Origins_Revolution

by Mark Henrikson

  That is rather open ended, Henry thought with the seed of worry starting to take root in the back of his mind.

  “Second, the Massachusetts Government Act. This measure will revoke Massachusetts’ charter and bring it under direct governing by the crown. All positions of government will be appointed by Parliament, or the king himself, going forward. Further, ‘town meetings’ such as the one which provoked the lawlessness in Boston will be limited to one per year.”

  “Third, the Administration of Justice Act. This measure will allow the royal governor to order trials of accused take place in Great Britain or elsewhere in the Empire if he decides a fair trial is not possible in the Massachusetts colony. Witnesses for these trials will be reimbursed for their traveling expenses after they have been paid.”

  My God, that’s intolerable, Henry cried out in his head. Making people front their travel expense was bad enough, but what about lost wages? Who could afford to take a year or two off from their job or business to testify while their family back home starved? They may as well rename this the ‘Murder Act’ since it will allow British officials to harass colonials and then escape justice since no one would be able to testify.

  “Fourth, an expanded Quartering Act. This measure will enable the royal governor, not local legislators, to assign quartered troops if suitable quarters are not provided,” the Speaker announced.

  Great, this act allows the royal governor to post soldiers in the private home of any colonial he thought might be a dissident, or maybe he just didn’t like. The potential for abuse of power was astounding, Henry considered but kept the notion to himself.

  Maybe the intention was to make these Acts so over the top punitive and intrusive that nobody in their right mind would vote in their favor,” that thought made a faint grin lift the corners of his mouth. Brilliant!

  “Before we take our positions, I will make my feelings on the matter clear,” the Speaker said with a deferential nod toward Prime Minister Lord North. “I recognize that these measures are tough, but the American colonials have tarred and feathered your subjects. They have plundered your merchants, burnt your ships, and denied all obedience to your laws and authority. Yet so clement and so long forbearing has our conduct been to this point that it is incumbent on us now to take a different course. Whatever may be the consequences, we must risk something; if we do not, all is over.”

  Henry looked to the Prime Minister’s face for any sign of outrage or betrayal on the Speaker’s part, but he only found a fond smile and nod of approval. These four acts were not some form of poison pill to doom their passage. It was not some inspired satire. This was the plan, the grand plan of the inner circle.

  “Take your positions now,” the Speaker ordered. With his support behind the measures, almost every man stepped through to the ‘aye’ stall and received congratulations from his fellow man for doing so.

  “We’re doomed. They’ve doomed me,” Henry whispered into his father’s ear.

  “Trust the plan,” the admiral whispered in return.

  “This will mean anarchy back in the colonies and that anarchy will come under my watch. I will be humiliated,” Henry protested.

  “You will be well supported with additional troops my boy,” his father instructed, and grabbed Henry’s forearm to accentuate his point. “You will use them to accomplish great deeds on the field of battle with a vast and professional army on your side. Standing against you will be a mess of rustics armed with pitchforks, hope, and little else.”

  “Victory is an inevitable outcome. Hastening the conflict worked to defeat the French and their native allies, and it will work again now. If trusting in the grand plan is not enough for you, then take comfort in the fame, fortune and honor that will be a result of your victory.”

  It was an appealing notion that settled Henry’s nerves somewhat. Still, despite all that favorable potential, he felt his lips pulled lower on the corners as the Speaker announced that the measure had carried with overwhelming support. The Intolerable Acts were now law, and rebellion in the American colonies was imminent.

  Chapter 25: Midnight Ride

  “Phwew, witch-tit cold tonight isn’t it? You think the red coats will finally do something tonight?” William asked of his night watch partner. They were emerging from the worst of Boston’s winter months, but it was still well below freezing, as evidenced by the thick fog that emerged from his mouth with every breath.

  “If I were a betting man, I’d say yes,” Paul answered before taking another sip from his piping hot cup of coffee growing colder by the second. He preferred hot tea versus coffee to keep him awake, but drinking tea was considered unpatriotic in the colonies these days. “They have been building up troops for weeks, and the Provincial Congress is breaking the new law by meeting in nearby Concord. The British might use that as an excuse to flex their muscle a bit.”

  “Good, I’m tired of freezing my stones off out here on watch for nothing. It would be nice to finally get to do something other than stand here in the shadow of the church steeple” William responded. “I think you’re right though, besides the congress meeting, the militias also have a lot of weapons and supplies stockpiled in Concord. If the British have gotten wind of that, it would make a doubly tempting target. Wouldn’t they wait until morning light to march though?”

  “Not if they wanted to attack at day break. It is a six-hour march or boat ride to get there from Boston. That means if they want to surprise the delegates and militias along the way, they would need to depart right about now,” Paul instructed.

  As if the last word were a magic phrase to set the world around them into action, a hooded figure rounded the corner and approached Paul and William were they stood. “I just got back from the docks. A large group of British soldiers are boarding ships.”

  “How many? Do you know where they’re headed?” Paul asked with a rush of excitement sending a jolt of much needed warmth to his extremities.

