The Bastard: The Kent Family Chronicles (54 page)

“Yes.”

“Well, it wasn’t quick enough—the raid taught us that. We’ve got to set up new, faster ways of signaling and mobilizing the countryside. One day Gage will regret being such a generous instructor,” Edes chuckled. “Sam Adams is a quick study.”

So it proved.

Gage fortified the Roxbury Neck with guard posts during the first week in September. But Adams, Hancock and the other prime movers of the patriot cause came and went—if not unrecognized, at least unmolested. The general continued his policy of not moving openly against the rebel ringleaders, though he kept his regiments busy drilling.

The freedom of movement Gage allowed Adams and the others permitted the Massachusetts House to sit at Salem in early October. In open defiance of the Governor, the House approved formation of a new Committee of Safety, chaired by Hancock, with official power to organize, arm and summon militia contingents to action. Philip began to hear a new term used to identify those select companies now responsible for rallying to an alarm in a very short time. Minute companies, they were called.

Meantime, Abraham Ware’s weekly letter to his daughter brought a running account of developments at Carpenters’ Hall in Philadelphia.

In response to a set of Massachusetts resolves drafted by Dr. Warren, enacted at a convention in Suffolk County and then sent overland with Revere on horseback, the radicals and the conservatives in the great Congress pulled and hauled against one another, now rejecting Warren’s firebrand call for arming the towns and imposing economic sanctions against Britain, now proposing more moderate resolutions opposing the Crown’s position.

Finally—“Praise the Almighty as well as those who argue loudest!” Ware declared in one epistle—the Congress adopted a set of ten resolves. Among other things, the resolves declared the exclusive right of the provincial legislatures to regulate matters of internal policy, especially taxation. The resolves also stated that thirteen separate and distinct Parliamentary acts put in force since 1763 were in violation of the colonials’ rights to “life, liberty and property.” And the radicals won a key point in the form of the sought-for promise of economic reprisals until the Intolerable Acts were repealed.

Ware wrote Anne that the unprecedented assembly hoped to adjourn in late October, after drawing up a petition of grievances specifically addressed to the King. The representatives of the various colonies had already decided to meet again the following year if relief was not obtained.

’Tis not as much as Sam’l. or Dr. W.
—
or indeed, myself
—
would have wished,”
the lawyer said in one of the letters Anne showed Philip.
“On the other hand, there is concert
—
agreement
—
and that in itself is fraught with meaning for the future. To see the delegates, foregather at City Tavern at nightfall, and to hear such gentlemen as the very respected Col. Washington of Virginia voice the same concerns as the men of Boston
—
while we all indulge ourselves in Maderia and great heaps of baked oysters
—
that, my dearest daughter, is an experience not capable of being fully described, only savored in the proud heart.

November came. Anne looked forward to her father’s return with mixed feelings. She missed him. But she would likewise miss the privacy afforded by his absence, privacy in which she and Philip could be alone in the parlor of an evening. They talked of everything except their own futures, while Daisy and Sergeant Lumden of the Thirty-third laughed and chattered in similar fashion in the kitchen.

The approach of winter made it increasingly apparent that the Port Bill would indeed prove disastrous. Gage interpreted the act as even prohibiting ferryboats from crossing the river. Thus the price of partridges or mutton or cod carted the long way around, by Roxbury Neck, grew astronomically. Decent quantities of firewood and sweet-smelling lamp oil could be afforded only by the very rich—mostly Tories, who were delighted to see the Whigs suffer, and who were not overly concerned when the poor did, either.

Philip, of course, never forgot the presence of Lieutenant Colonel Roger Amberly in Boston.

He questioned Lumden as to where the regiment’s commander was domiciled, and learned that it was in a huge house on Beacon Hill, a house whose owner had strong Tory leanings.

Philip loitered outside the house on several different evenings, shivering in the dusk and hoping to catch a glimpse of the man whose death he planned in endless variations. He speculated on ways to arrange what would look like an accident. Other times, he thought of using what little money he’d put by to hire one of the South End mob men to act as executioner.

But luck never gave him so much as one look at his enemy in all the hours he stood in the bitter wind, pondering alternatives.

The answer to one major question still eluded him. Was he actually capable of doing what he told himself he wanted to do? The question unresolved, his plans remained just that.

