'S AURA - Destroy the Tea Party by Skye Smith
Chapter 22 - Francis Rotch comes to stay
The taxi took the long way from Boston Common to the marina, so as to miss all the streets choked with students and police and a fleet of paddy wagons. The cabby was a big man who had been almost eager to lift the fair young woman into his cab. Nana pinched his arm when he seemed to be spending much too much time arranging Maya and the seatbelt on the back seat.
The bouncing that Maya endured from the back seat woke her enough to bring her back to the twenty first century, and she shivered and looked at Nana looking back at her from the front seat, and at the eyes of the cab driver who was spending more time looking at her in the mirror than at the cars in front of him. "Sorry love." she grunted as she stretched and tried to get some feeling back in her legs. "So, are we going back to the runabout or to get something to eat?"
Nana didn't want to risk taking Maya into a restaurant, not in her current flakey state. Besides, the crowd at the Occupy demonstration was still growing and spilling out of the square in all directions. They went directly to the boat and tipped the cabbie a few bucks to wheel Nana in her chair down the steep slope to the dock float.
Once Maya had the runabout safely puttering along away from the city marina, Nana pushed Maya away from the boat's wheel. "Go on, I can see it in your eyes. You want to get back to your dream. Go on then. Go lie on the bench seat. I can get us home now we are in open water."
Maya looked longingly at the bench seat. Why not. It was still a calm day. Nana could handle the boat, it was hers after all. Why not? "Wake me if you need me," she said as she curled up under her coat.
* * * * *
* * * * *
Britta watched riders come and go from the shop for the rest of the afternoon. The Central Committee was sending out the news that the first tea ship had arrived to every corner of the province. The wharf was indeed blocked by armed men in the pay of the North End Caucus and the Saint Andrew's masons, a group that even the newspapers were now calling the Northenders. The ship was docked under the guns of Fort Hill. Curious men streamed into the market area hoping to see some excitement. The streets were full of people.
The next morning Daniel arrived with a handful of tough looking men to be doormen for the coffee shop. The shop was filled with men wanting to be a part of the excitement. A tall Quaker sat quietly near to the galley in hopes that Britta would chat with him. In the meeting room, representatives of the trades were meeting with the Caucus. A smaller Caucus now that it did not include those that had decided that their interests lay with the Northenders.
Eventually Francis Rotch was fetched into the meeting, and Britta slipped in with him. The man at the door objected to her entry, but Francis gave him a steely stare and the man backed away from her.
Sam Adams welcomed him and then told him "Mr. Rotch, other provinces have solved this Company situation by not allowing the duty to be paid on the tea, and not allowing it to be unloaded, and therefore the customs office has no choice but to send the cargo back to the Company on the same ship."
"I am aware of this, yes," replied Rotch.
"It is a non-violent solution, and no one in this room wants any violence. As the ship's owner, would you agree to this solution for your own ships?"
"I would," replied Rotch thoughtfully, "so long as the ships are not damaged and the crews are safe and free to come and go."
Sam turned to the tradesmen. "This means that we must wrest control of tonight’s Town Meeting away from the Northenders, so that we can set the agenda and pass our own resolution. That is where you come in. You must stack the hall with your men."
The cabinet maker spoke up. "Yes, but to have a vote in a Town Hall meeting, you must be male, twenty one, and a landowner. Most of our men own just their tools."
"No one will call a role, not if the hall is full. Besides, with so many foreclosures recently, no one knows who owns what anymore." Samuel paused to collect his thoughts. "I will make something up that sounds official like, umm, 'voted by the body of the people' in order to pass the resolutions we need. "
"So all we have to do is rally our trades to show up at the meeting?"
"The more the better. Bring everyone you know, but make sure they know to vote as you vote," said Sam.
* * * * *
Later on, Francis, Mercy, and Britta sat together and talked in soft voices as the late afternoon gloom filled the empty coffee shop. Everyone had gone to Faneuil Hall, including Jon. It was a fine time for Britta to write her next letter to Jim. Francis Rotch was so worried that he was fidgeting with a newspaper but not reading it. Every five minutes he would look up and tell Mercy that it shouldn't be taking this long.
Another hour passed ever so slowly and then Jon ran into the shop, exhausted from his run. "It was fabulous. The Northenders were so outmaneuvered that they never knew what hit them. I'll tell you what hit them. Samuel bloody Adams and five thousand tradesmen and laborers and fishermen. There were so many that we had to move the meeting to the Old South Meeting Hall. The Northenders never got a chance to speak, and when they tried, the trades made so much noise that they couldn't be heard."
"So the Dartmouth is safe and guarded," said Francis, "and the tea does not come ashore. Was there any word from the consignees?"
"They sent a spokesman to make an offer, and a sheriff to close the meeting down. Both were ejected. Someone told me that a ship can stay at most twenty days in a harbor before the duties and fees must be paid."
