“That’s more than enough. I still owe you from what happened with Tanner. And you’ve spent at least that much on my ales and stew in the Dowser.”
“Nevertheless, I’m in your debt,” Ethan said. “Let’s plan to meet at the tavern each night until this is over. I want to know everything that happens.”
He let himself out of Diver’s room and descended the stairs to the street, feeling considerably better than he had just an hour before. Sephira always managed to outthink him, but he couldn’t imagine that she would anticipate this gambit.
Chapter Fifteen
He had intended to head home after leaving Diver’s place, but as he stepped back out onto the street, he saw people streaming through the city lanes toward the First Church. At least, that was where he thought they were going. As he followed, however, driven by curiosity and something else he couldn’t name, Ethan saw that those leading the throng had passed the church and Town House, and were continuing west toward the Court House.
This, too, they passed. As Ethan caught snatches of conversation and repeated mention of certain words-“lobsterbacks,” “barracks,” and, most often “Brown”-he realized that they were leading him to the Manufactory House. Thus far today he had heard nothing new about Elisha Brown, but he assumed that he and his comrades were still holding out in the building. Listening more closely, looking around at the expressions of those walking with him, he sensed the crowd’s trepidation as well as its excitement. It seemed that the people heading toward Treamount didn’t know whether to expect another moral victory for the colonists or a bloodbath.
Reaching the broad avenue and following the onlookers to the great brick structure, Ethan saw a host of regulars and an officer, powerfully built and resplendent in his red uniform, standing at the fore of their column. He was looking up at the building, speaking with someone. Following the direction of his gaze, Ethan saw a man with dark hair and a ruddy face leaning out of a second-story window, and shouting back at the officer. Elisha Brown, no doubt.
The regulars carried muskets, but as of yet they hadn’t aimed them at the building. Ethan wondered how long that would last. To his relief, he saw no sign of the British cavalry or of heavier guns.
Scanning the larger horde that had gathered around the building to watch whatever unfolded, Ethan caught sight of a familiar shock of gray hair. After a moment’s hesitation, he pressed through the mass of people until he had reached Samuel Adams’s side.
“Good afternoon, sir.”
Adams glanced his way, looked a second time. His face brightened. “Mister Kaille!” he said. “What brings you here? Are you ready at last to join our cause?”
“I was drawn here by curiosity, nothing more. I saw the crowd gathering and I followed.”
“I see,” Adams said, a tinge of disappointment in his voice. He turned back to the scene before them, his head moving ever so slightly with his palsy, concern creasing his brow.
“Brown and his friends are taking a great chance,” Ethan said. “You should get him out of there.”
“I should?” Adams said, rounding on him. “I have nothing to do with this. Contrary to what you and some others might choose to believe, James Otis and I are not responsible for every act of defiance by the citizens of Boston. Brown didn’t take direction from me or anyone else. He did this because he believes this occupation to be wrong, and because he doesn’t wish to give up his residence, however temporary it might be, in order to make a few of King George’s men more comfortable.”
Ethan said nothing, and Adams turned away once more, a touch of red shading his cheeks.
“Forgive me, Mister Kaille. These past few days have been difficult for all of us. I’m not insensitive to the danger. But Elisha has chosen his own path, and like you I can only watch to see what happens next.” He shrugged, a small, guarded gesture. “I don’t believe that Dalrymple and his men want this confrontation. They don’t wish to be humiliated, of course, and therein lies the true peril. But word is that General Gage has more men on the way-a few thousand more-and Dalrymple wouldn’t be so foolish as to resort to violence before his reinforcements arrive.”
“I hope you’re right.”
A wan smile flickered on the man’s face, although he didn’t look away from the building. “Yes, so do I.”
They both fell silent and watched. Much of the crowd had quieted as well, perhaps trying to hear what Brown and the British officer said to each other. Ethan could make out little of it, and none of what he heard was of much interest to him. Lieutenant Colonel Dalrymple wanted the building for his men and claimed authority to take it. Brown refused to acknowledge that authority and claimed to have no intention of leaving any time soon. The rest of what they said was of little importance.
After a few minutes of this, those who had come expecting to see something more dramatic began to lose interest. The silence that had descended on the mass of people gave way to murmured conversations, and to catcalls, most of them directed at the regulars and their leaders, but a few aimed at Brown and his friends.
Ethan scanned the crowd, more out of habit than any expectation that he might recognize someone. The one person he knew who might have been drawn to this sort of encounter was Diver, and Ethan had left him back on Pudding Street. But as he continued to survey the street, a lone figure drew his attention. At first he took little notice of the man, who was skulking at the edge of the crowd, his great shoulders hunched, his hands deep in his pockets.
Ethan soon realized that while the man appeared to be pacing, every pass brought him closer to the Manufactory. And he realized as well that he had seen the hulking frame and red hair before. Simon Gant.
“Your pardon, sir,” Ethan said, starting away from Adams and taking care to keep his gaze fixed on Gant.
“Yes, of course, Mister Kaille,” Adams called to him. “Good day to you.”
Ethan raised a hand in farewell, but all of his attention was on the big man. Skirting the densest part of the gathering, he made his way toward him. He moved with great care, and tried to conceal himself behind others. But he never let Gant out of his sight, and he reached for his knife as he walked. He hid the blade within his sleeve, so as not to alarm those around him, or cut anyone as he squeezed past.
Gant watched the building-Ethan wondered what interest he had in Elisha Brown and his confrontation with the regulars-and paid little attention to those around him. Ethan might have made it all the way to the man without being spotted had it not been for an older woman who objected to his attempts to step past her.
“You’ll just have to wait there, mister!” she said, glaring at him with small blue eyes. “We all want to see better, and I have a friend inside! So you just stand there with the rest of us and stop pushing me!”
Ethan raised his hands to indicate that he meant her no harm, and glanced toward Gant, to make certain that the man hadn’t seen him yet. He hadn’t.
But that hardly mattered, because in putting up his hands, he had forgotten that he held the knife. The old woman let out a little gasp, pointed a bony finger at Ethan and shouted “He has a knife!” in a shrill voice that must have carried halfway to Newport.
Everyone in the vicinity turned to look at him. So did Gant.
Ethan stared back at him and the big man’s eyes widened with recognition. He bolted down Treamount, shoving one woman to the ground and lowering his shoulder so that he barreled over an unsuspecting man. Ethan threaded his way through the mob, trying to be more gentle than Gant, but also doing his best not to let the thief get too far ahead of him. He jostled several people, earning glares and shouted insults, and at least one kick to the shin. But soon enough he was clear of the crowd and running after Gant.