He finally abandoned the evening spying and let himself be consumed by the routine at Dassett Alley—and by Anne. Perhaps, he thought more than once, he was hiding from his own weakness; from a basic inability to cold-bloodedly kill another human being—

After that first day in August when Lumden revealed the name of his commander, Anne never raised the subject of Amberly. Nor did she mention Alicia. Philip was grateful. He finally did admit to himself that he lacked the will to do deliberate murder.

A part of him cried out for it. But something else, equally strong, held him back.

“Oh, God, there’s going to be war, all right,” Sergeant Lumden declared glumly one night in late December. “Have you heard the news from New Hampshire—wherever the devil that is?”

“Fort William and Mary,” Philip nodded, turning the tankard of rum punch in his hands to absorb its warmth. “They’re talking of nothing else down at the Dragon.”

Red-haired Daisy hovered by the hearth. Much of her usual good humor seemed lacking this evening. Philip wondered why—until he caught up to the fact that she could scarcely keep her eyes off the mild-spoken British infantryman with the forehead mole. And she looked worried.

Philip drank a little, chose his next words carefully:

“In fact, I’ve even heard gossip that a Boston man, riding express for five shillings a day, carried a warning of the expedition to New Hampshire, so the stores could be carted off.”

Gossip was hardly the right word. Philip knew full well that Revere had done the riding. But he wasn’t sure how far Lumden could be trusted, likable as he might be.

General Gage had intended to strengthen the New Hampshire fort with several boatloads of troops slipped quietly out of Boston late one night. His plan had evidently been picked up by the alert ears of some informer at Province House. It was no secret that each side had its anonymous spies planted on the other.

A patriot named John Sullivan received the warning from Revere. He encircled the fort with a band of men, overcame the small British garrison without so much as a single injury to anyone. Gage’s reinforcements arrived to find all the fort’s arms and powder gone.

“And I agree with you, Sergeant,” Philip finished. “It does bring war that much closer.”

Lumden eyed Philip morosely. The latter changed the subject, saying to Daisy, “You’ve no idea when Mistress Anne and her father will be back?”

“No, sir. They left on some errands.” She moved to the table. Philip noted that her breasts rose and fell quickly. Why was she nervous?

The pretty, red-haired cook pulled a stool to the table, sat down and leaned her elbows on the wood. She look intently at Philip.

“But I’m glad you chose to call, sir. Geor—the sergeant has been meaning to speak to you for several days.”

Philip shrugged as if to say the sergeant should go ahead. Lumden did, but with difficulty, staring at the open pantry door, at the rime of frost on a window overlooking the backyard—everywhere but at Philip.

“Well, Mr. Kent, the truth is, I—I—”

“Don’t hesitate now,” Daisy urged. “Tell him!”

Lumden’s gray eyes finally met Philip’s. “I can speak to you in confidence?”

“Of course.”

“I told you that!” Daisy sighed.

Lumden swallowed. “I have been thinking of leaving the army.”

“You mean a resignation?”

“No,” Daisy answered, clasping her hand over the sergeant’s.

All at once Philip understood the girl’s tension, the way her eyes lingered on Lumden’s face. He recalled how the cook and the soldier had spent many an evening together in the kitchen in recent weeks. Their soft laughter took on a new significance. He said:

“Desertion.”

Daisy nodded emphatically. “George and I wish to be married. We have resolved the matter of our different faiths—”

Philip grinned. “That’s wonderful! Congratulations to both of you!”

Daisy flushed, prettily this time. Her bright red hair glinted with reflections from the crackling fireplace. Lumden put in quickly:

“I realize desertion’s a damned detestable act. Though I hate being stationed here to repress fellow Englishmen, three months ago I would have struck any chap who suggested the possibility that I might run away. But I don’t mind admitting my feelings for Daisy have changed my attitude.”

Philip said, “George, you’re smart enough to appreciate that you’ve been quartered in a household where sympathies for the Crown are not exactly at a peak—”

“Oh yes, I’ve picked up a hint or two,” Lumden answered with a wry smile.

“So you don’t have to apologize. I applaud your decision. I think Mr. Ware will too.”

“More and more of the lads are doing it, you know,” Lumden said. “Slipping out across the Neck dressed as countrymen. Or rowing from the Charlestown Ferry guard post on the pretext of some official errand—”

“I say bravo to that,” Philip told him.

