SH06_War

by Edward Cline

  Etáin shook her head once. “Then it may need to notch a Customsman or two.”

  * * *

  Hugh led the way past Meum Hall when he saw that the Fowey had not stopped at his pier. Roger Tallmadge and Lieutenant Manners followed him to the trail that connected Meum Hall with Morland Hall. A rider approached them along it, and Hugh recognized Mouse, who was riding saddleless. They paused long enough for Mouse to exclaim, “Mista’ Kenrick, there’s soldiers come to Mista’ Jack’s place! I’m goin’ to Yorktown to fetch him now!” and then dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and was off again before Hugh could acknowledge the message.

  “How long a ride is it to Yorktown?” Tallmadge asked as they moved on.

  “About an hour, if his mare doesn’t fail at the pace he’s got her going.”

  When they emerged from the cluster of trees that bordered the trail, they saw a dangerous tableau at the great house. Etáin Frake stood on the porch together with the business agent and steward, all of them armed. At the bottom of the steps stood a group of men and seven red-coated marines, six of them standing at attention with muskets at the shoulder, awaiting orders.

  Hugh concluded that they must have just arrived, having come up the rolling road from Jack Frake’s pier. The man who seemed to be in charge of two other regularly dressed men and of the marines stood at the bottom of the porch steps, apparently about to state his business. Then they all heard the approach of the newcomers, and all eyes turned to Hugh and his party.

  Hugh rode past the marines up to the man in charge, a tall, stocky man with black hair and thick black eyebrows over black marble eyes. Hugh nodded to Etáin, who nodded silently in reply.

  “Who are you, sir, and what is your business here?” asked Hugh, looking down on the man.

  “I am Jared Hunt, inspector of the Customs, sir. I was about to ask the lady of the house for her name. I am here on official business.”

  “Which is…?”

  “Which is none of your concern, sir.”

  “But, it is, sir. If you enter this house, or attempt to search it or otherwise trespass on any portion of this property, I shall be obliged to stop you.”

  The inspector scrutinized the intruder. “Are you the owner, sir?”

  “No.”

  “If you are not the owner, then I strongly advise you to desist in your verbal protest of my duties, before you are tempted to interfere with them, and thus oblige me to arrest you for a criminal action.”

  Hugh shook his head. “I strongly advise that you, sir, desist in your criminal action, before you violate the constitution.” He paused. “Or perhaps you would rather become the subject of protracted deliberations on that subject? I should warn you that the courts in these parts are very friendly to that constitution, and in them your name will be often taken in vain.”

  Hunt frowned. This stranger would not be bluffed or intimidated. He glanced at his two colleagues from the Customs office in Hampton, then said, as officiously as he could, “We have received information that this place contains contraband. Our source is unimpeachable. I might add that my duties, sanctioned or not by you, would not come under the consideration of any local court, or even the General Court, but under the authority of the Admiralty.” He reached into his coat, pulled out a folded sheet of paper, and waved it in the air. “I have here a writ of assistance, signed by the commander of His Majesty’s naval forces here, as he is authorized to do in his capacity as a member of the Admiralty.”

  Hugh shrugged. “Another violator of the constitution.”

  Hunt smirked. “So you say, sir.” He returned the document to his coat, and nodded to the lieutenant and his marines.

  The lieutenant of marines ordered his men to advance their arms. The six redcoats smartly brought their firelocks from their shoulders and held them level in both hands at the ready, pointed in the direction of the intervening horsemen.

  “There, sir, are the upholders of the constitution! Dispute my authority with them, if you dare!”

  A new voice spoke, condescending, condemnatory, and commanding. “You are a scamp, a rogue, and a coward, sir.”

  Hunt scowled and turned to look up at the gentleman who spoke. He scoffed once, and asked, “Are you the owner, sir?’

  “No. I am Captain Roger Tallmadge, Grenadier Guards, on Crown business of my own here…”

  Lieutenant Manners, looking worried, leaned forward. “Sir, do you think it’s wise — ”

  Tallmadge waved a hand without glancing at his aide, who stopped speaking. “Mr. Hunt, my friend here is quite within his rights to be outraged by your proposed action, and if he sees fit to interfere with it, I shall lend him my avid assistance.”

