Aug 16 2024
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GOVERNMENT POWER - THE REDCOATS ARRIVE - 1768
GOVERNMENT POWER – THE REDCOATS ARRIVE – 1768
There was no police force in October 1768. In the face of boiling civil disobedience, the British Crown had an answer. A fleet of frigates trained their cannons on the town, while they dispatched the redcoat army. Boston became an “occupied city”; it would remain that way until March 1775, after the Boston Massacre, the Tea Party, and the battles of Lexington and Concord. The following is an excerpt from my first novel “Snug Harbor Tavern; Shaggin’ for a Shillin”.
Big Bessie Clump glared over the rim of her tankard of ale, as she watched the parade of soldiers marching down King Street. Sitting across from her at the window table at the Bunch of Grapes, Amanda Griffith held her chin in her bunched-up fists. Both were clad in mobcaps and scullery clothes, in stark contrast to the bright red coats, chalk white breeches and black hats of those marching by with military precision.
Leading the vanguard of the Fourteenth and Twenty-ninth regiments were the fife and drum corps. Comprised of black musicians clad in bright yellow uniforms, they created a mysticism and precision to the procession that instilled both fear and awe in the few inhabitants watching the parade on the fringe of King Street. The music, combined with the glistening bayonets, and the intermittent barked orders of the sergeant majors to the seemingly endless ranks of redcoats, was intended to inform the populace that the king meant business and that no violation of civil law would be tolerated. The two leading regiments were followed by a portion of the Fifty-ninth and a train of artillery.
“If I was a man, I’d put a stop to this, Bessie. This is an affront to the entire colony, for god’s sake. Just look at them struttin’ down the middle of town like they own it,” grumbled Amanda. “It seems the only ones brave enough to face them on the sides of the street are citizens the size of Imp there, sitting at the doorstep.”
It seemed that every apprentice in Boston had found a perch along the length of King Street to watch the long line of soldier as they marched to the Common. Not a word was uttered.
“Let’s face it,” responded Big Bessie. “Right now, the redcoats do own the town. But time will tell. You must admit it, though; they sure are pretty.” She took a heavy swallow from her tankard and pointed through the window with her chubby arm. “Just look at those big burly grenadiers; with those bearskin hats, they look to be ten feet tall. I wonder if everything they have is big!”
Amanda turned her eyes from the street and looked intently into Bessie’s eyes. “Forget about what’s ‘big,’ Bessie. Just what do you mean ‘time will tell’?”
Bessie patted Amanda’s hand and spoke firmly. “Now you settle down and face the facts! Right now, no man in the colony could possibly stand up to them, Amanda. They’re too ready for trouble, and it’s what they want. A soldier wants to get the fightin’ over with as soon as possible. A long wait is their worst enemy.”
Amanda shared a knowing grin. “You know, Bessie, sometimes you really surprise me. By god, you’re right! Within a week, every redcoat marching out there will be sufferin’ the craving lusties for what we have and forget all about fightin’.”
“You bet your sweet arse,” blubbered Big Bessie, laughing. “I’ll bet we could make most of them claim a new religion and trade their Brown Bess muskets for one good shaggin’.”
Amanda added, “Maybe our Sons of Liberty can’t do much right now, but we can get the job done on our end.”
“Be kind to our Boston men, Amanda. Remember, they don’t have the same ammunition we have. Our weapons are far more potent!” said Bessie, with a brassy laugh as she juggled her pendulous breasts.
Staring with an analytical eye at the passing parade, Amanda added in a cunning tone, “We should advise our girls to keep their ears open with this new opportunity. Business will be great, and there is much to learn; shaggin’ seems to make a man talk. I best get over to the Snug Harbor. We’ll both be needin’ more rum, ale, and beer with this gaggle.” She rushed down King Street to the sound of drums and fifes.
Meanwhile, across the street at the British Coffee House, Paul Revere sat with Dr. Benjamin Church. The contrast in style was obvious; while Church was resplendent in pale blue satin brocade and flashing his gold signet ring, Revere was quite relaxed in the attire of a tradesman, with only gold buttons accenting his waistcoat as a small sign of status. Church, taking note of the gold, asked, “Paul, what would you charge to provide me gold buttons like yours? I’ve come into a bit of money and—”
“Not now, Dr. Church!” said Revere tersely. “Let’s focus on this dastardly parade. It has been nearly four hours that they have been marching by, and only now do I finally see the end. What is our final tally?”
Biting into a pork chop and downing his pint of ale, Church responded philosophically, “It really doesn’t matter, Paul. The number of the king’s troops in Boston is an obvious overkill. Look at them! Bayonets glistening in the sun, the wary eyes; these men are ready for trouble. It is best that we remain out of sight.”
“By my count,” said Revere, ignoring his comments, “I find more than one thousand men, including a company of artillery. That’s more than two complete regiments. Where will they stay? That’s a lot of men to quarter.”
Church, licking his fingers in a nonchalant manner said, “It seems they’ve marched over to the Common. I guess they will probably pitch their tents and build their fires there for now.”
With that said, Revere arose from the table. “I’ll see you later, Doctor. I’m off to the Common to finish my count.”
“Go with God, my good man,” said Church, waving with his mouth full, “and be careful of those bayonets. I shall remain for a small serving of plum pudding.”
In a matter of minutes, Revere found Sam Adams and his cousin’s small son John Quincy standing on a knoll above the Common, not far from the Hancock mansion. “What do you think, Sam?” asked Revere, with a tired gaze.
“A lot of good that barrel of turpentine on that pole did!” exclaimed Adams, disgustedly.
“Lighten up, Sam. You know very well that Sheriff Greenleaf finally mustered up enough courage to take the barrel down. And, besides, all the turpentine had leaked out anyway,” said Revere defensively.
Ignoring his comment, Sam Adams grumbled, “Where’s the insurrection? What happened to the Sons of Liberty?”
John Hancock joined them, staring at the assemblage of white tents and red uniforms, arrayed in neat rows on the community grazing land. Without preamble, he said, “Face it. We did what we could, Sam. We argued with the governor to keep these redcoats billeted on Castle William in the harbor, but it seems that this Lieutenant Colonel Dalrymple has countermanded that order. Bernard wouldn’t put them right under my nose here on Beacon Hill, would he? It had to be the colonel.”
Adams, with a vacant stare said, “We have much to learn about our new adversary, John. In my opinion, Governor Bernard has the innate ability to say one thing and do another. As for the redcoats, I suspect that Lieutenant Colonel Dalrymple is merely a puppet. It seems to me that this General Gage, commander of all the king’s troops in the colonies, is pulling the strings and will probably dictate to Governor Bernard before long, even if he is in New York.”
Little John Quincy Adams said, “Those redcoats certainly look sharp down there, don’t they? What’s that song they keep singing?”
Sam patted his head. “Remember this moment, John Quincy! That song is ‘Yankee Doodle Dandy,’ and it is intended as an insult to us all. They don’t belong here, and I promise they will not be here very long, if I have anything to do with it.” Turning to Hancock, he said, “I have another letter for the Boston Gazette to write, or I should rather say ‘Vindex’ has a letter to write. I’ll see you tomorrow, John.”
You can find the novels posted at www.history1776.com.