by Simon Hawke
“Undoubtedly. our fearless sheriff saw some familiar faces in the crowd.” said Moffat. “among them Ebenezer Macintosh, that hard-nosed cobbler who leads the rowdy South End Gang, and Samuel Swift, the leader of the North End Boys, who like nothing better than to break a head or two. I saw them whipping up the crowd myself. And if those two rival. brawling gangs of hooligans have come together for this demonstration. then Greenleaf knows there could be hell to pay before this day is through. I am not surprised that he wanted no part of it.”
At that moment. someone came running into the tavern to announce that the demonstrators were going to march on the stampman’s office.
This I’d like to see.” said Edes, pushing back his chair and heading for the door.
Hunter followed with the others as they hurried toward the Common. It was growing dark as they arrived and the crowd had grown quite large. The demonstrators had pulled down the effigies and nailed them to boards. They hoisted them up onto their shoulders and paraded shouting through the town, followed by the growing crowd of onlookers. Hunter went along as Ebenezer Macintosh led the noisy march to Kilby Street. where Andrew Oliver. the stamp distributor, had established his new office. It took them less than five minutes to demolish it completely.
“And they shout about liberties and rights.” said Moffat. shaking his head as he watched the demonstrators ripping down the building. “Well I’ve seen quite enough.” He turned to Hunter. “I fear that you have pot found Boston at her best, sir. Good fortune to you.”
When the demolition was completed. the crowd moved on to Oliver’s home. The stamp distributor had fled when he heard the crowd approaching, but if he thought they would disperse when they didn’t find him home, he was tragically mistaken.
The rioters used rocks and clubs to smash out all his windows of imported English glass, then they broke open the stables and vandalized his handsome coach. They tore down the garden fence and started a fire in the yard. Most of the onlookers just watched, but a good number of them joined the rioters as they stripped every single fruit tree on the grounds, tore off all the branches, and fed them to the flames. Then they broke into the house itself.
Hunter followed them inside, where they smashed all the furniture to kindling and scattered Oliver’s possessions all about the house. Many of them helped themselves to whatever valuables they found, and not one to waste an opportunity, Hunter stuffed his pockets with jewelry and cash. When in Rome. he thought, do as the Romans do.
There was a lot of celebrating in the taverns on the waterfront that night and Hunter cemented some new friendships by standing men like Ben Edes and Ebenezer Macintosh to drinks, in some cases with money he had picked from their own pockets. He took a small room at an inn and the next day he joined some of his new friends in a delegation of “concerned citizens” who went to visit Andrew Oliver in his shambles of a home, where they convinced him, “for the good of the public.” to resign his royal commission as the distributor of stamps.
Buoyed up by their success, these concerned citizens then decided to further influence their local officials by trashing some more houses. They built a huge bonfire on King Street. the better to attract a crowd, and in a proper festive spirit, they then proceeded to lay waste to the home of William Story, an officer of the vice admiralty court. A few of the more festive souls among the crowd cried out for Story’s life, but he had made good his escape, and they were forced to settle for burning the admiralty records and stealing all his valuables. After Story’s house was burglarized, the mob proceeded to the home of Ben Hallowell, a customs official, where once again they smashed a lot of doors and windows, broke up a lot of furniture, scattered all the books and papers, helped themselves to the contents of the wine cellar, and took away whatever valuables they found. Hunter came away with about two hundred pounds in cash, which he had discovered locked in Hallowell’s desk. He decided that things were going along quite nicely, but they went even better at the home of Chief Justice Thomas Hutchinson.
Hutchinson fled with his family just in time. Shouting “Liberty and property.” the demonstrators demonstrated their respect of same by working diligently through the night to demolish the entire mansion. They first broke open the wine cellars, for it was thirsty work, and while most of them were busy getting drunk and smashing up the furniture. Hunter and Macintosh made a quick search of the house. Their efforts rewarded them with some jewelry and nine hundred pounds sterling, which they divvied up between them.
“Patriotism is its own reward, eh?” said the grinning Macintosh. clapping Hunter on the back. In the short time they had known each other, they had become fast friends. Amazing what a little civil disobedience and alcohol can do. thought Hunter. After the mob finished demolishing the furniture and smashing out the windows, they started tearing up the floors. There was no stopping them. Sheriff Greenleaf arrived and made a token effort at exerting his authority. but a barrage of rocks and bricks made him decide that he had more important things to see to at the office. Having thus repulsed the sheriff, the rioters celebrated their victory by smashing all the dishes and the crystalware. then tearing up the library. They destroyed the books and ripped up all the documents, including the manuscript for
Hutchinson’s history of the Massachusetts colony, which he had been working on for thirty years. Throughout the house, the rioters were going berserk like piranhas in a feeding frenzy. slashing all the mattresses and pillows, tearing down the drapes, smashing through the walls, and ripping down the chandeliers. When the interior of the mansion was completely gutted, the rioters tore the slate shingles off the roof and even dismantled the cupola. which took about three hours, but provided them with no end of satisfaction.
At some point during the night, Governor Bernard had given the order for the drummers to beat the alarm for the militia. but Sheriff Greenleaf had to disappoint him once again. The drummers. he reported sadly, were all part of the mob. It was dawn before the last of the rioters finally dispersed, leaving behind an utter ruin. Nothing remained standing of Boston’s finest mansion except a wall or two and a huge pile of rubble. It looked as if a tornado had touched down upon the spot.
The Boston riots touched off similar events in other cities. Throughout the thirteen colonies, stamp distributors were pressured to resign. With no stamps to pass out, ships whose papers were not stamped were suddenly engaged in smuggling. They could not unload in England without the risk of seizure. In Philadelphia, one hundred and fifty ships had jammed the port. Without stamps for legal documents, courts had no choice but to close down. Writs could not be issued. Land titles couldn’t be conveyed. Trials could not take place. An enterprising man could profit from such a climate of confusion and Reese Hunter found himself among enterprising men.
They called themselves the Sons of Liberty and their leaders met in a tavern called The Bunch of Grapes. Ben Edes had joined the Sons of Liberty and the Gazette became the most radical newspaper in the colonies. Sam Adams used it as his forum. Writing under a wide variety of pseudonyms such as “Determinatus,”
“Brittanicus Americus.”
“A Son of Liberty.”
“A Bostonian,” and “Candidus,” Adams kept up an unceasing barrage of invective against the ministers of the Crown and even against King George, himself, which many citizens of Boston thought was going much too far.
It was one thing to speak out against the ministry and Parliament. but it was something else again when Adams dared to criticize the king. to lecture him in print like an impatient schoolmaster. But most of the citizens of Boston were still unaware that what Sam Adams really wanted was nothing less than total independence from Great Britain, an idea whose time had not yet come, though Hunter knew that it was drawing closer. In another decade, the colonies would declare their independence from the mother country. Hunter intended to be long gone by then. He had no intention of being caught up in the war. But in the meantime. Boston was a fascinating place to be. And Hunter was in no hurry to go anyw
here. He had all the time in the world.
It was growing late when he arrived to meet the others at the tavern. The feisty Macintosh was already reeling from the effects of all the wine he’d drunk and he was being twice as loud as usual, which made for a considerable amount of volume.
“An’ I still say it was a mistake,” he slurred angrily. his mind still relatively lucid, though his mouth lagged a bit behind.
He was referring to the collection that had been taken up to repay Thomas Hutchinson for the destruction of his mansion. It had been done at the instigation of Sam Adams. who had spoken out in the Assembly and expressed his outrage at the actions of the mob. Needless to say, the money would not replace the mansion or its precious contents. and Hutchinson was reported to be heartbroken over the loss of his priceless History of Massachusetts Bay, thirty years of work undone in just one night. The morning following the riot, he had appeared in court among his fellow red-robed justices, wearing only what he’d escaped in the previous night. He had borrowed an ill-fitting coat from the neighbors he was staying with and he was a pathetic sight, indeed.
