Chapter Eighteen

Boston, December 17, 1773

Major Dunehirst stared into the harbor on Griffin’s Wharf, slapping his black gloves into his hand, anger etched on his face. A warm breeze blew in from the bay. The breeze was too warm for a December day. Soldiers stood at attention along the wharf, too afraid to move. Three merchant ships bobbed in the bay, The Dartmouth, The Eleanor, and The Beaver. English warships surrounded them. Fort Hill was no more than a half a city block away. Admiral Montague’s residence stood across the street. The tea aboard the vessels was under the protection of the Royal Navy, how could such a travesty happen?

“How many kegs of tea were dumped, Captain Harcourt?” the major asked without taking his eyes from the bay.

Colin shuffled through the ship’s ledger. “It was over three hundred, sir. The entire shipment, sir,”

“Were you able to locate any witnesses, other than the ships’ captains?” The Major removed a lace handkerchief from the cuff of his jacket and dabbed sweat from his brow.

“There was just one other witness, sir, Admiral Montague, sir.” Colin stared out over the horizon

“The Admiral witnessed the destruction and did nothing to stop it?” the major said coldly.

Colin looked up at the major and then back to the waves slapping against the boat.  “He then said the crowd invited him to join them on the street and they would settle the bill in about two minutes.”

The Major stiffened, placing his hands on his hips. “Where is the Admiral now?”

Colin tossed a small pebble into the wharf. “He is hiding inside the Fort for protection, sir.”

“I will deal with him later. Bring me the captain of the Dartmouth. I have a few questions.” The major’s eyes narrowed. “You are to join me, Captain, understood?”

Armed guards escorted Captain Roach of the HMSS Dartmouth into Admiral Montague’s sitting room fifteen minutes later. Major Dunehirst had confiscated the residence to hold his interrogations. “Ah, Captain Roach, please come in and have a seat. I have a few questions concerning last night.”

“I’ll stand, thank you, Major.” Captain Roach locked his jaw and folded his arms across his chest.

“Suit yourself, Captain. Could you please give me an account of last night’s activities?” The major leaned toward Roach. His gaze seemed to go right through the ship’s Captain as if he could see his every thought.

“A large crowd gathered on the wharf about half past the hour of six. The crowd was not acting unruly as far as crowds go. About seven o’clock the crowd moved aside to allow a large group of Mohawk Indians to advance to the ships.” Roach glanced at the Major. His eyes fixed on Colin standing in the corner. Perspiration trickled down the captain’s forehead.

“Mohawk Indians? Do you expect me to believe Indians went out of their way to destroy all the tea? Why on earth would a tribe of savages care about a shipment of tea?” The Major took a step toward Roach. The captain shifted his feet, hoping to avoid the major’s steel-blue eyes, which seemed to drill holes into him.

Captain Roach cleared his throat and took a step backward, “No sir. They appeared to be Mohawks at first, but on closer observations, it was determined they were wearing disguises.”

“Did you recognize any of these men, Captain?” He took another step until he was nose to nose with the captain.

The captain leaned back, beads of sweat dotting his upper lip “It’s hard to say, sir. It was dark, and thems that were not disguised wore lamp black upon their faces.”

Major Dunehirst’s eyes constricted, the whites of his eyes disappearing into his eyelids. “What did the men disguised as Indians do next?”

Roach straightened his back and clenched his hands.  Stepping forward and meeting the Major’s stare with one of his own. “They chose up one man for each ship to act as their leader onboard. The leaders then told each man which ship he was to board. Once on board, they asked me, politely I might add, for the key to the cargo hold and as many lanterns as I could spare.”

The major’s eyes narrowed, “And you provided the key and the lanterns to the hooligans? Did they make threats upon your life if you resisted?”

Roach wiped a bead of sweat from his chin with the back of his hand. “No sir, there were so many of them, I thought it would be prudent not to resist.”

Dunehirst slapped his gloves in his hand and turned to his desk, his back to the captain. “I see. You could not identify anyone in the crowd?”

Roach’s voice weakened, his throat tightened. “One man sir, but he was not among those in disguise.”

“Not in disguise? Maybe I should question this gentleman.” Dunehirst snapped. “Captain Harcourt, find this man at once and bring him to me. Use whatever means you deem necessary.”

