Simon Hawke: Hellfire Rebellion

At some point during the night, Governor Bernard had given the order for the drummers to beat the alarm for the militia. but Sheriff Greenleaf had to disappoint him once again. The drummers. he reported sadly, were all part of the mob. It was dawn before the last of the rioters finally dispersed, leaving behind an utter ruin. Nothing remained standing of Boston’s finest mansion except a wall or two and a huge pile of rubble. It looked as if a tornado had touched down upon the spot.

The Boston riots touched off similar events in other cities. Throughout the thirteen colonies, stamp distributors were pressured to resign. With no stamps to pass out, ships whose papers were not stamped were suddenly engaged in smuggling. They could not unload in England without the risk of seizure. In Philadelphia, one hundred and fifty ships had jammed the port. Without stamps for legal documents, courts had no choice but to close down. Writs could not be issued. Land titles couldn’t be conveyed. Trials could not take place. An enterprising man could profit from such a climate of confusion and Reese Hunter found himself among enterprising men.

They called themselves the Sons of Liberty and their leaders met in a tavern called The Bunch of Grapes. Ben Edes had joined the Sons of Liberty and the Gazette became the most radical newspaper in the colonies. Sam Adams used it as his forum. Writing under a wide variety of pseudonyms such as “Determinatus,”

“Brittanicus Americus.”

“A Son of Liberty.”

“A Bostonian,” and “Candidus,” Adams kept up an unceasing barrage of invective against the ministers of the Crown and even against King George, himself, which many citizens of Boston thought was going much too far.

It was one thing to speak out against the ministry and Parliament. but it was something else again when Adams dared to criticize the king. to lecture him in print like an impatient schoolmaster. But most of the citizens of Boston were still unaware that what Sam Adams really wanted was nothing less than total independence from Great Britain, an idea whose time had not yet come, though Hunter knew that it was drawing closer. In another decade, the colonies would declare their independence from the mother country. Hunter intended to be long gone by then. He had no intention of being caught up in the war. But in the meantime. Boston was a fascinating place to be. And Hunter was in no hurry to go anywhere. He had all the time in the world.

It was growing late when he arrived to meet the others at the tavern. The feisty Macintosh was already reeling from the effects of all the wine he’d drunk and he was being twice as loud as usual, which made for a considerable amount of volume.

“An’ I still say it was a mistake,” he slurred angrily. his mind still relatively lucid, though his mouth lagged a bit behind.

He was referring to the collection that had been taken up to repay Thomas Hutchinson for the destruction of his mansion. It had been done at the instigation of Sam Adams. who had spoken out in the Assembly and expressed his outrage at the actions of the mob. Needless to say, the money would not replace the mansion or its precious contents. and Hutchinson was reported to be heartbroken over the loss of his priceless History of Massachusetts Bay, thirty years of work undone in just one night. The morning following the riot, he had appeared in court among his fellow red-robed justices, wearing only what he’d escaped in the previous night. He had borrowed an ill-fitting coat from the neighbors he was staying with and he was a pathetic sight, indeed.

Sam Adams. unlike Macintosh. was fully able to appreciate how the sympathies of Boston would lie with a proud. distinguished citizen so humbled and he had sought to prove that the Sons of Liberty. while opposed to men like Hutchinson in principle, were not a ruthless bunch of thugs-which was precisely what many of them were. And despite the fact that he had organized the demonstration. something he prudently did not admit in public. Adams sincerely sought to make amends. Much like Col. George Washington of Virginia. whose family crest bore the Latin motto, “ Exitus Acta Probat “ (The End Justifies the Means). Adams was not above utilizing any means he felt were necessary to achieve the end he had in mind. but he fully understood the subtleties of propaganda.

Macintosh did not appreciate such tactics. “We taught that royalist bootlicker a proper lesson!” he shouted, slapping his palm down on the table and upsetting his glass of wine. “I say he had it comin’!” And now Sam Adams goes to him with hat in hand and humbly begs his pardon. sayin. ‘Please, Yer Worship, forgive us all the trespass and kindly accept these monies by way of reparation.’ Apologizin’ to the likes o’ him!”

“It’s not like that at all Mac,” Edes reassured him. “Sam Adams knows what he’s about. What’s the point of all we’re doing if public opinion turns against us? This way. Sam, stands by his principles and the Sons of Liberty have demonstrated that while our zeal is undiminished, we still have a concern for justice. And the lesson on Tom Hutchinson isn’t lost, believe

“Well, maybe so,” Macintosh admitted grudgingly, “but I still say we shouldn’t give the bastard one damn shilling! Tom Hutchinson is Massachusetts born an’ bred an’ I say he’s a traitor to his own! An’ I dare any man who thinks I’m wrong to stand up an’ say so to my face!”

At that precise instant. something came crashing through the window of the tavern. struck Macintosh full in the chest, and knocked him and his chair backward to the floor. Stunned. Macintosh sat up and stared at the object that had felled him. It was a pumpkin carved into a jack-o-lantern. Its smashed and pulpy pieces lay splattered all around him. Chairs fell to the floor as the Sons of Liberty leapt to their feet and a bellowing Macintosh led the charge outside.

For a moment, they saw nothing, but then they heard the rapid beat of iron-shod hooves on cobblestones. A black-clad rider with a long, billowing cloak came hurtling at them from the shadows, scattering the group. He turned, reining in sharply, and the handsome, jet-black stallion reared up. its forelegs pawing at the sky as the rider’s screeching laughter filled the air.

He had no head.

His keening laughter echoed through the night as he came thundering at them once again. His horse struck a gaping Jebediah Stiles and sent him sprawling as the rider plowed through them like a juggernaut, wheeled around, pulled in his reins, and reared up once again. Ransome Howard swore. pulled out his sheath knife, and hurled it at the horseman.

It went right though him.

With a maniacal screech, the rider bore down upon them once again and as the others scattered. Hunter stood and stared. astonished, as both the horse and rider vanished right before their eyes. leaving behind nothing but the echo of the horseman’s wild laughter.

“Holy Mary Mother o’ God!” breathed Macintosh, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Is it the drink. or did I really see that?

“I saw it. too!” said Dudley Brenton. “He had no head’ The rider had no head! “

“Your knife went right through him!” Eli Cruger said to Howard.

“No, he missed,” said someone.

“I didn’t miss.” insisted Howard. “I never miss.” He swallowed hard and crossed himself. “It was a ghost, sure as I live and breathe! A demon straight from hell!”

“ You saw it. Reese!” said Macintosh. his eyes bulging. “You saw! He vanished straightaway, before our very eyes! That was no man, Reese! Men don’t just disappear! It was a ghost! You saw!”

“Yes. Mac, I saw,” said Hunter. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

“A haunting!” Macintosh said hoarsely. “A haunting. that’s what it was! You all saw it same as I did, every man jack of you!”