Sam Adams. unlike Macintosh. was fully able to appreciate how the sympathies of Boston would lie with a proud. distinguished citizen so humbled and he had sought to prove that the Sons of Liberty. while opposed to men like Hutchinson in principle, were not a ruthless bunch of thugs-which was precisely what many of them were. And despite the fact that he had organized the demonstration. something he prudently did not admit in public. Adams sincerely sought to make amends. Much like Col. George Washington of Virginia. whose family crest bore the Latin motto, “ Exitus Acta Probat “ (The End Justifies the Means). Adams was not above utilizing any means he felt were necessary to achieve the end he had in mind. but he fully understood the subtleties of propaganda.
Macintosh did not appreciate such tactics. “We taught that royalist bootlicker a proper lesson!” he shouted, slapping his palm down on the table and upsetting his glass of wine. “I say he had it comin’!” And now Sam Adams goes to him with hat in hand and humbly begs his pardon. sayin. ‘Please, Yer Worship, forgive us all the trespass and kindly accept these monies by way of reparation.’ Apologizin’ to the likes o’ him!”
“It’s not like that at all Mac,” Edes reassured him. “Sam Adams knows what he’s about. What’s the point of all we’re doing if public opinion turns against us? This way. Sam, stands by his principles and the Sons of Liberty have demonstrated that while our zeal is undiminished, we still have a concern for justice. And the lesson on Tom Hutchinson isn’t lost, believe
“Well, maybe so,” Macintosh admitted grudgingly, “but I still say we shouldn’t give the bastard one damn shilling! Tom Hutchinson is Massachusetts born an’ bred an’ I say he’s a traitor to his own! An’ I dare any man who thinks I’m wrong to stand up an’ say so to my face!”
At that precise instant. something came crashing through the window of the tavern. struck Macintosh full in the chest, and knocked him and his chair backward to the floor. Stunned. Macintosh sat up and stared at the object that had felled him. It was a pumpkin carved into a jack-o-lantern. Its smashed and pulpy pieces lay splattered all around him. Chairs fell to the floor as the Sons of Liberty leapt to their feet and a bellowing Macintosh led the charge outside.
For a moment, they saw nothing, but then they heard the rapid beat of iron-shod hooves on cobblestones. A black-clad rider with a long, billowing cloak came hurtling at them from the shadows, scattering the group. He turned, reining in sharply, and the handsome, jet-black stallion reared up. its forelegs pawing at the sky as the rider’s screeching laughter filled the air.
He had no head.
His keening laughter echoed through the night as he came thundering at them once again. His horse struck a gaping Jebediah Stiles and sent him sprawling as the rider plowed through them like a juggernaut, wheeled around, pulled in his reins, and reared up once again. Ransome Howard swore. pulled out his sheath knife, and hurled it at the horseman.
It went right though him.
With a maniacal screech, the rider bore down upon them once again and as the others scattered. Hunter stood and stared. astonished, as both the horse and rider vanished right before their eyes. leaving behind nothing but the echo of the horseman’s wild laughter.
“Holy Mary Mother o’ God!” breathed Macintosh, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Is it the drink. or did I really see that?
“I saw it. too!” said Dudley Brenton. “He had no head’ The rider had no head! “
“Your knife went right through him!” Eli Cruger said to Howard.
“No, he missed,” said someone.
“I didn’t miss.” insisted Howard. “I never miss.” He swallowed hard and crossed himself. “It was a ghost, sure as I live and breathe! A demon straight from hell!”
“ You saw it. Reese!” said Macintosh. his eyes bulging. “You saw! He vanished straightaway, before our very eyes! That was no man, Reese! Men don’t just disappear! It was a ghost! You saw!”
“Yes. Mac, I saw,” said Hunter. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out.