  “I counted six or seven hundred,” the informant answered. “I heard several of the soldiers mention Lexington as their destination.”

  “Lexington, not Concord?” William asked for clarification.

  “That’s what I heard.”

  “What the devil is in Lexington that merits this kind of attention,” William pondered before snapping his frozen fingers in a moment of clarity. “John Hancock and Samuel Adams are hiding out in Lexington. They’re gonna try to arrest them and decapitate the Sons of Liberty’s leadership.”

  “Or the soldiers said Lexington knowing that listening ears might hear it and direct militia attention that way rather than Concord,” Paul pondered.

  “What do we do?” William asked.

  “We follow orders,” Paul answered before grabbing the informant by the arm to give him specific instructions. “Tell the boy inside to light two lanterns in the steeple.”

  “Are you sure that is the right number?” the man asked.

  “One if by land, two if by sea,” Paul answered without a hint of doubt. “You said they were boarding boats, so two lanterns in the tower will inform the riders across the bay in Charlestown to mount up and spread the word for militia members to assemble.”

  “For a landing in Concord,” William objected. “Everything is prearranged to communicate that Concord is the target, not Lexington.”

  “I doubt the British would send seven hundred soldiers on a mission to capture just two men,” Paul instructed. “I think it’s an intentional attempt at misdirection.”

  “But the leaders…” William attempted to say, but was cut short.

  “You and I will inform John and Samuel of the potential threat to them and see them to safety,” Paul countered. “You take your horse and ride west to Brookline and Cambridge, telling every militia household you pass to muster near Concord.”

  “Which way will you take?”

  “I’ll head north”.

  That caused William to look at Paul as if he just announced plans to swim into the
mouth of a shark. “North? You mean across the river? Are you insane? Crossings are banned at this late hour and there is a massive ship of the line anchored in the way. You’ll never make it without being caught.”

  “That is why you are going west,” Paul answered. “Don’t think for a second that your path is any easier than mine. There are enough British patrols roving the hillsides between here and Lexington to catch every field mouse that skitters out into the open. You’ll have your hands full my friend.”

  “Yes, but you will be rowing past seventy cannons.”

  “I’m more concerned about the single barrel of a sharp shooter than I am those guns,” Paul said with a wry grin. “We can compare notes on who had the more adventurous path when our midnight rides are through.”

  “Someday they’ll write songs about our bravery,” William said while mounting his horse and pointing it west.

  “I’d settle for just a fine poem I think,” Paul responded with a wink before heading for the riverfront.

  Along the sandy shore of the Charles River, Paul found a tiny rowboat waiting. He leaned into the bow and gave it a shove before jumping aboard, careful not to dip his foot in the waters that hovered near the freezing point. The last thing he needed was to deal with a numb foot all night and frostbite in the morning.

  He let the boat drift away from the shore before grabbing hold of the oars and lowering them into the water. He put his back into a hard stroke that fought against the river’s current. Paul was unable to see his destination due to a towering ship of war that laid anchored in his path.

  Ideally, he would have let the current quietly carry him down river a mile or so before crossing, but that cautious maneuver took time, and time was of the essence tonight. The British were on the move, and he did not have an extra hour to take the safe route. With that in mind, he rowed with short, nearly silent strokes toward the bulky British vessel.

  The phantom ship lay shadowed against the moon’s rays, magnified by its own reflection in the tide. The tall masts cast long shadows across the water that reminded Paul of prison bars as he coasted between them, hoping it was not an omen for the evening. He took comfort in the rhythmic beating of the waves against the ship’s hull as he neared the front keel of the vessel. That sound carried far more volume than his rowing.

  Paul drew a deep breath as he crossed over to the opposite side of the ship. He had reached the halfway point, but the next leg of his journey was fully illuminated by the crescent moon and its light. There were no shadows to use as cover, only open water for the final two hundred yards of his risky voyage.

  While still sheltered out of view by the V-shape of the ship’s hull, Paul focused his hearing on the deck above him. He counted to thirty in his head and heard nothing at all. He muscled his way out of his hiding spot with several quick strokes and intended to hold the rapid pace until reaching shore. Fate had another plan however.

  No sooner had he picked up speed, two sailors took up position along the railing directly above him. They were so close he could tell each were in desperate need of a bath. Both had their backs turned to the water, but that could change at any moment. Meanwhile, Paul was in the open with, albeit pale moonlight on him, but it was illumination nonetheless.

  He held his breath and stroked onward, knowing there was no other course of action at that point. A diligent watch would spot him in these waters for certain, but these men were anything but diligent. They were far more concerned with bragging to the other about their prowess at the prior night’s poker game. With each pull at the oars, Paul felt his anxiety level drop and his butt cheeks unclench. He had made it past the first hurdle of his journey. That encounter would certainly merit a stanza in William’s hypothetical song.

  Paul made it ashore and procured a fast horse from the stable to be on his way in short order. He was tempted to save time and just shout out ‘The British are coming, the British are coming’ as he rode, but he did not. First, everyone in the colonies was technically a British subject, rendering the statement was not particularly informative. Second, most households still fostered a misguided loyalty to the crown.

