Revolution

by Edward Cline

  “But your honor,” asked Randolph, “what will you do about these justices?”

  “I shall take your advice, sirs, and do nothing. There is nothing to be done, except to let the fever run its course.”

  * * *

  Some days later, on a cloudless October afternoon, Thomas Reisdale, in one of his infrequent moods to stroll in the sun, wandered through his landscaped back lawn, inspecting the maze of boxwoods that had been planted in concentric crescents and the holly trees that stood in the center of each arc, a copy of Robert Molesworth’s An Account of Denmark as it was in 1692 tucked under his arm. When he heard, then saw, a riding chair and two horsemen come up the road that divided his fields and led to the great house, he walked back to the courtyard in the front of the house to wait for the party to arrive.

  Jack Frake and John Proudlocks rode up, followed by Etáin in the riding chair. They exchanged greetings. Proudlocks was holding what looked like a banner fixed to an oaken staff. The banner was furled, secured by a cord.

  “We have just come from Widow Heathcoate’s shop,” said Etáin.

  “Is that the banner?” asked Reisdale.

  “Yes.” Jack nodded to Proudlocks, who reached up, untied the cord, and unfurled the banner. A warm breeze played at the folds, and Reisdale saw the red and white stripes undulate in the wind. In the cobalt canton he saw the motto of the Sons of Liberty, “Live free, or die,” while “Sons of Liberty” was stitched in black on one of the middle white stripes.

  “Surely,” said the attorney, “you did not come here just to show me that. The Sons meet in a week.”

  Jack Frake shook his head. “We have seen your notice at the courthouse,” he said. “I thought you deserved to see it first.”

  A strange sensation of pride and expectation tingled the attorney’s heart and limbs. He did not understand it, at first. He was moved by the gesture. He thought the banner atrocious, gaudy, and crude. He was fascinated by it, and hoped he would have an excuse to carry it someday. The cloth and the colors represented a radical departure from everything he had ever known. They expressed a threat and a promise at the same time.

  All these confusing thoughts occurred to him at once. Fighting a frustrating emotion, he stammered a thank you, and somehow managed to invite his callers inside for dinner without tripping over his suddenly hard-to-pronounce words.

  Later, after his friends had left, Reisdale wandered again through his boxwood park in helpless elation, a feeling that was not just a feeling, one based on the knowledge that he was no longer merely a legal scholar or a “mental archives,” as Hugh Kenrick had once called him. Now he was a man.

  He felt dangerous. He did not know he was smiling.

  * * *

  Chapter 9: The Lacuna

  Captain Walter Sterling, aged forty-five, was humming to himself over a glass of French brandy, rapidly signing a batch of clearance documents, when his steward knocked on the cabin door and announced the presence on board of a gentleman who wished to see him on urgent Crown business.

  Sterling, captain of the Rainbow, a fifth-rate frigate now riding anchor off Old Point Comfort, Hampton, commanded a busy fleet of smaller warships and vessels that policed the waters of Chesapeake Bay, gateway to all of Virginia’s rivers. His task was to ensure that all vessels of trade and commerce, British and colonial, that came and went carried the correct papers for their enumerated cargoes, to discourage and capture smugglers, and to collect the Crown’s due when a vessel’s paperwork contained irregularities and deficiencies. He was also empowered to seize and impound vessels whose captains or masters flagrantly and with criminal intent flouted the navigation laws.

  One such was being detained in Norfolk now, fresh from Lisbon with wine, oil, and arrack. Sterling was still awaiting judgment from the admiralty court in Halifax about whether or not Captain Jeremiah Morgan of the Hornet had taken it at sea or within the capes on Chesapeake Bay. If taken at sea, then Sterling, Morgan, and their crews would be entitled to half the proceeds from the sale of the vessel and its cargo; if taken on the Bay, one-third of those proceeds could be claimed by Lieutenant-Governor Fauquier. Naturally, Sterling hoped the court would recognize a seizure at sea. He was accustomed to such delays; this kind of jurisdictional spat had arisen before.

  “Who is it?” he asked the steward, not looking up.

  “Mr. George Mercer, sir,” answered the man, a rating assigned to wait upon the captain.