“You must realize it’s not cowardice on my part!” Lumden exclaimed. Then he added more softly, “At least not entirely. I doubt if I’d ever have decided to do it, except for—for what I’ve found in this house. Affection. Tenderness—” He lapsed into silence, turning even redder than Daisy had a moment earlier.

Presently, he managed to go on, “Also, as perhaps I’ve indicated, I
do
have a liking for the people of Boston—!”

Philip suppressed a smile. “Yes, you indicated that a minute ago, George. You don’t need to keep explaining or excusing—”

“In my own heart, I think the King and his ministers are fools, villains or both! They don’t realize you colonials are strong-headed. You won’t yield easily!”

“We won’t yield at all, George.”

“Just so! That means action and counteraction—one side against the other—till the fuse ignites
all
the powder, am I correct?”

“I think you are, George.”

Lumden banged the table, making the tankards rattle. “But dammit, I’ve no stomach for going into battle against artisans and farmers whose only crime is holding fast to what rights they feel belong to ’em—and are being taken away!”

“Understood,” Philip assured him. “Completely understood. But let’s discuss the practical problems—”

“Leaving Boston, you mean?” Daisy asked.

“Yes. It’s either the Neck or the river.”

“I think it must be the Neck,” Lumden said. “A smithy’s son gets little chance to become acquainted with water. Been swimming just once in my life. We visited a distant relative’s near the River Avon. I only had nerve to wade up to my ankles. Scared to death, I was! On the voyage across from England, I was sick nearly the whole time. Y’see?—it’s true! I’m a swinishly bad soldier! Trained for just one thing—like every other fellow in a British infantry regiment. Trained to be fodder for the enemy’s muskets and cannon! In the formations in which we march, a man stands every chance of being shot down in the opening volley—”

His eyes gazed into some grim distance, seeing the slaughter he described. Then, as Philip cleared his throat, Lumden veered the talk back to the subject with a sharp, distracted gesture.

“I can’t chance the river.”

“To cross the Neck, you’ll need different clothes,” Philip said.

Daisy put in that she’d already been gathering up items from serving girls she knew in other houses. “Discards, mostly. They’ll do well enough.”

Philip nodded. “But you won’t dare speak, George. Your accent would give you away.”

“We have a plan for that as well,” Daisy told, him. “All it requires is another person. I’ve some savings of my own—do you know a trustworthy lad we could hire to pose as George’s companion? His son—his nephew? The plan’s to work this way—”

She described it in a few sentences. Philip admitted that, while it contained some risk, it stood a chance of succeeding, because the British soldiers typically regarded Massachusetts farmers as oafish types unable or unwilling to put any kind of check on their consumption of spirits—especially rum.

“I don’t know of anyone offhand,” he told Lumden. “I’ll make inquiries, though.”

“God bless you for that, sir!”

“When do you want to leave?” Philip countered.

“As soon as the arrangements can be completed.”

“Where will you go? To that relative of yours you mentioned? Connecticut, wasn’t it?”

Lumden answered, “Eventually I’ll go there, yes. For the time being I plan to hide at Daisy’s home. A farm beyond Concord. I don’t imagine they’ll search for me too long.”

Philip chuckled. “If they kept up a constant search for every Tommy who’s deserted in the past few months, Gage’s men wouldn’t have time for anything else. And he’d soon run out of men to do the searching! I’d hazard that you’ll be safe within a week or two—” A thought occurred to him. “What are you going to do with your uniform and equipment?”

Lumden thought a moment. “Burn the uniform, I ’spose. In that fireplace. As for the Brown Bess—”

“And the blade that fits on the end. The bayonet,” Philip prompted. “That’s a weapon the colonial troops don’t have, and don’t know how to use.”

The statement was entirely accurate. More than once, Lieutenant Knox of the Boston Grenadier Company had declared that lack of bayonets, as well as lack of training in using same, would put the colonials at a bad disadvantage if they were ever up against British line regiments in a stiff fight. Most of the militiamen tended to scoff. They bragged about their accuracy with a musket, rejected the need for an additional weapon affixed to the muzzle for stabbing and hacking. But Philip respected Knox, and took him at his word. So he tried not to show his eagerness as he asked Lumden: