SH05_Revolution

by Edward Cline

  Mercer looked disgusted, and made a face. “For the Crown to need to resort to such sneakish ruses and cowardly circumspection — it is ignoble and humiliating!” he protested.

  “I agree,” replied the captain with empathy. He added with righteous enthusiasm, “But, together, we shall make them pay for the ploy! You in Williamsburg, and I, here!”

  Mercer sighed. “All right, sir. I agree to the plan.”

  Sterling smiled. “I guarantee that you will be able to supply the General Court with all the stamps it needs, sir, and promise that you will have them a full day before they are required.” He rose and filled both their glasses again with the claret, then raised his glass in salute. “To King George, sir!”

  Mercer rose also and half-heartedly raised his glass. “Long live the king,” he said.

  * * *

  Hugh Kenrick had never met George Mercer in the House of Burgesses — that representative for Frederick County having been absent the last two years — and so did not recognize him when he observed that man and his brother pass him on the street in a paired chaise on their hurried way out of Old Point Comfort. He had heard that Mercer had arrived and was roughed up by a mob some hours before the Morag dropped anchor and her few passengers came ashore. The tavern he had gone to for a hearty dinner was loud with talk of Mercer and the incident, a cacophony of anger, boasting, and jest.

  He had left New York before the Congress ended so that he could be in Caxton or Williamsburg on November first, when the Act was to go into effect, and managed to find a berth on the Morag, which carried a cargo of salt licks, pickling vinegar, and barrels of oatmeal and English split peas. The speed of the schooner left him in awe; three days from New York harbor to Hampton. He had had lively talks with the captain, Ian Kennaway, who was once a Scottish tobacco factor on Long Island but had decided to strike out on his own. The salt licks would be deposited in Kennaway’s Hampton warehouse and sold to local farmers, and the Morag would proceed to Norfolk with the rest of the cargo.

  What a difference in opposition to the Act, he observed, from the grave convocation of the Stamp Act Congress in New York, roisterous as it sometimes became! There was more reading in his travel bag than he had taken with him to New York: a draft of the Congress resolutions, a Maryland Gazette that contained the Maryland Resolves, a copy of Daniel Dulany’s pamphlet, Considerations on the Propriety of Imposing Taxes in British Colonies, and other pamphlets and broadsides he had collected during his two weeks there.

  The Stamp Act Congress’s resolutions and the Maryland Resolves had adopted the format of Patrick Henry’s Resolves of last May. He had read all the material many times over, and while the protests elated him, something about them disturbed him. Something was missing from them. It made him uneasy, knowing that something was absent in all those brave, defiant words. He could not put his mind’s finger on it. There was a glaring lacuna, not in the texts of the literature, but in their spirit.

  Hugh had left the chophouse and was walking along the front street, on his way to the hostler’s stables, where Spears had left a mount for him to ride back to Caxton. He could pay the hostler and be saddled for the long ride to Caxton in half an hour. He was eager to get back to Meum Hall and share his experiences in New York with Jack Frake and Thomas Reisdale.

  He saw a group of people cross the front street to the chophouse from the dock, and only then realized that the Sparrowhawk was moored and that these people were probably passengers.

  There were seven men and six women in the group. One of the women was tall, graceful, and queenly with ease. There was something attractive and commanding in her haughtiness. Her black eyes matched her black hair, which was pinned up under a straw sun hat secured by a red ribbon.

  It was Reverdy Brune.

  Hugh stood stunned, unable to move, to think, to react in any way or form.

  It was she. Some years older. And magnificently so. Worthy of the statue he had once planned to have made of her, and put on a pedestal in a private Doric temple.

  He stood watching the group as it made its way to the chophouse. A man was with her. It was not Alex McDougal, her husband, but James Brune, her brother. Where was her husband? He was not among the men. What was she doing here?

  He stood transfixed by the vision, remembering his love for her, and his recriminatory words to her in his last letter, so long ago.…

  “Mr. Kenrick…?”

  Hugh thought he heard a voice, and dreamily shifted his attention to its source. He found himself staring into the concerned eyes of John Ramshaw, captain of the Sparrowhawk. “Mr. Ramshaw…hello,” he answered, startled by the man’s presence, but not yet fully conscious of it.

  “Greetings, sir,” said the captain. “If you please, I have little time and urgent information for you.”

  Hugh forced himself to forget what he had seen, and pay attention to the man. “How did you know I would be here, sir?”

  “I didn’t. I came ashore to hire a fellow to ride like hell to Caxton to deliver a message to you and Mr. Frake. But, here you are!” The captain paused and nodded to the travel bag in Hugh’s hand. “Are you embarking on a voyage?”

  Hugh shook his head. “No. I have just arrived, on the Morag, from the congress in New York.”

  “What congress?”

  Hugh explained the purpose of the congress, and brought the captain up to date on all the events since the Sparrowhawk’s last visit.

  “Trouble!” exclaimed Ramshaw. “I was certain of it! What did this congress accomplish?”

  “More assertions of liberty and appeals to reason,” answered Hugh.

  “They may as well be appeals to heaven,” remarked the captain, “for all the good they will do.”

  “What message, sir?”

  Ramshaw glanced up and down the front street, then took Hugh’s elbow and led him to stroll down the length of the waterfront. “Have you heard about Mr. Mercer, the stamp distributor who has just arrived?”

  “Yes, and that he was assaulted.”

  “He has brought stamps with him,” said Ramshaw. He nodded to the Rainbow sitting offshore. “He and Captain Sterling there have conspired to deliver some of them to your Capitol in two days.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “They mean to bring them in through Caxton, Mr. Kenrick, and I have been pressed to assist them in the subterfuge.”

  “Pressed? How?”

  “The good captain promised not to rummage my ship for contraband — and half my cargo is that, as you well know. At least, that was his insinuation.” Ramshaw paused. “They are afraid that the stamps will be seized and destroyed by rebels. And if Mr. Mercer’s treatment today is any measure of the animosity at large here, that is a certain wager, if care is not taken.”

  “Did you not protest?” asked Hugh.

  “No! How could I? I am a loyal subject of His Majesty and a strict abider by all his laws!” replied Ramshaw with irony. He grinned. “Better the devil you know, than the one you don’t. But I am a devil of a different bent.” Ramshaw scoffed angrily. “He called on my ship with a crew ready to begin knackering it to pieces. He calls me ‘friend.’”

  “But why Caxton?” asked Hugh. “And why your vessel? There are other merchantmen here, and the naval vessels, as well.”

  “My first calls in these waters have always been Hampton, Yorktown, Caxton, and West Point, in that order, and occasionally planters’ piers on the York. Sterling knows this.” He waved a hand at the Bay. “All the others there are sailing south.” Ramshaw paused and took out a pipe. “As for Caxton? He explained his reasoning to me, the trusting soul. The stamps cannot be taken overland, for fear of seizure and altercation. Yorktown he deems a haven of sedition and treason. And Capitol Landing would be too embarrassing to your good Governor, should the ruse be detected. Many of the farmers at Porto Bello there are in debt, he said, and would have a special interest in alerting interested rebels if he attempted to bring the stamps up Queen’s Creek. No stamp
s, you see, so no court, no creditors’ suits!” The captain packed his pipe and lit it. “Caxton, however, in his judgment, is peaceful and innocuous.”

  “And, not half a day’s ride from Williamsburg,” said Hugh.

  “Yes. Mr. Mercer is proceeding to his father’s house there. That is where the stamps are to be delivered, the day before the General Court opens, on the first.”

  “Why not to the Palace?”

  “Again, they do not want to risk embarrassing the Governor.”

  “Delivered by whom?”

  “Mr. Sterling will make me a gift of one of his lieutenants and a body of trusted crewmen. They will be aboard the Sparrowhawk when it goes to Caxton. Then they will take the stamps to Mr. Mercer.”

  Hugh frowned. “They will not set foot in Caxton, I can promise you that!” exclaimed Hugh. He told Ramshaw about the Sons of Liberty, and their resolve to prohibit the presence and use of stamps in Queen Anne County.

  Ramshaw laughed. “Well, how about that!” But then he looked grave. “Will your Sons be willing to foil this business at any risk, sir? Will they carry arms?”

  Hugh frowned in turn. “No. I don’t see why arms would be necessary.”

  “You may think it necessary, sir. You see, the Sparrowhawk will be followed at a distance by one of Captain Sterling’s tenders. On it will be half a company of marines. They will intervene if there is trouble, and escort the stamps to Williamsburg if it is thought necessary to ensure their safe delivery.”

  “When do you leave?” asked Hugh.

  “Tomorrow morning, at the break of dawn. You ought to see my sails approach Caxton the next morning, the thirty-first.” Ramshaw puffed on his pipe. “Sterling confided in me the most curious aspect of this business. He instructed Mr. Mercer not to reveal any of it to the Governor, who would learn of it only when he heard that there was a party of ratings and marines in the Capitol. He fears that if the Governer got wind of it, he might be struck with funk and order the plan abandoned.” The captain laughed again. “It seems that the only person willing to marry himself to the stamps is Mr. Mercer. Sterling will not accept responsibility for them, unless ordered to, and the Governor will not, because he would not wish to risk souring the love for him that he believes the people here have. That is how Sterling explained it to me.” He shook his head in dark appreciation. “He knows his men, on board and off!”

  Hugh scoffed. “Would that the king were so mindful of his prestige! He would save his subjects and himself so much grief that is sure to come, if he had devoted a moment’s thought before signing the Act!”

  Ramshaw remarked, “Well, kings don’t need to think, or so I’ve heard.” He puffed on his pipe thoughtfully, then asked, “So, dear Mr. Barret is gone?”

  “Yes,” answered Hugh. “That has cost the Governor some love in Caxton.”

  “Who is accepting mail there now?”

  “Mr. Safford.”

  “Very well.” Ramshaw took a sealed sheet of folded paper from inside his coat. He held it out to Hugh. “This contains all the particulars of the ruse, Mr. Kenrick,” he said. “I was to entrust it to a stranger. Instead, I give it to a friend.”

  Hugh took the paper and tucked it inside one of his pockets. “Thank you, sir. You must stay at Meum Hall, when you come to Caxton.” He wrestled with a desire to query the captain about his passengers. He wrestled in turn with his desire to get to Caxton as quickly as possible, and with the desire to enter the chophouse and see Reverdy. He smiled at his old friend, then frowned. “And you, sir? If the Act is not repealed or amended, how would you fare?”

  Ramshaw shook his head again. “I wouldn’t. My man can counterfeit everything but those bloody stamps! And they can’t be purchased sub rosa. So, I am for repeal. I am also for the freedom to trade without cockets and bills and the likes of Captain Sterling.” He sighed. “Well, now I must join my former passengers at the inn up there for a feast of eatables. Even my cook has repaired to the place! Interesting group I brought over, this time. Plumb folks visiting their kin here. Then there is Mr. James Brune, who has come over to survey the possibilities for trade here. I have advised him that Norfolk is the place for him. He is employed by some Scottish firm. His sister accompanied him for the tour.”

  “How odd,” said Hugh reluctantly, thinking his voice was cracking and betraying his interest, “that he would bring his sister on such a rigorous journey.”

  Ramshaw laughed. “Now, sir, you are insulting my accommodations!” he said in jest. “But not at all odd. Seems she was married to his employer’s son. He died in a riding accident, and she wished to expend her grief in the diversion. Her family, I understand, hold stock in her late husband’s firm, and her brother has stepped into his place.”

  Hugh shut his eyes briefly, then said, “Well, I must go to Caxton, and you to fair company.” He took the captain’s hand and shook it. “Thank you again for the intelligence. Forewarned is forearmed.” He paused. “Do not be surprised by what you may see, when you come to Caxton.”

  “I’ll try not to give myself away,” said Ramshaw. “’Til we meet again, sir.” He turned and strode back down the street in the direction of the chophouse.

  For a while, Hugh was conscious only of sounds: the wind blowing in from the Bay, the crying of seagulls, the groans of docked merchantmen pulling on the hawsers that tied them to the land.

  Hugh pursed his lips in determination, then turned and walked briskly to the hostler’s stables, where he paid the stable boy a crown to saddle his horse. Then he mounted and left the stable.

  He could not resist going by the chophouse. He paused. There, through the window glass, he saw Reverdy’s profile at a table. She turned and saw him, and her eyes widened in recognition.

  Hugh did not see her astonishment. By now he had wrenched his sight away from her, dug his heels into his mount’s sides, and struck the rump of the horse with his riding crop. The horse broke into a gallop. Hugh did not rein it in to a slower pace until he was well out of the town, on the road that cut diagonally across the peninsula to Williamsburg.

  Some hours later, he cantered past a paired chaise with two men, and left them behind.

  * * *

  Chapter 10: The Lieutenant

  Lieutenant James Harke, aged twenty-two, of the Rainbow, did not grasp his dilemma until he was halfway up the York River. He stood on the Sparrowhawk’s quarterdeck, watching the opposite bank glide by as the pilot took the merchantman up the middle of the river. It suddenly occurred to him that he had been delegated a responsibility — and possibly even a liability — that he did not want and did not think it was right of Captain Sterling to delegate. His eagerness and impatience to perform a welcome duty soured with his growing suspicion of having been duped.

  He knew that he could hardly have protested his orders, which were to deliver a box of stamps and stamped paper to George Mercer’s residence in Williamsburg, by way of Caxton, with “the least disturbance of the populace and with utmost discretion.” The captain had explained the reasons for the ruse and pointed out the risks. An earlier plan to dispatch a tender with a complement of marines to follow the Sparrowhawk and support Harke and his party had been abandoned as “too likely provocative and risky.” Harke commanded a party of ten crewmen, each man armed with a cutlass, sword, or pistol. Leading them was Bosun Will Olland. Harke had briefly met Mercer before that man was rowed ashore from the Rainbow to begin his journey to his father’s house in Williamsburg.

  Harke glanced at the object of the conspiracy, which sat on the quarterdeck not three feet away, a brown wooden container, roughly knocked together, about half the size of a sea chest. Carrying poles were fixed to its sides. He and his party were to quick march it to Williamsburg and deliver it. He had been instructed where to find the residence of the stamp distributor’s father there. Once the stamps were delivered, he and his party were to find a vessel to transport them back to Hampton. Harke was to hire or commandeer a vessel at Capitol Landing or Yorktown to co
nvey him and his party back to the Rainbow.

  They were not to dally in Caxton or the Capitol, lest the colonials take exception to their presence or wonder about the purpose of their mission and create an incident.

  Sterling assured the lieutenant that he would not encounter any opposition in Caxton — “it is a sedate and loyal hamlet, I have heard that the court there intends to carry on its business nevertheless” — nor on the road to Williamsburg. Sterling gave him strict instructions not to stop in Caxton, but to pass immediately through it and over the Hove Stream bridge. If he were to be asked by anyone what his business was, he was to say only that he and his party were on Crown business, and no more than that.

  If pressed for a better answer, he was to say that Captain Sterling was an acquaintance of Mr. Mercer, and that his party was delivering as a favor some of Mr. Mercer’s personal property that had been misplaced in the Leed’s stowage and found only after Mr. Mercer had departed Hampton. “Above all,” cautioned the captain, “avoid communication with anyone in the government there. No one in it must know or suspect the purpose of this plan, especially not the Governor.”

  The dubious legality of his mission had since dawned on the lieutenant. Because he led a party of armed men, whom he would naturally order to defend themselves and their burden if attacked, an admiralty court and a civilian court could easily view the plan as an attempt to “visit violence upon civilians without the leave of a civil magistrate, in an illegal action to suppress without authority rioting and anarchy.” Harke and Sterling could be cashiered from the Navy and charged with criminal offenses, even though their actions were taken in an effort to enforce Crown law. Perhaps, in that instance, a court might make an exception, together with the consideration that the violence was visited on mere rebellious colonials. It depended on the seriousness of the incident and the political sensitivity of the men charged with judging the circumstances.