  Sterling paused in the middle of a signature in recognition of the name, but finished signing the form, and said, “All right. Show him down.”

  He knew the name well, and that this person was the appointed stamp distributor for the colony. He knew also that this person had been hanged in effigy in various towns and hamlets throughout the colony, even in Hampton. He had heard the man’s name cursed in the taverns and inns in Old Point Comfort, which he often frequented as a relief from the fare of the Rainbow’s galley. He wondered how so disliked a man was going to fulfill his duty or keep his place.

  The captain was ambivalent about the Stamp Act, no copy of which he had yet received. Enforcing it would simply add a new burden to his job here. It would mean increased vigilance, additional checking and inspections, and even more unpleasantness than usual. If there were any truth to the stories reported by his officers and crews about what was occurring in Virginia and Maryland, enforcing the Act was going to be very difficult, indeed. Or, he reflected, perhaps not. There was also a rumor going about that all commerce itself might cease until the colonials’ complaints received some form of redress, or until the colonials submitted to the Act.

  Sterling heard footsteps approaching his door. He rose, slipped into his coat and patted his bob-wig to make sure it sat true, then sat back in his chair and waited.

  The steward showed in George Mercer, a young man of thirty-one or so. Sterling frowned, startled by the visitor’s appearance. There were bruises on the fellow’s face, and a large one that was just a hue short of a black eye. The lower lip was cut in two places. There were rips in the man’s frock coat, and buttons were missing from it. The hose beneath his breeches was torn on both calves. The man looked like a London beggar. Sterling half expected him to utter a whining plea and hold out his hand.

  Mercer removed his hat and tucked it under his arm. “Thank you, sir,” he said, “for allowing me to intrude upon your time. Captain Anderson sends his compliments.”

  Still startled by the man’s state, the captain rose and indicated a chair before his desk. “Anderson?” he asked dumbly.

  Mercer smiled weakly and sat down. “Of the Leeds, sir, my conveyance from England, just now dropped anchor at Point Comfort.” He paused, and added, “A few hours ago, that is.”

  “Oh, yes. Anderson,” said Sterling. “I see.” He picked up his glass. It was empty. “May I offer you some brandy? No, no, I have just finished the last bottle. Some Chateau Lafite, perhaps? A very good claret. Have a bumper of it, sir, and then you may explain your, er, condition.” Without waiting for a reply, he took a key from his coat pocket, went to a cabinet, and unlocked it. He took an open bottle from the cache of liquor inside — most of it “captured” from offending vessels — and found two more glasses. When he had finished serving his visitor and himself, he said, raising his glass, “To your health, sir — or what remains of it.”

  Mercer smiled weakly again, nodded in thanks, and drank, wincing when the liquor touched his lip.

  Sterling took his seat, and said, “But, first, please confirm for me that you are indeed the same Mr. Mercer who is the…expected stamp distributor.”

  Mercer nodded, and put down his glass on the edge of Sterling’s desk. “I am that person, sir.”

  “How did you come here?”

  “On Captain Anderson’s skiff, direct from the Leeds.”

  “I see. Well…?” prompted Sterling, gesturing with a hand.

  Mercer said, with some bitterness in his words, “I must assure you, sir, that in spite of my e
xperience — nay, perhaps even because of it — I am determined to meet the terms of my commission.” He saw the captain’s expectant look. “It was a frightening experience, sir. I went ashore with the other passengers to await my luggage and also my brother, who is to meet me here with our chaise. I have been away for two years, and naturally my luggage is considerable. I knew I should have to wait until it was retrieved from the hold and assembled. I repaired to a chophouse I had patronized in the past, and someone from my county — from Frederick, that is — happened also to be there, and recognized me. He was John Hite, a fellow I bested in our county elections years ago. He got but one vote, and it was his own! By the time I had finished my plate, a group of men, including that fellow, had gathered outside. Cads, ruffians, and lumpers, they looked like. One of them said, ‘There’s the king’s pick-purse!’ and soon I found myself encircled. At first, I was assaulted by taunts and rude names, then by hands and fists. They played a very mortal game of hot cockles with me. I could hardly defend myself and knew I was in great peril. My injuries might have been more severe, had not a group of passing gentlemen come to my rescue and dispersed this mob with canes and swords. I do believe I was intended to be tossed off the dock into the water and dunked until I was drowned!” Mercer paused, unsure about whether to be ashamed or outraged. “My sword and pocket watch were taken during this ambuscade. I returned to the Leeds and apprised Captain Anderson of the matter.”

