Simon Hawke: Hellfire Rebellion

“Will these Americans,” Townshend had said indignantly. “children planted by our care, nourished up by our indulgence until they are grown to a degree of strength and opulence, and protected by our arms, will they grudge to contribute their mite to relieve us from the heavy burdens which we lie under?”

To which Col. Butt had replied, “They planted by your care? No, your oppressions planted them in America! They fled from your tyranny to a then uncultivated and inhospitable country, where they exposed themselves to almost all the hardships of which human nature is liable, and among others, to the cruelty of a savage foe, and yet actuated by the principles of true English liberty, they met all hardships with pleasure. compared with those they suffered in their own country from the hands of those who should have been their friends! They nourished by your indulgence? They grew by your neglect of them! As soon as you began to care about them, that care was exercised in sending persons to rule over them in one department and another, men whose behavior on many occasions has caused the blood of those sons of liberty to recoil within them!”

Sons of Liberty! It had a ring to it. A small group of patriots in Boston known as the Loyal Nine had read that speech in the Gazette and from that moment on. they became the Sons of Liberty, an organization that would grow with each new outrage visited upon the thirteen colonies.

A large percentage of the colonists were still loyal to the Crown. but more and more were having second thoughts. They recalled the words of William Pitt. who had said in Parliament, “When trade is at stake, you must defend it or perish!” Nor was Pitt the only one in England sympathetic to the colonists. King George. however, was determined to be firm. If America successfully asserted its right to reject British taxation, might Ireland not be next? But as stubborn as King George was, the Sons of Liberty were equally determined.

At the urging of the Boston patriots, the Stamp Act Congress had been convened in New York City. It was the first real united assembly of the colonies. The representatives met to discuss a course of action and there was much talk about the Virginia Resolves, authored in the House of Burgesses by the brilliant young lawyer, Patrick Henry. The Resolves asserted that Americans had the same rights as Englishmen to be taxed only by their representatives. But Henry went still further, maintaining that only a colony’s legislature, and not Parliament, could tax its citizens.

The next few years would mark an important turning point in history. The people of the thirteen colonies were not yet ready to accept the idea of independence, but the actions of Sam Adams and the Sons of Liberty would soon provoke a series of events that would work to change their minds. Only what would happen. Drakov thought, if someone were to stop them?

He stepped off the ship onto Boston’s Long Wharf, which jutted out two thousand feet into the harbor, so that even the largest vessels could come in to its south side at low tide On the north side of Long Wharf stood warehouses, shops. and counting houses. It was a small spit of the city running out into the bay. Drakov found a dock porter to see to the unloading of his trunks, then hired a carter to deliver them to the home of Jared Moffat on Newbury Street. No sooner had the caner loaded up and started off than the dock began to clear. A moment later. Drakov saw the reason why. A longboat with armed sailors from the Romney was pulling in. The word was quickly passed among the workers on the dock.

“ Press gang! Press gang!”

Men often died at sea and the captain of the Romney was apparently shorthanded. He had sent a ship’s officer and a party of armed men ashore with instructions to secure replacements. As the press gang came ashore, Drakov watched them form up on the wharf and march off toward the taverns on the waterfront. Curious, he followed them to a public house called The Bunch of Grapes.

The officer quickly scanned the tables in the tavern. The room had gone dead silent. Them was a suspicious dearth of able-bodied seamen.

“ You, there!” said the officer, pointing to a man slumped over in his chair, with his head down on his arms. The man did not respond. Two of the Navy men quickly made their way to him and dragged him to his feet. His head lolled and one of the men pulled it back up with a sharp yank on his hair

“I said, you!” the officer said curtly. frowning at the drunken man. “What is your name?”

“F-Furlong. sir.” the drunk stammered. and alarm showed in his face as he became aware of what was happening to him.

“You have the look of a seaman about you.” said the officer.

There was utter silence in the tavern. Drakov leaned against the bar and watched. He was quite safe. No British officer would ever dare impress a gentleman.

“I–I already have a ship,” said Furlong, looking around for help. None was forthcoming. “I–I serve aboard the Boston Packet.”

“The B oston Packet, is it?” said the officer, with a smile.

Drakov noticed a small group of older men seated at a table in the corner. One of them nodded to the others and his companions quietly got up and left the tavern.

“Y-yes. sir.” said the drunk, sobering rapidly as panic mounted. “Moored at Hancock’s Wharf, sir.”

“Hancock,” said the officer. “I know that name. A notorious smuggler.”

“I–I know nothing of smuggling, sir,” protested Furlong.

“I’ll warrant that you do.” the officer replied. “Well. Mr. Furlong, your smuggling days are over. You have been impressed into the service of His Majesty’s Royal Navy. We will conduct you to the Boston Packer and collect your gear.”

“You will do no such thing.” a soft voice said.

The officer spun around. “ Who said that?”

“I did.” said the man sitting at the table in the corner.

He was in his forties, of medium height and build, with bright blue eyes. a slight paunch, and receding brown hair. His dress. though somewhat sloppy, showed him to be a gentleman. but he had apparently gone out in public without his wig. A sign that he was either slovenly or absentminded. His red broadcloth suit was rumpled and his boots were unpolished. There were dark smudges of printer’s ink upon his cuffs.

The officer glared at him. “And who the devil might you be, sir, to speak in such an insolent manner to an officer of His Majesty, the King?”

“My name is Samuel Adams,” said the man. And looking past the officer, he added, “Take heart, Mr. Furlong. These men shall not take you anywhere against your will.”

“Are you aware. Mr. Adams,” said the officer, that it is treason to resist impressment or to counsel others to do so?”

And are you aware, sir.” Adams replied calmly. “that since the time of good Queen Anne, by act of Parliament. it has been illegal to impress sailors in American waters?”

“We are ashore sir,” said the officer.

Adams smiled. “I think the statute was intended to apply to those ashore, as well. You know that as well as I.”

“Well, in that case sir you may complain to Parliament,” the officer said, with a contemptuous sneer. He turned back to his men. “Take him.”

The panic-stricken Furlong turned to Adams.

“Never fear.” said Adams. “You have friends.”

With a snort, the officer beckoned to his men and they dragged Furlong outside. Adams made no move to get up from his chair. Curious, Drakov followed the press gang as they frog-marched their captive to the Boston Packet, moored at John Hancock’s wharf. An angry crowd was waiting for them there. The men of the press gang hesitated, looking to their leader.

“Go on.” the officer snapped at them. “They dare not interfere.”