Simon Hawke - Hellfire Rebellion

Hunter burst out laughing. “Give me that gun.” said Linda. ‘I’m gonna shoot him.”

“Got a permit?” Neilson asked.

You go to hell.”

Delaney walked in the door. “Dinner’s on,” he said. He glanced around at them. “What’s the joke?”

You ever hear the one about the big picture?” Neilson asked.

Delaney grimaced, “Yeah. I was the idiot on that fucking hill. Now come on. well have the briefing during dinner.

The small, secluded country chapel stood in the middle of a grove of trees, well hidden from the road. The estate on whose property it stood was out of sight over the next hill. It belonged to a wealthy Boston Tory who only made use of it on weekends, except on those nights when the Hellfire Club met. On those nights, he would saddle up his horse and ride over to the chapel. tie the horse up outside in the grove, take the hooded black robe out of his saddlebag and tie it around him with a monk’s cord, then put on the black mask that covered his entire upper face and join the “congregation.” He always felt a profound thrill of anticipation at such times, like a small boy about to do something that he knew was wrong. His young wife, with whom he had sexual relations perhaps once a month, would have been surprised at the vigor with which he participated in the night’s events.

It was late and the moon was full as John Hewitt rode up to the chapel in his carriage with Lucas Priest and Finn Delaney. When told that “young Andrew” would not be joining them. Hewitt had merely shrugged and said. As you think best.” Then he grinned and added, “But it would have been a good education for the lad.”

The grove was already full of horses and several carriages, being attended to by servants. Finn and Lucas both noticed several men moving about, armed with muskets, pistols, and swords. A wooden table stood not far away, beneath the trees, with several men seated around it, drinking wine, smoking their pipes, and playing cards by lamplight. Several more men were gathered around a crackling fire. Except for the carriages, the scene resembled the camp of a band of forest brigands.

“It seems that most everyone’s arrived.” said Hewitt. He reached beneath the seat of the carriage and pulled out two black parcels tied with cords. “Put these on.” he said.

They were the robes and masks.

Now remember the rules.” said Hewitt in a somber tone. “You are not to ask anybody’s name, under any circumstances. This is a secret brotherhood.”

“How can it be secret when you all seem to know one another?” Delaney asked.

Hewitt looked irritated at the question. “That is another matter. Once the vestments have been donned, each man is without a name. We are all merely secret brothers of the Hellfire Club. Keep your vestments on at all times, and especially you must not remove your masks nor ask anyone else to remove theirs. You may not leave until the meeting is concluded. The doors to the chapel shall be bolted, if you need to relieve yourself at any time, use the side door of the chapel and follow the path to the outhouse. Remember that wandering about outside is not permitted. There are guards on duty. We must protect ourselves against unwanted intruders. Afterward, we shall meet back here at the carriage. Any questions?”

Delaney glanced at Lucas. “No. no questions,” he said. “Shall we ‘don our vestments.’ brother?” Lucas gave him a warning glance and Delaney rolled his eyes. They put on their robes and masks and stepped out of the carnage, allowing Hewitt to proceed ahead of them.

“I feel like Zorro disguised as a monk,” whispered Delaney.

“Keep a handle on it, Finn.” Lucas whispered back.

“Shouldn’t we be chanting something?” said Delaney.

They joined a group of silent, hooded figures moving through the chapel doors. Spread out and hidden in the woods around them, dressed in black and with their faces camouflaged, were the other two commando teams, ready to move in quickly it anything went wrong or if Nikolai Drakov put in an appearance, though it was doubtful if they’d recognize him among all the hooded figures. They had no idea what they could expect, so they were prepared for anything. The armed guards moving around outside presented no real problem. The commandos could easily stay out of their sight, and if, by chance, one of them were spotted, the guard would be quickly rendered unconscious before an alarm could be given. Inside the chapel, the glow of candlelight provided a dim, shadowy illumination. The pews had been removed and in their stead were wooden tables, chairs, and benches with cushions, giving the interior of the chapel the aspect of some bizarre religious coffeehouse. There was no altar, merely a tall wooden pulpit looking down upon the congregation. The robed figures were seated at the tables, many of them smoking, while masked women, dressed in white robes, moved among the tables, serving drinks. The soft undertone of conversation was broken only by the rustling of robes, the sound of pewter mugs being put down on wooden tables, some coughing and the tapping out of pipes.

“You believe this?” whispered Delaney, standing close to Lucas. They had lost sight of Hewitt, who had vanished among the hooded figures.

“I figure at least forty, fifty men,” said Lucas, glancing around.

They found a table and sat down. A white-robed woman, hooded and with a white mask tied around her face, leaving only her eyes, mouth, and chin visible, wordlessly set down two mugs of wine before them. She gave them a knowing smile and proceeded on to the next table. Suddenly the silence was broken by the sound of the chapel organ playing a dirgelike, somber melody and the white-robed figures all retreated to the back room. Everybody stood. A man robed and masked in black like all the others mounted the pulpit and stood with his hands braced on the sides, surveying the room. The organ stopped and there was silence.

“Hellfire to the Sons of Liberty!” the man at the pulpit said, in a loud voice that echoed through the chapel.

“Hellfire to the Sons of Liberty!” the congregation responded in chorus.

“Be seated, brothers.” They sat with a rustling of robes.

“You recognize the voice?” Delaney whispered.

Lucas shook his head.

“The horseman is among us,” said the figure at the pulpit and an excited ripple ran through the crowd. “He is pleased to see so many loyal subjects of the king gathered here together. Long live His Majesty. King George!”

“Long live His Majesty. King George!” the congregation responded.

“We live in perilous times, my brothers,” said the man at the pulpit. “We have seen the Sons of Violence attack our fellow loyal citizens of Boston. We have seen them burn and pillage. We have seen them loot and plunder. We have seen them stone our houses and smash out our windows while our families huddled terrified within and we ourselves shook with rage and indignation, helpless in the face of their superior numbers. We have been forced to stand by and watch while they tarred and feathered our officials and belabored them with clubs. And then we have all read how they justify their actions in their lying newspapers, accusing us of treason, accusing us of disloyalty, accusing us of being the oppressors!” An angry undertone ran through the crowd.

“They want the freedom to speak out, but only for those who would agree with them! They want the freedom to assemble, but only so that they can fire up the common mob and break into our homes and make off with our possessions! They demand freedom of the press, but only so that they can fill their newspapers with their seditious lies! They demand freedom from taxation, but only so that they can continue smuggling with impunity! We, who import our fabrics and our wines from England, our carriages, our furniture, our tea and other necessaries, must pay our legal duties to the Crown as loyal subjects, yet they, a bunch of upstart common laborer, and rabble, feel that they must be exempt! They cry out that Parliament oppresses all Americans, yet who among us has not felt oppressed by them? Ours are the families who have founded these thirteen English colonies. Ours are the families who have built the cities, who have fought the Indians and the French, who have built the ships and founded trade and established our colonial assemblies! Ours was the toil, ours the sweat and blood! And now these dock porters and simple cordwainers, these rope makers and illiterate apprentices descended from indentured servants would bite the hand that feeds them and dictate terms to us! Well, we shall suffer these indignities no longer! We say to them, no more!”