  “If you interfere with my Crown business, sir, I am authorized to instruct the lieutenant to reply in kind, and if you survive, you will be cashiered from your precious Guards!”

  Roger grinned carelessly at Hunt. “That, sir, will be a matter between my superiors and me, and you are surely not one of my superiors.”

  Hugh said, “Well, Mr. Hunt, if there is to be a civil war, then let it begin here. I can assure you, however, that you will not live long enough to witness the outcome of this skirmish, or of the larger conflagration it is sure to precipitate.” He smiled wickedly. “History will judge you according to Mr. Tallmadge’s description of your character. I am willing to accept responsibility for such a cataclysm. Are you?” Then he calmly reached down, undid the hasp that secured his sword to its sheath, and drew out the weapon. He rested the blade on his shoulder and waited.

  Roger Tallmadge emulated him, and drew his own sword. He exchanged a brief smile with his friend, with whom he had never had a chance to share such an adventure.

  They heard the rustle of movement behind them. Both men turned and saw a gathering of Morland Hall tenants, black and white, nearly fifteen of them, ranged in a semicircle that encompassed the tableau. Some carried muskets, which they had “advanced” in the same manner as the marines. Others brandished pitchforks and hoes. Roger glanced at Hugh again; he was more startled by the demonstration than was his friend. Neither of them noticed Lieutenant Manners, who studied the tenants disapprovingly.

  Hunt was stunned. He was sweating now, and stood fingering the hilt of his undrawn sword. His two colleagues stood watching their feet shuffling in the dirt. He had observed, at first with unconcern, the collection of men who looked like tenants and slaves of the plantation here. They carried mostly farming tools and implements, but a few sported muskets. Whether or not these weapons were charged to fire, he could not tell. But his party was clearly outnumbered, and these tenants and slaves looked determined to support the two gentlemen on horseback. He swallowed once in the knowledge that to continue to press his duty now would be a folly he did not want to answer for; indeed, one he might not survive.

  To further complicate the situation, a woman, obviously a lady, had appeared on a riding chair and sat in its seat on the fringes of the tenants, watching with obvious horror.

  He heard sounds on the porch of the great house. He turned and saw that two more men had gathered on it behind the finely dressed woman with red hair, presumably the mistress of the house, whom he had not even had the chance to address. They carried pistols at the ready, and those pistols were cocked.

  Hunt had not counted on such resistance. The letter he had received about a possible cache of arms hidden in this house did not hint at the resolute defiance he might encounter, although he had thought it prudent to request the assistance of the marines from the naval commander. Even if the lieutenant could fire a volley, he and his men could be overwhelmed in the midst of reloading. The situation had become dangerous and humiliating. It was time to concede defeat. The Customs inspector turned back to the strangers. “Who are you, sir?” he asked with impatience.

  “Hugh Kenrick, master of Meum Hall,” said Hugh, pointing vaguely in the direction of the plantation with his sword, “and burgess for this county.”

  In spite of his
angry red pallor, the Customs inspector seemed to smile, and his black eyes become animate with some secret knowledge. The two intruders studied him with curiosity, for they could not account for his change in demeanor. He derived a small satisfaction from that.

  Hunt abruptly turned to the marine lieutenant. “Shoulder your men’s arms, lieutenant, and prepare to march them back to the boat! We are done here!”

  The lieutenant, a young man whose eyes were wide with fright, immediately complied with the request and gave his orders. A barely suppressed collective sigh of relief blew from the squad of redcoats. When his men’s weapons were shouldered, the lieutenant looked to Mr. Hunt for further instruction.

  “March them out, thank you, lieutenant. We will follow.”

  The lieutenant left-faced his men, strode to the head of them, and quick-marched them away. The tenants parted to let them pass. Hunt’s two colleagues followed without their own superior’s leave.