"That is an old law," said Francis. "the Safe Harbor law. In bad weather any ship can claim safe harbor for twenty days without paying fees of duties. So twenty days, from November 29, that makes December 18. Tomorrow I will arrange it with Captain Hall of the Dartmouth. So, I wish you ladies 'goodnight' then."
"Umm," Jon grabbed his arm as he stood, "Daniel told me to close the shop and to keep you and the ladies safe upstairs until the streets have emptied. There must have been five thousand men at the meeting, and it will take hours for them all to clear along home."
While Jon locked up, and Winnie finished washing the cups, Britta ushered Francis and Mercy upstairs. She was so glad she had cleaned and tidied it this morning. They were plain enough rooms compared to Mercy's grand house, without them being dirty as well. They sat without lights in the upstairs window, drinking black tea with milk and watching grou
ps and gangs of men rush back and forth up the street and around the corner.
Jon and Winnie eventually joined them. "Mr. Rotch, Samuel told me to tell you that you must go nowhere in this town without Daniel's company until this issue is settled." Jon said, "He says that there are many who would benefit from your abduction. He says that he is fulfilling a promise to your father that the Rotch family would be safe in Boston."
Francis was an elegant man and neatly dressed, but Britta could see from his weathered face and his broad shoulders that he was well used to taking care of himself. "Both you and Mercy are welcome to overnight here. Mercy can have my bed, and I will sleep with Winnie, and there is a spare bed for you in Jon's room."
"I've spent too many nights on ship's watch to refuse a bed during quiet times. Do you mind if I retire now?" asked Francis. Jon jumped up to show him to the wash stand and the bed.
Mercy switched seats to be beside Britta, who was still gazing out at the random wanderings of men in the street. "Since Samuel took over from Jemmy, he has changed. He is much more cautious now. That is a good thing."
"I suppose that comes with the responsibility," replied Britta.
"I am glad that Daniel is to be Mr. Rotch's shadow for his presence is in much demand. Every group, governor, navy, consignees, smugglers, and yes we too, want him on their side. Sam and John's visit to Dartmouth has put control of the political agenda back into our hands, and we must keep it there."
* * * * *
Britta made an early breakfast for her guests, for she was sure that as soon as the weak winter sun was up, that there would be men pounding down the door. She was right. Mercy's husband was first, come to collect her, and with her went all the papers that were locked in the small desk in the meeting room.
John Adams was next and he made sure that nothing of importance was left in the meeting room and then he handed his set of keys to Mr. Rotch with the statement that, "You have greater need of it than we. Everyone in Boston wants to meet with you."
He spoke the truth. This day was the start of countless short meetings for Francis Rotch as he shuttled back and forth between the shop, the wharf, the governor's mansion, the houses of the consignees, and the Freemason's Arms Tavern which had become the headquarters of the Northenders. The tavern was owned by the Saint Andrews Masons. Wherever he went, Daniel was at his side with a brace of pistols and his sword cane.
Eventually Francis realized that he did not have time for all of the shuttling and therefore let it be known that he could be reached at his temporary office behind the Anchor Coffee Shoppe. He also realized that he was bringing unwanted attention to the local Society of Friends by staying with them, so he had a bed moved into the same meeting room behind the shop.
He was in the meeting room when the next ship arrived. The news came as he was being yelled at, yet again, by the ever angry cockerel, John Hancock, who now always had the shifty silversmith Revere with him for support. Not just the support of his company, but also the support of his pistol, and the support of his arm because Hancock's limp was getting much worse.
When the good ship Eleanor arrived, Britta begged Daniel to accompany he and Francis to greet it. The guards at the wharf were, for the most part, crews from the ships owned by rich Masons. They were rough men even for seamen, and looked more like pirates than like merchant crew.
Luckily there were enough of Daniel's own men sprinkled amongst them that everyone listened when he reminded the roughest of them that the purpose of the guard was to stop any unloading of cargo. They were not to interfere with people or animals, whether embarking or disembarking.
Revere tried to shout Daniel down, because he wanted to stop the crews from coming ashore. Even the Northenders own crews ignored Revere's loud blustering. The men on these ships had been at sea for weeks. No other seamen would begrudge them the comforts of shore leave.
With the second ship now arrived, Francis was summoned again by the governor. On the way, they dropped Britta back at the shop. Later, in the coffee shop, he admitted to Sam and to his pretty hostess that the meeting had not gone well.
"I told him that the mob near the wharf were angry and the guards placed there were spending most of their time controlling the mob, not blocking the wharf. I told him that my contract with the Company did not include imperiling my ships or my crew beyond the normal dangers of the passage. I told him that my ships would leave Boston and seek another harbor to await the outcome of this storm-in-a-teacup between two sets of wealthy local merchants."
