The Schoolmaster's Daughter Read Free Page A

uncomfortable, but then he whispered urgently, “Boston is in such a state, what with hangings, executions, and tarrings, that we all may be required to make sacrifices, no?” He bowed his head, as though requesting forgiveness.
    â€œIndeed. This is so.”
    He smiled then, revealing broken yellow teeth, and then with great haste and an air of formality he led her up the cobblestone drive to the carriage house, which they entered by a side door. It was a clean, orderly stable, smelling of horses and hay, and they went into a small office, where there was an oil lamp on a desk. From her shawl she removed the letter Benjamin had given her and handed it to Seth.
    â€œSit, please,” he said, gesturing toward a desk chair.
    Abigail didn’t move. To sit would seem to place her at a disadvantage. Other than her brothers, no one could be entirely trusted.
    â€œVery well,” Seth said. “You can stand here, if you prefer. All the easier to flee for the gate, if you lose your nerve. Some do, you know. The British have made us all wary. Fear is their greatest weapon.” He stared at her once more, his dark eyes earnest and even greedy, and then he tucked the letter in his pocket, saying, “It may take a while, but I will be back.”
    She watched as he went out into the courtyard and entered Province House by a back door. In one window she could see an enormous chandelier with dozens of lit candles, their glow casting an oblong of light down across the cobblestones, making them seem polished.
    There were so many letters. They were the whispered voice, the unspoken language of Boston, the only means of genuine communication since the city had fallen under the yoke of General Gage’s military occupation. The British had been a heavy presence in Boston for as long as Abigail could remember. Before she was ten she had witnessed her first hanging at the Great Elm in the Common, and since then public floggings and executions were all too frequent. Gage was perceived as being even-handed as he meted out punishments for his men as often as for the colonists. Tensions increased five years ago, when on a wintry night in March British soldiers opened fire on a crowd of Bostonians gathered in front of the Customs House on King Street. Five people died and numerous others were wounded, yet at the trial the commanding officer, Captain Preston, had been absolved of any culpability. The Bloody Massacre, as it was often called (though the British referred to it as the Boston Riot), was commemorated every March 5th by enormous crowds gathering to hear Whig speeches, this year’s being given by her brother James.
    As the situation became increasingly intolerable, more troops were shipped over from England. There were some fifteen thousand Bostonians, and perhaps three thousand British soldiers, many of them billeted in homes against the will of their owners. The sense of confinement on the Boston peninsula only contributed to the tenor and frequency of altercations. Yankee rum was plentiful and cheap, and there was a great tendency toward drunken disorder amongst the Regulars. Boston being a seaport, the situation was further complicated by the availability of easy women. Daily incidents occurred in the streets, in the taverns, and particularly in waterfront establishments, which were infested with idle sailors since General Gage had ordered the port closed, as a form of reprimand for the colonials’ unwillingness to bow to a series of edicts and acts regarding taxation. That winter, even William Dawes, jocular Billy Dawes, had knocked down a soldier in the street in response to an insult made to his pretty wife.
    Indeed, all of Boston was waiting, expecting the situation to break open any day, especially since the series of powder alarms which had taken place the previous fall. It started when General Gage began a campaign to secure the gunpowder throughout New England. A sound strategy, perhaps, taking