Roach blinked as the fingers snapped. He turned to Colin and raised his hands up, extolling Colin to a halt. “Won’t do you any good, sir. The man, I know him as Captain Connors, came on board when the men were almost done with their business. He was seen lining his pocket with some tea, which had spilled on the deck. When the men discovered what he was doing, they removed his coat and threw it overboard. Captain Connors then forced himself to run the gauntlet of angry citizens as he tried to escape the wharf. He was severely beaten in his attempt to flee.”

“They beat upon a member of their group?” asked Captain Harcourt.

Roach lowered his head. “They did. I fear the wounds inflicted will heal in time, but Connors’ standing in the community will be tarnished.”

Dunehirst slapped the desk with his fist, papers, ink blotters, and quills scattered. “Let’s return to the events upon the ship,” the major said curtly.

Roach, startled, jerked his head backward, while Colin snapped to attention. “Very well. It took the men almost three hours to throw the tea into the bay after which they manned brooms and swept any tea left on deck into the bay. When they were finished with the brooms, each man removed their shoes and dumped any tea trapped inside into the bay. Early this morning about a dozen rowboats came from the pier, and they made sure any tea still afloat was sunk into the bay.”

The Major sat on the edge of the desk running two fingers along the ridge of a quill-feather. “There was no help from the warships whose duty was to guard your cargo?” He pointed the quill at Colin. “Would you believe that His Majesty’s Navy would sit idle whilst hooligans destroyed precious cargo under his benevolent watch?”

Roach cleared his dry throat. “No, as I said your troops did nothing to prevent the destruction. There were soldiers from the Fort on the Wharf, and they didn't do anything either.”

“Major, I have already spoken to the sergeant in charge, sir,” Colin interjected. “The soldiers were afraid to intervene. They did not want to fire into the crowd for fear of hitting innocent bystanders.”

Dunehirst cleaned his cuticles with the tip of a quill. He then stared at Colin. “Captain Harcourt, there were no innocent bystanders. If they were in the crowd, then they were traitors. I realize you were witness to the incident a few years back, but I have always maintained the British soldiers did the right thing to quell the mob. Thank you, Captain Roach, for your insight. You have been most helpful. You may go. I hear you set sail for England soon.”

“Yes, Major.” Roach bowed.

Dunehirst dismissed the ship’s captain with a flick of his wrist. “Godspeed, Captain... a word, please.”

“Yes sir,” Colin said as guards escorted the ship’s captain from the room.

The Major tossed the quill onto the desk nonchalantly. “I believe you have a friend that might be on the wrong side of His Majesty’s wishes.”

“I wouldn’t count him as a friend. We had a falling out some time ago.” Colin’s gaze met the glare from his commanding officer.  “Years before the Massacre, sir.”

“Will you please refrain from calling it a massacre?” Dunehirst backed away and placed his hand on the hilt of his saber. “The soldiers involved were doing their duty.”

Colin reached for his Tri-cornered hat. “As you wish, sir, may I be excused?”

“No, you may not be excused.” Dunehirst glanced at the tips of his fingers, satisfied that he had done a great job cleaning them. Without looking at Colin, he said, “We are talking about your friendship with one Mr. Isaiah Paige. You are ordered to regain the trust of Mr. Paige. I don’t care how.” His icy blue gaze unsettled Colin. “I know little about the art of espionage, but you will become an expert at the art. Feign desertion, whatever it takes. I will leave the details in your hands. Find out who is behind these treasonable acts and report to me directly.” He turned to the desk. One giant, sweep of his arm sent the remaining contents tumbling to the floor.  “You are dismissed,” he said with a cynical grin. 

The white house with the yellow clapboards had changed very little in the eight years since Colin had last seen it. Colin stepped up to the front door and knocked. When the door remained unanswered, he banged harder. He heard the shuffle of feet on the other side of the door. The door slowly opened. “Is your father home, Jacqueline?” he asked the young girl answering the door. Thirteen-year-old Jacqueline Paige had turned into a beauty; she was only five-years-old the last time he had seen her.

The brown-eyed, brown-haired beauty stared at Colin’s uniform without answering.

“Who is at the door, sweetheart?” a woman’s voice from inside asked.

“It’s one of those damned Lobsterback, Mommy. He knows my name, Mommy. My father is asleep. He had a late night.” She slammed the door in Colin’s face.

Colin stared at the festive reef hanging on the door, inches from his nose. Isaiah’s late night worried him. Had his friend took part in the destruction of the tea two nights ago? The door opened again, this time, Helen Paige, Isaiah’s wife stood on the threshold, wiping her wet hands on her apron. “Colin?” she said as a small smile replaced the frown on her face. “I can’t believe it. It is you. My, you haven’t changed. Come in, come in, please.” She stood aside to allow him to enter. Jacqueline ran into the other room. “Isaiah is still sleeping. He had a rather…umm, late night. Sit down while I go awaken him.” She rushed out of the room, “Isaiah wake up. You will never believe who is standing in our living room.”

“Is it an entire squadron of British soldiers that are here to arrest me?” Isaiah asked drowsily.

“Why would anyone want to arrest you? As if, I didn’t already know. You were involved with that little party at Griffin’s Wharf the other night.”

“Just tell me who is waiting in the other room, woman. I’m in no mood to play guessing games.” Isaiah cleared the phlegm from his throat.

“I will not tell you. It’s a surprise. Get dressed and join us.” She turned and left the room. Returning to the living room, she found her sons, Romulus and Remus, in an animated discussion with Colin. “Boys! Leave poor Colin alone. You act as if the tea taxes are entirely his fault.”

The boys glared at their mother moved away and grumbled as they left the room.

 “Would you like some eggnog, Colin? I’m sorry. It’s been years. I’m afraid the children don’t remember you.”

“I'm all right, Helen. I wouldn’t expect them to remember me. Your daughter has changed into a young lady, and your sons have grown so tall.”

“Colin!” Isaiah said as he entered the room. Isaiah looked over his friend from head to foot but did not extend his hand for a greeting. “How do you do it, Colin?”

“Do what, old friend?”

“You haven’t changed at all since we first met almost twenty years ago. I age with every day, and you appear the same.” Isaiah said as he gave his old friend a bear hug.

“I’ve aged. Believe me. I’ve aged.” Colin mused. “I see you have new neighbors.”

“Yes, they moved in a few years ago. Paul is a perfect neighbor and his young daughter is great friends with our Jacqueline.” Isaiah dragged a rickety old rocking chair next to Colin.

“Paul?” Colin accepted a cup of coffee graciously from Helen.

Isaiah motioned to his wife expecting his cup of coffee. He rocked in his chair, rubbing his legs when no coffee appeared in his hands. “Yes, Paul Revere, the silversmith. Have you heard of him or seen any of his work?”

“Oh yes, Mr. Revere has been a thorn in our sides for some time, he and that Sam Adams,” Colin took a sip from his cup, sucked in and fanned his mouth.

Isaiah cleared his throat again, and his smile relaxed into a line. “Is this a social visit, Colin, or are you here on official business of the Crown?”

“You know me well, dear friend.” Colin placed his cup on the floor and folded his hands in his lap. “I am here on official business.”

“This will be a short meeting then. I have nothing to say to you or your bloody crown. Good-day, sir,” Isaiah stood, facing the door.

Colin clutched at his friend’s arm, “Hear me out, Isaiah,” he pleaded.

Isaiah tore the hand from his sleeve, “You have three minutes.”

“I am here on official business. But not from the Crown.” Colin paused until his friend’s face relaxed. “I have explicit orders that I’m to regain your trust. I’m to convince you that I have deserted my post. Then I’m to find out all I can about your traitorous friends. I’m to report all of my findings to Major Dunehirst, a very vindictive, untrusting man.”

“Why do you tell me such things?” Isaiah said, returning to his seat.

“I have no idea. I had every intention of carrying out my orders until this very instant.” Colin whispered.

“And what is to guarantee you are not lying now?”

Colin paced, “I’m in earnest. I denounce the king by all that is holy.” He stopped by a window and gazed outside. Snow had fallen. “I have no place to turn. I can’t stay here. The major knows I’m here, and I would only jeopardize your family.”

Isaiah ran to his friend’s side, “We were leaving to spend Christmas in Lexington with Helen’s brother this afternoon. You may join us. We can hide you there for the time being. I had already left Jacqueline there until Boston becomes a safer place for her.”