“Run. Dick!” Harrison shouted to his son.
In an instant, the mob was upon them and Harrison cried out as a club glanced off his shoulder, he lashed out wildly and felt his fist connect with someone’s face. He felt hands clutching at his coat and another club struck him in the hack. Someone punched him in the face and blood spurted from his nose. He heard his son cry out behind him. They had knocked him down and several men were kicking him, then they grabbed him by his hair and dragged him screaming through the street. As more blows rained down upon him, something in Harrison broke and with a keening sound, like some wild animal, he thrashed and shoved his way through the press of men as hands and clubs struck out at him. He stumbled, but regained his balance, and then, miraculously, he was in the clear and running down the street as fast as his legs could carry him.
He heard them running in pursuit and blind panic surged through him as he bolted down a narrow alleyway, tripped, fell, scrambled to his feet again and kept on running, not even knowing where he was running to, just fleeing in abject terror. He didn’t stop until he was blocks away, completely out of breath. He collapsed against a pile of wooden crates stacked in an alley and cowered there, trembling, his breath rasping in his throat, tears streaming from his eyes and mingling with the blood. He drew his legs up to his chest, put his head down in his arms, and sat there, weeping in the dark.
Back at the docks, the mob hauled Ben Hallowell’s pleasure skiff out of the water, tied ropes to it, and dragged it through the streets to the Common, where it was set on fire. One group broke off to go running across the open grass to Hallowell’s house, where they pelted the windows with rocks and bricks. Another group stoned Harrison’s windows white his wife cowered inside, hysterical with fear. Eventually, the mob broke up, to proceed in small groups to the taverns on the waterfront, where they toasted one another’s courage and patriotic ardor before stumbling to their homes.
Boston had no street Lights yet, so at night, the streets were as dark as country roads. Zeke Chilton, Johnny Long, Dick Tillotsen, and Edward Crenshaw were staggering and weaving down Fish Street, their arms around one another’s shoulders and their voices raised in drunken song when they were hailed by the watchman.
“Who goes there?”
“Freedom lovin’ Sonsh’a Librty, God damn yer eyes!” roared Chilton. He was the one whose club had felled Ben Hallowell, as he had proudly boasted no fewer than two dozen times that night to anyone who’d listen.
“You’re drunk.” the watchman said.
Chilton heaved a bottle at him and it shattered on the street. Mumbling curses to himself, the watchman beat a hasty retreat.
“That’ll show’im,” Chilton slurred, “God damn ’is eyes!”
“Liberty an’ prop’ity!” shouted Johnny Long.
“God damn their eyes!” said Chilton, staggering against him.
From behind them came the sound of hoofbeats rapidly approaching.
“Liberty an’ prop’ity!” yelled Tillotsen, turning around to face the rider, but he froze when he saw the horseman bearing down on them, his long black cloak billowing out behind him. “S’truth!” he said. “It’s ’im!”
The horseman’s wild laughter echoed through the night.
A whip cracked. Tillotsen screamed with pain and dropped down to his knees, clutching at his face. Eyes rolling, the black horse reared up before them and the whip cracked once again. It snaked around Chilton’s throat and pulled him to the ground. Crenshaw turned to run, but suddenly a dark figure was before him. A club flashed and Crenshaw fell, unconscious. Drakov swung the club again and Johnny Long crumpled to the street. A moment later, Chilton joined him, and then Tillotsen was struck down
The next morning. all four men were discovered hanging from the stout boughs of the Liberty Tree in Boston Common. Pinned to the chest of each corpse was a placard reading. “Hellfire to the Sons of Liberty!”
4
For a change, no one interfered with the sheriff when he went to cut the latest display down off the Liberty Tree. Boston’s mood was suddenly subdued. There had been riots, there had been looting and destruction, men had been beaten bloody and senseless, but this was the first time men had died.
Lucas, Finn, and Andre stood apart with Hunter on the fringes of the silent crowd that had gathered to watch Greenleaf and his men remove the corpses Andre wore male clothing and to look at her, no one could tell she was a woman. She looked like a young boy of eighteen.
“It’s started.” Hunter said. “I had a feeling it would come to this.”
“Hellfire to the Sons of Liberty,” said Lucas. He glanced at Hunter. “That mean anything to you?”
Hunter shook his head. “I haven’t been associating much with Tories. I’m one of the Sons of Liberty, you know.” He reached inside his shirt and pulled out a small silver medal on a chain. It was stamped with an image of the Liberty Tree. “They all wear these,” he said. “They were contributed by the silversmith, Paul Revere.”
Ben Edes spotted Hunter and approached them. “A grim sight for a spring morning; he said tensely.
“Aye, that it is,” said Hunter. “You know anything about this?”
Ben Edes shook his head. “A few of the people in the crowd are saying that the horseman did it.”
“The horseman?” said Delaney
Edes glanced at them. “It seems that Boston has a ghost, sir. One who rides a black horse and has no head. Forgive me. but I haven’t had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”
“Oh, my apologies,” Hunter said. “These are old friends of mine. Ben. Allow me to present Mr. Finn Delaney, Mr. Lucas Priest, and young squire Andrew Cross. Mr. Delaney’s ward. This is my good friend. Benjamin Edes, editor and publisher of the Boston Gazette.”
They shook hands. “Would that we could have met under more fortunate circumstances.” Edes said.
“You’re new to Boston?”
“We only arrived yesterday,” said Lucas, “from New
York.”
“I hear that there are many Tories in New York.” said Edes, watching them closely for their reactions.
“Yes, but we have had our share of demonstrations, too.” said Finn. “Of course. General Gage and his troops are quartered there, and they have largely kept events under control.”
“Yes, so I have heard.” said Edes. “I understand that Governor Bernard has requested aid from General Gage. He thinks that Boston should have troops. Would they have prevented this? I wonder. They say the horseman rode the streets last night and that this is his grisly handiwork
“No one saw anything?” asked Hunter. Edes shook his head. “A watchman saw Chilton and the others in the street last night.” he said. “He said they were all drunk as lords. You heard about the Liberty affair? Hallowell seized Hancock’s ship for smuggling. The Romney’s crew towed it out into the harbor, where it is protected by the Romney’s guns A crowd gathered, but they were too late to prevent the ship being seized, so they turned their anger against Hallowell and his agents. Hallowell was beaten senseless. Harrison also, though he managed to escape. His son, Dick, was badly beaten and dragged through the street by his hair. Thomas Irving was set upon, as well. An ugly spectacle. Yonder you see what’s left of Hallowell’s boat. The mob dragged it from the water and burned it on the Common. They stoned Harrison’s and Hallowell’s homes, as well. Chilton was one of the mob’s leaders, or at least so he claimed. They say he was boasting that it was he who broke Ben Hallowell’s head for him and led the riot. He claimed to be a Son of Liberty, but Sam swears he had nothing to do with what occurred last night.”
He glanced uncertainly at Lucas, Finn, and Andre, as if suddenly afraid that he had said too much.
“It’s all right.” Hunter said. “They’re with us in the cause.”