“A haunting!” Macintosh said hoarsely. “A haunting. that’s what it was! You all saw it same as I did, every man jack of you!”
Hunter bit his lower hp. His fingers felt the warp disc on its bracelet, concealed under his left sleeve. He turned and started walking quickly down the street.
Macintosh ran after him. “Reese! Wait! Where are you going’?”
“Go back, Mac,” Hunter said. “I have to go and see someone.”
“I’ll go with you!”
“No, Mac, I must go alone.”
“You’re going to tell Sam?”
“No, you go and tell him if you wish.” said Hunter. “But you’d best take some of the others with you, for I’m afraid he’s going to need a good deal of convincing. I have to go see someone else.” He paused. “They’ll take some convincing. too, but somehow I must make them believe me.”
He turned and walked away from the bewildered, frightened Macintosh and entered a dark and narrow alleyway. He looked around, pushed back his sleeve, and quickly programmed a sequence of transition coordinates into the warp disc. He took a deep breath and exhaled heavily.
“I sure hope I know what the hell I’m doing,” he said.
A moment later. Macintosh came running after him into the alley. “Reese, wait!” he cried. He stopped suddenly and looked around. “What the devil…”
The alley ended in a cul de sac. hut Hunter was nowhere in sight.
1
Lucas Priest was tired of being poked and prodded. For the past two weeks, he had been subjected to just about every type of medical examination known to man. He had been psychiatrically evaluated, biochemically analyzed, and holographically scanned until he couldn’t stand it any longer. Tall, slim, handsome, and muscular, with a bionic eye replacement as a result of being wounded on a temporal adjustment mission, he was in excellent physical condition, but the tests had worn him out. It seemed to him as if his mind and body had generated enough medical and psychiatric data to keep an entire team of doctors busy for a month. But then, he thought, that’s what you get for dying.
“Hey. Doc. are we going to be finished anytime this year’?” he asked, wearily running his hand through his thick brown hair as he sat up on the lab couch.
“Well unless someone upstairs thinks up anything else that we can put you through, that was it.” said Capt. Hazen, entering some data into her hand-held terminal “You’re all finished.”
“You’re kidding. Really?”
“Really. You can put your clothes back on.”
“You know, I never thought I’d be so glad to hear an attractive woman telling me to put my clothes back on,” said Lucas. with a grin.
She arched an eyebrow at him. “You never know. I just might ask you to take them off again sometime.” She grinned. “On the other hand, maybe not. I wouldn’t want to be accused of necrophilia.”
“Ver
y funny.”
“Sorry. It’s just that I’ve never flirted with a dead man before.”
He gave her a wry look.
She chuckled. “Okay, I’ll stop, but you might as well get used to it. After all, you’re the only soldier in the history of the Temporal Corps who ever came back from the dead. Something like that is bound to cause a little comment. Anyway. that’s it for now You’re free to go. We should have all the test results in about another week or so.”
“Just what do you expect to find?” asked Lucas.
“I haven’t got the faintest idea.” she said. “I’m just following orders. Maybe they expect me to tell them that you don’t really exist, that you’re nothing but a ghost.”
“There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
“Tell that to your buddy Dr. Darkness: she said.
“There’s a lot I could tell him.” Lucas said, with a wry grimace. That man’s got a lot to answer for.”
She gave him a questioning look. “Are you saying you’re not grateful that he saved your life?”
Lucas shrugged. “I don’t know. I wish it were that simple. I can’t help having the feeling that maybe I was supposed to die. Sounds kinda crazy. doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “A bit fatalistic perhaps. but crazy? You’re one of the sanest men I know. People who have survived near death experiences have often come away feeling profoundly changed. sometimes even a bit regretful. Of course, this isn’t quite the same thing, is it? You don’t really remember the experience.”
Lucas shook his head. “How can I? Darkness went back into the past and altered the conditions of my death. Or of my life. Hell, even the semantics of the situation are impossible. I can’t remember something that didn’t happen because the past was changed.”