Britta clapped her hands, she was so happy. "You are so wise. That will calm everything down immediately. You have earned the thanks of every woman in Boston."
"Hold thy praise, dear Britta," replied Francis. "The governor left me waiting and drinking tea with his wife while he summoned his advisors and spoke to them. The admiral has been ordered to blockade the harbor. None of my ships may leave without the governor's permission."
"But that is illegal. He does not have that right," complained Sam.
"As I said to him, but he stated that the Customs office has the right to hold any vessel until it can be searched for contraband. The Customs office says that they will hold off the search until the issue of the tea has been resolved." Francis shrugged. He was tired and stressed. "What worried me more, was that the Navy seemed overly eager to block my ships from leaving. I expected them to be eager to have them move to another, less populated port."
"You look done in, Francis. Go off watch for a while and catch a nap," said Britta sweetly. She was sure that over the last few days, his worries had etched new lines in his young face.
"I can't. Not yet. I am expecting Captain Hall and the purser from the Dartmouth at any moment. I wish to assure them of their safety."
"So who will be left on the ship?" asked Sam. "Most of the crew have found beds ashore."
"There are four crew who do not want to leave the ship. They fear mistreatment by the mob. They are Indians, you see. From India I mean, though they are Christians now and no longer Hindoos. They have strung their hammocks above the tea chests and are armed with the curved blades of their homeland."
"Oh, I remember seeing such men in Bristol," said Britta. "Their faces were almost black and I was told that they were valued for their strong eyes, and spent much of their passage aloft in the crow’s-nest."
"Yes, they are very dark as are they all in the south of India. They speak English because they were trained in the colony of Calcutta," Francis looked up. "Ah, here is my Captain now."
Britta's ego was quite miffed that neither the captain nor the purser recognized her, for she recognized the both of them. After all, they had been cooped up for seven weeks together on the Dartmouth. The purser had even promised marriage, though she knew it was false and just an excuse to molest her. It must have been her Puritan garb that hid her from their memories. Oh well. Perhaps it was for the best. The bosun of the ship had once warned her that the purser’s mother had mated with a shark.
She went back into the galley to prepare drinks and snacks for them, and it was lucky she did, for not ten minutes after the Captain had arrived John Hancock limped passed the galley and knocked on the meeting room door. Behind him was a looming hulk of a man so big that he blocked the light from the galley. She recognized him immediately and pressed herself into the shadows. It was Big John Brown. Captain John Brown. The man who had burned the schooner Gaspee to the waterline. The man Jon had witnessed do the burning. The man they had been hiding from for two years.
Once Brown was in the meeting room and the door closed, she ran to tell Jon to stay upstairs. She brought Winnie downstairs with her. "There is a big bad man in the meeting room," she told her. "He must not see Jon or I. I will stay out of sight in the galley with the curtain closed and do the preparing, so you must do all the table service."
When Winnie opened the meeting room door to take in the tray, Britta put her eye to the edge of the curtain and tried to see what was happening. With the door ope
n, she could hear Brown's voice. He was in a tirade.
"Hancock, you stay out of it. You've made enough of a mess of it." said Brown with his booming voice. "Look here, Brother Francis. If that tea lands, I lose a fortune, as well you know. You know me. I will break heads rather than lose that much money."
"Captain Brown," Francis replied in a nervous voice. "It is not my fault that you have filled your warehouses with smuggled Dutch tea. I run an honest ship and it carries an honest cargo. Your ships are not, and your cargos are tainted by the deaths from your gun trade and the treachery of your slave trade. You have nothing to say that I wish to listen to."
"Oh yeah," said Brown, "well wish it or not, listen to this. Before I will let that tea come ashore I will burn your ships to the waterline. I got away with doing it to the Gaspee, and I will get away with it again. I have powerful friends in the North End who will make sure I wear no blame."
There was silence, then Francis spoke again. "Mr. Hancock, I do not believe that your Northenders would keep company with such a pirate, for that is what he is, a common pirate."
There was a voice Britta could barely hear. It must have been Hancock. "Believe this, Mr. Rotch. We all have shares in Brown's trade route and cargos, and you must not underestimate the value of that trade to us. Not during these unsettled times when one failure could cost us all."
"Oh don't mollycoddle the bugger," Brown's voice boomed in anger. "He's a bloody pacifist. If I hit him right now he would turn the other cheek." A chair scraped the floor. "Listen to me Rotch. Newport already hates Dartmouth for stealing both their whaling business and their English trade. It would only take a nod from me and the Newport fleet would sail to Dartmouth and burn it to the ground and then take all your women folk down to Cuba and sell them into brothels. Them Dagos have a rich appetite for blonde meat."
There was a crash of cups and tea pots hitting the floor. "That tea does not come ashore. Is that plain enough for you?"