  “Rough lot, some of those lubbers.” Sterling shook his head in sympathy. “I have a surgeon onboard, sir. Will you need his attentions?”

  “No, sir. Thank you,” replied Mercer bravely.

  “Has your brother arrived?”

  Mercer nodded. “Shortly after the incident, he came into town. He awaits me there. He brought word of the danger to me, even in the Capitol!”

  Sterling put on a puzzled grin. “But, sir, did you not expect such a reception? These parts have been riled for some time, since June. Several of your commissioned colleagues have been obliged to resign their appointments, in fear for their lives and property.” He paused to study his visitor. “And, you, sir, have been manikinned, hanged, and burned clear from the Potomac to Norfolk, together with Mr. Grenville and poor Lord Bute!” He chuckled. “Why, one of my officers was in Williamsburg yesterday, and returned to report that one of your fellow burgesses — oh, yes, I know you are in the House, how could I help but know, for all the chatter! — he conducted a parade of manikins down the main street there, consisting of a hangman’s cart pulled by Negroes in high boots and red coats. On the cart were you and Mr. Grenville. Several fellows acting as sheriffs, bailiffs, and the like followed, including the instigator of the affair. What is his name, now? Oh, yes! Lee. Richard Henry Lee, of Westmoreland.” He paused. “My officer reported that it was quite a novelty, and the crowds were entertained immensely and quite friendly to the spectacle.”

  “Lee!” spat Mercer. “I understand that he applied for my commission! How waspish of him, to behave in such a manner!”

  “Fair is foul, and foul is fair,” remarked Sterling. “Well, sir,” he said, sitting back in his chair, “what is the purpose of your call?”

  Mercer made himself comfortable. “It is this, sir: The stamps I must convey to the Capitol are on the Leeds. Though they accompanied me on the voyage, I have not officially taken charge of them. Captain Anderson wishes to proceed on his vessel’s business, once he has been cleared. In any event, he does not wish the stamps to remain on his vessel. There are three consignments of the stamped paper and stamps in his hold: one for Virginia, and one each for Maryland and North Carolina. Captain Anderson has asked me to speak with you about their security.”

  “I see.” Sterling took another sip of his claret, then gazed out his stern window into the bright late-October afternoon. Something caught his attention. He picked up a spyglass and with it swept the vista beyond. “Ah!” he commented, “there’s the Falmouth, just coming in. And the Morag, too, Mr. Kennaway’s schooner, brailing her sails, as well. And the Excelsior” — he turned with a smile to Mercer, and added with a note of confidentiality, “she needs careful auditing, her Captain Washburn would slip in the King of France if he thought he could wool my eyes —” then turned back to his spyglass, “and there’s the Sparrowhawk, just tacking to port. What a rush of business of a sudden!” He turned to Mercer again and put the spyglass aside. “Good crossing, Mr. Mercer?”

  The Virginian nodded. “Yes, sir. It was a swift and amiable passage. The Sparrowhawk? She nearly rode our wake the whole way, sir. We thought she would pass us, a few times.”

  Sterling said, “Fine ship. I know the captain well.” He shook his head. “A damned difficult situation we have here, sir. I cannot assume responsibility for the stamps, not unless I receive a request from Governor Fauquier. That is something you must discuss with him. Of course, should he request it, I will comply. After all, he is vice-admiral of these waters. I am in regular communication with him.” He paused. “May I ask how you planned to deliver the articles to Williamsburg?”

  Mercer shrugged listlessly. “I had hoped to hire a vessel to take them up the York to Queen’s Creek and Capitol Landing, and thence to the Capitol. My brother, father, and I arranged by letter months ago that my brother would meet me here today or tomorrow, to convey me and my baggage by chaise.” He paused. “But I did not know how serious the tumult was here, until just a few hours ago. Now is it especially urgent that I get to the Capitol, as soon as possible. The General Court opens in a few days, and the Governor doubtless is relying on me to make the stamps available. I would not wish to compromise him or inconvenience the Court.”

  Sterling’s eyebrows rose. “Of course not. But I have heard that courts throughout the colonies may not even open, come their time, in protest of the Act.” He barked once in contempt. “Why, even the justices have chosen to discount the law! You would think they would welcome another law to enforce!”

  “That may be, sir,” replied Mercer with some testiness. “So, it is of utmost importance that our General Court set an example for other superior courts to follow, and conduct its business in conformance with the law, with the stamps.” He reached for his glass of claret and took a gulp. “Can the Leeds be detained until I have spoken with the Governor?”

  Sterling cocked his head. “I don’t see why not,” he answered tentatively. “I imagine that now Captain Anderson must regard the stamps as a hex, and will not leave until he is rid of them.”

  Mercer put his glass down and swallowed his spit. “Until they are employed, sir, may I stress that the stamps are Crown property? I…believe the Navy must at some point act or be asked to ensure their security.”

  Sterling frowned and turned his head slowly to Mercer. His eyes narrowed, and he replied frigidly, “I am aware of my duties, sir.” Then he looked away to stare into space.

  Mercer blinked and ploughed on. “The stamps are packed in three sealed crates. Now that I have a truer picture of the ferment here, I believe that the ones marked for Annapolis and Wilmington ought to be taken in hand by the Navy and delivered to those towns. I had intended to arrange for their transportation on a private vessel. In view of the circumstances, I believe that is now a foolhardy plan.” He paused, and leaned forward to address the icy profile of the captain. “Sir, I am not presuming to instruct you in your duties. I am certain they have occurred to you. I am merely telling you what I would expect Governor Fauquier will tell me. Forgive me if I sound impertinent.”

  Sterling’s eyes slid in Mercer’s direction in acknowledgement of the apology. Then he slapped a hand on the pile of customs forms at his elbow. “Here is what I can do, sir. The stamps must remain on the Leeds. I will detain her on some irregularity or other until I hear from you or the Governor. I can arrange to have the Diligence take one consignment to Wilmington, and the Charlotte another to Annapolis. These are swift, ten-gun sloops, sir, the best chasers on the Bay. However, I will not act on that, either, until have heard from
you or the Governor.” He smiled at the crestfallen look on his visitor’s face. Presumptuous puppy! he thought. No lubber gives me orders and expects me to jump! Then he said, “I am keen for some mischief to break the routine here, sir. The General Court must sit, and sit it will! I share your ardor in that respect!” He grunted once in happy anger. “By God! Between us, we will show these blustering Boanerges that they can’t toy with the Crown and not expect a bellyful of shot in reply!” He paused. “Would the Virginia stamps fit onto your brother’s chaise?”

  “Hardly, sir,” answered Mercer, intrigued. “The crate would likely break the wheels. It would require a suttler’s wagon to move it. The paper in it is destined for all the courts here, not just the General Court, and there is enough of it of various kinds to last two years.”

  “I see. Well, we must think of something else, then. You may have noticed my contingent of marines, sir. They are idle. I was thinking of providing you an escort.” Sterling looked wicked, and massaged his chin in thought. “Ah! Here it is, then! You will return to the Leeds. Break open the Virginia crate. Remove from it a small amount of what you think the General Court alone will need for its immediate business. Have Anderson repack it into a smaller crate. I’m sure he has spare material in his hold that can accommodate you. The balance of the stamps may be brought in and introduced in due time. Then, this is what I propose.…”

  When Sterling had finished, Mercer pondered the idea for a moment. Then he said, “It is a rather round-about way to deliver the stamps, sir.”

  Sterling shrugged. “Of course, the new box could easily be fitted onto your chaise. But would you want to chance another assault by ruffians, this time with the true object of their hatred in your possession? I fear you would risk more permanent damage. It is many miles between here and Williamsburg, and you would likely encounter persecutors every other one of them.”