  Third, there were dozens of army patrols roving the countryside. Nothing said ‘arrest me’ like a man riding hell bent for leather while yelling at the top of his lungs. It did not even matter what the man was yelling, he was clearly drunk or out of his head and needed to be stopped, if for no other reason than his own safety.

  Instead, Paul stuck to the prearranged plan. He stopped by every house and inn along the road that flew a yellow flag over its door emblazoned with a coiled snake and the words ‘Don’t Tread On Me.’

  The piece of fabric served as an unofficial emblem of their revolutionary movement. It drew inspiration from Benjamin Franklin’s satirical suggestion that as a way to thank the British for their policy of sending convicted felons to America, American colonists should send rattlesnakes to England. Paul took some measure of offense to the emblem since he came to the Americas as a benefactor of that policy, but knew it to be a generally true statement.

  Paul informed every loyal household he passed that the regulars were coming out by sea. This news prompted other riders to mount their horses and carry the news in all directions while the militiamen gathered their muskets and knives to meet the British forces at Concord with numbers sufficient to make them think twice before entering the city.

  For his part, Paul continued on to Lexington, arriving a little after midnight, and made his way to the home belonging to a relative of Hancock’s. John and Samuel both agreed that the force of several hundred soldiers was too large for an arrest detail and were likely bound for Concord. The men did heed Paul’s warning and set out on their own to see to the safe relocation of militia supplies from the town.

  A half hour later, Paul saw his partner in crime ride up to the house looking rather worse for wear. “Well, what took you so long?”

  “I’d shoot you dead, but I haven’t the energy,” William fired back as he prepared to dismount before Paul put a stop to his effort.

  “Don’t get down, we still need to ride on to Concord and help organize the men we just roused from their beds.”

  “Son of a…for all that I’ve been through tonight there better be mention of me in that poem of yours,” William only half joked while settling back into his saddle for more rough riding.

  “How do you pronounce that last name of yours: Dewas, Dswas, Daze...?” Paul teased.

  “Dawes, you smartass,” William said with a chuckle as he guided his horse alongside Paul’s.

  “Not much for a poet to work with there, but Revere has loads of potential now doesn’t it? Hear, near, fear, dear…” Paul chided in good cheer as they sauntered down the road with much less urgency in their pace now that the message was out. “I think I even have the first line: listen my children and you shall hear, about the midnight ride of Paul Revere.”

  “And William Dawes,” his partner interrupted before wincing at the sound of his own name. “Ah blast it! You have a point there. It’s just not fair.”

  “Well, that rhymes at least…”

  Chapter 26: Shot Heard Round the World

  “How about jaws or laws, they rhyme?” William suggested as the two continued their ride toward Concord.

  “Now you’re just getting desperate,” Paul volleyed back. The joke had been running on for a half hour now and was getting a bit long in the tooth. Still, it beat riding in silence, and at one in the morning they certainly needed something to keep them awake. Just then, he heard the loud snap of a twig from behind them.

  “Did you hear that?” William asked with a voice now alert with concern.

  “I sure did,” Paul answered in a low whisper turning around in his saddle to have a look. “I think I see a rider about a quarter mile back.”

  “At this hour? It’s got to be another patrol.”

  “Maybe, but a single rider? Let’s pull off and hide behind that row of trees up ahead.”

&nb
sp; A few minutes later, the hollow thump of shod hooves striking packed dirt grew louder and louder. Had they continued on, Paul would have done nothing, but the moment he heard the cadence begin to slow on approach, he drew his pistol. He cocked the flintlock back with an echoing snap in the quiet night and stepped out into the open taking careful aim.

  “Not another step closer,” Paul ordered of the shadowy stranger. “Who are you, and why are you following us?”

  The rider immediately threw his hands up in surrender. “Whoa, now hold on there, son. I heard something in the trees and thought you might be bandits waiting to rob me. You’re not are you?”

  “No, we’re not gonna rob you. We thought you might be part of a patrol group, so we hid.”

  “Wait, I know that voice I think. Paul, is that you? It’s me, Sam Prescott.”

  “Doc?” Paul asked in surprise. “Doc Prescott? What the devil are you doing way out here? Your office is in Concord. You pulled one of my teeth there just last week.”

  “Paying a house call,” the man answered in a boastful tone and a mischievous grin.

  “I see,” William said as he stepped out from behind the trees holding the reins of their two horses. “It appears her physical examination ran you well past curfew.”

  “I am a professional after all. My ethics require that I be thorough.”

  That drew a laugh from Paul as he took his horse from William and stepped up into the saddle. “I trust the lady was adequately satisfied?”

  “Do you even need to ask?”

  “It does appear that she kicked you out afterwards. A truly satisfied patient would have let you stay the whole night, wouldn’t she,” William teased on the way into his own saddle.

  “I have appointments in the morning and needed to get back. Are you going to Concord as well?”

  “That’s where we’re headed,” Paul confirmed. “Do you want to ride along with us; better safety in numbers?”