  Hunt waved a stern finger at the two horsemen. “Do not doubt me, sirs! I will write the authorities about this incident, make no mistake about that! There will be consequences!” Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and followed his party.

  Hugh and Roger reined their mounts around and followed the Customs inspector a short distance. It was only then that Hugh noticed his wife in the riding chair, and the mask of bitterness in her expression.

  She looked away from him, turned the chair around, and rode away back to Meum Hall.

  Chapter 6: The Antagonists

  Hugh wanted to follow her, but resisted the impulse. He knew what she was thinking. He also knew it was necessary to punctuate the episode with an assurance that the Customsmen would not return. Instead, he rode with Tallmadge in the wake of the marines and Customsmen down the rolling road to the pier and the waiting galley boat tied to it. Lieutenant Manners trailed behind out of curiosity. There they stopped to watch the party board the boat. A pair of Fowey crewmen rowed them back across the water to the warship.

  Hugh glanced behind him. Some of the tenants had followed them down the road. Others were gathered on the lawn over the bluff. He saw Etáin, Robbins and Hurry among them. He sheathed his sword, dismounted, and led his horse to the foot of the pier, where he leaned back on a post. Tallmadge grinned, and did the same, leaning on the opposite post.

  Everyone waited until the Fowey’s anchors had been hoisted and its sails reset to catch a westerly breeze in mid-river.

  “Well, elder brother,” asked Tallmadge, “what now?”

  Hugh shrugged. “We wait until Mr. Hunt has truly departed.”

  “What do you think he expected to find?”

  “I don’t know, Roger.”

  “If he was able to search for contraband, and found it, how could he have taken it away?”

  “By seizing Jack’s draft horses and a wagon to cart it to the pier, and using some of his axes and other tools to do it. These men are brazenly proprietary in their use of other men’s property.”

  They all watched the warship’s bow slowly turn in the current, and the intruder begin its return trip back down the York.

  Hugh sighed. “Well, I must return to Meum Hall, and see what troubles my wife.” He grinned almost apologetically to Roger and moved toward his mount. He saw the Morland Hall tenants and bowed his head. “Thank you, sirs.”

  Then he saw Etáin, Robbins and Hurry coming down the rolling road. Etáin also thanked the tenants, and turned to Hugh. “Mr. Kenrick, I am grateful for your gesture. Jack will be pleased to hear about this.” She turned to Roger Tallmadge, who stood behind Hugh. “Mr. Tallmadge, you introduced yourself. I am Mrs. Jack Frake. You must know that I had asked Hugh not to bring you to Morland. But I believe now that I must revoke that request, and apologize for the inhospitality. You are welcome at Morland Hall. My husband would be interested in meeting you.”

  Tallmadge was startled by this frank statement, even though he had been told of the refusal. But he doffed his hat and nodded. “Thank you, madam.” He glanced inquiringly at Hugh.

  Hugh said, “Forgive me, Roger, but I did think it necessary to inform Mrs. Frake that you were a serving officer in the army, and of your purpose here.”

  Tallmadge looked bewildered, but amused. “Of course.”

  Without further word, Hugh took his leave, mounted his horse, and cantered back up the rolling road.

  Both Tallmadge and Etáin guessed the reason for their friend’s concern, but did not speak of it.

  * * *

  Jared Hunt stood on the deck, his sight fixed on the tableau of figures at the pier, and waited for the crew to hoist up the galley boat. The marines and other Customsmen had scattered on the deck to loiter and speculate until the Fowey got under way again. He congratulated himself for not having let his temper get the best of him, and temper he had. Patience was a virtue he had learned to acquire, exercise and appreciate during his years at Windridge Court, London, and in Danvers, Dorset. He knew he had made a wise decision. There would be another time, perhaps a better time, to impose his authority. He had been warned, by both his colleagues, and by the informing letters, that there might be an altercation, and that he might of necessity be the cause of it. But the scale of the opposition here surprised him and his colleagues from the Hampton Customs office.

  His colleagues, of course, now wondered what they should do. He told them he would merely report what had happened. It would not have mattered if he had been accompanied by a regiment of marines; he would have retired from the situation. He was not going to be responsible for a “Boston massacre” here. No such disaster would ever be put on his head.

  He owed his present position to his father’s influence with members of the American Board of Customs Commissioners in London, and had been appointed Customs Inspector Extraordinary. The position and commission came with special discretionary powers, and allowed him to pursue matters of his own judgment and choosing. He had learned, upon his arrival here months ago, that the regular Customsmen did not wish to deal with Jack Frake or any known “Son of Liberty” anywhere in the region. In the past, he had accompanied them when they ventured out to search the properties of suspected contraband traders. These expeditions were rare, for it seemed that as the Crown became more omnipotent, the less it could exact obedience and revenue from the colonials. The Customsmen, he knew, feared for their health; often for their lives. Consequently, they were very selective in the properties they chose to raid, deciding to visit only those traders and inhabitants known to be neutral or passive insofar as Crown authority was concerned.

  So-called Committees of Safety were also multiplying in many counties and exercising an exasperating authority not even enjoyed by local sheriffs or courts in more civil, abiding times. It seemed that no matter what discreet precautions were taken by the Customsmen here before carrying out a search, no matter how stealthy their preparations, armed parties would anticipate their arrival and appear to challenge or harass them. No shots had been fired yet by either side, although some incautious and headstrong officers had been seized and tarred and feathered by these renegades, or beaten to within a breath of their lives, or otherwise humiliated or threatened with ominous reprisals. Some had even been coerced into signing promises to resign their commissions or posts under the threat of having their houses pulled down and their surviving property seized by the vandals to pay other Crown taxes and imposts.

  Reports of such unfortunate incidents came from many of the port towns up and down all the rivers of the Roads. He had journeyed incognito to some of these places to evaluate their reputation for violence or their potential for trouble. He had gotten to know the country and its inhabitants, and had grown to dislike them. Everything was too raw here; he had yet to encounter a colonial who was not crude, or peevish, or insolent. Oh, how he ached for the abundant and sophisticated fleshpots of London, whose cosmopolitan ambience catered to every whim and pleasure!

  But, thought Hunt — and he had thought it many times, and even wrote h
is father and his patron on the Customs Board about it — the contentious situation in the colonies, and in Virginia especially, could lead to only one end, as the clamor of authority opposed the hue and cry of resistance. They clashed repeatedly and would reach a deafening, ineluctable crescendo: war. He could almost smell it in the air.

  He had believed it after having spent only a few weeks here. He believed it still. He smiled now, because others were certain of it, as well. Such as Hugh Kenrick. And probably Jack Frake. His informants had suggested that the master of Morland Hall was assembling a private armory of illegal weapons and ordnance. That was what he had wanted to find and confiscate, and to arrest that planter.

  He knew about Jack Frake, and had known about him for years, and of his friendship with Hugh Kenrick. His father had in his possession political pamphlets the two men had written years ago, and also had collected information about them from a variety of sources, including from members of the Commons and Lords. His father had marked the pair for misery and was determined to extinguish their influence and existence in the realm of things that mattered.

  Of course, he would not commit the action himself. He was averse to violence and other disagreeable matters. He remembered standing frozen in debilitating horror as he watched the murder of Dogmael Jones years ago, and being physically ill for some time after the event. But, he had proven quite adept at arranging such things to the satisfaction of all interested parties.

  His own allegiance to the Crown was unshakable, founded largely on the promises of his father, the Earl of Danvers, of his own house in London, of a knighthood, of a lucrative sinecure, and perhaps even a seat in the Commons — all that if he could arrange the unfortunate demise of Hugh Kenrick, his father’s nephew and his own cousin, in such a way that would bring shameful pain to the young man’s father and his family, yet not cast any suspicion of culpability on the Earl. Until now, Hugh Kenrick had been a mere abstraction, a face in a family portrait. He had postponed seeking out this young man until he had accustomed himself to his new circumstances, and saw what was possible and what was not.