Lexington: Anatomy of a Novel Ch. 42-43

 

Chapter 42

Boston, Massachusetts

December 1774

 

 

THE ENTIRE REGIMENT, along with the 38^th and 52^nd regiments, were ordered to watch one hundred lashes be given to the deserter.

It was bitterly cold. A few snowflakes danced in the gusts of wind. James left the barracks. He stood in line with others. Thomas had saved a place for him in the first row at the end. Corporal Tilley stood next to Thomas. All wore full military dress as directed.

General Gage arrived last. He stood at the end of the first row next to James.

James wondered if the General was going to do the lashing himself. He had said he wanted to be present to reinforce how serious desertion was.

Two privates dragged the deserter from the building entrance of the small house used as a jail.

The deserter was not a big man, maybe five foot six or seven. He was slim but muscular. In civilian life he had been a farmer. He wore pants, not regimental pants, but pants farmers would wear tilling their fields. His legs and feet were naked as well as the area between his neck and belt.

From his vantage point of about 50 feet, James thought the man looked terrified as would anyone about to be whipped one hundred times.

“There’ll be a drum beat for every lash,” Thomas, who stood to the right of James, whispered. “I don’t know if they always do that.”

It was his first time to witness a lashing. James didn’t want to watch, but everyone had been ordered to keep their eyes open. “Hearing the whip and screams will set an example,” the General had said last night at dinner. “Discourages more desertions.”

The regiment doctor stood to the left of the deserter, close enough to observe, far enough not to get hit with the whip. He could call a halt if he thought the deserter was near collapse. James wondered if that was because they worried about the man’s well-being or if they wanted to guarantee he experienced every lash with full pain.

Danny marched behind four men. Each carried a whip. Each would be responsible for 25 blows. The boy beat out a slow rhythm. It reminded James of church funeral bells. The boy wore his smaller drum strapped over his shoulder and around his waist leaving his hands free for the batons. This drum, unlike the one he used for marching practice, had no artwork. It was painted a light green, the same green as leaves when they first burst out in spring. Today’s weather was as opposite to spring as possible.

Danny’s eyes met James’ or so James imagined. He wondered what Danny must be thinking. Sometimes, but not often, the two of them would sit together at meals, but they never really talked about anything of importance: weather, regiment gossip, a ball game that the soldiers played with a bat or a popular card game were their usual topics. Sometimes they mentioned life back home, Danny more than James.

Neither James nor Danny would play anything where they could lose money. James didn’t know why Danny was saving his money, but as for him, he wanted to be able to buy something at the end of his contract with the regiment. His plans changed regularly. He had ruled out a farm, but more and more thought about starting a bakery in one of the nearby villages. His bread was better than any he’d eaten in Boston, although he thought it could be the quality of the flour that made the taste vary.

He had to laugh at himself, realizing that he was thinking of recreating the life he had in Ely, with one major exception. He would be in charge not his brother. He imagined himself with a wife, someone like Mollie Clark or Sally Brewster. In reality their fathers would be a real impediment in courting them. Courting either would also be a good way to serve the General as a spy, because there was no doubt that their fathers were influential members of the Sons of Liberty.

At breakfast mess two days ago, Danny said he had a letter from his mother. “She wants me to say hello to you and remind you of your promise. What promise?”

“To keep your sorry skin out of trouble,” James had said. “Pass the salt.”

James brought his attention back to the scene in front of him. He didn’t want to be there. He hadn’t known the deserter all that well. They had shared night guard duty walking the streets once. The man was not chatty, but he did reveal he thought he had made a mistake signing up. He should be home on the family farm.

James didn’t want to see him hurt. He didn’t want to see anyone hurt, even if the person was guilty of desertion.

Danny’s beat slowed and stopped. The deserter stopped and faced the brick wall. One soldier grabbed one of the man’s hands. He tied it to a metal ring. A second soldier did the same with the deserter’s second hand forcing his stomach to touch the wall. The deserter had to turn his head and rest his cheek against the brick. His hands were above his head.

The General turned to speak to the officer directly behind him. “This should be a lesson to everyone.”

Maybe the lesson was not to get caught. What if the traitor hadn’t stopped where he had near Worcester but had travelled onto Springfield or gone north to New Hampshire? What if he had taken refuge with the Indians? If he’d gone into the wilderness, if he had gone further and faster, he would not be about to suffer the whip.

The four men stood evenly spaced behind the deserter. Each held a whip of leather strips about three feet long. They had been twisted into a handle that the beaters could grip. James wasn’t sure if the strips were made of rope or leather, as if it mattered. Each stroke would hurt like hell. Stupid expression, James thought. No one knows what hell is really like.

The wind velocity increased as the snow became heavier, although still not blizzard strength. It gave a veiled view to the whipping.

Chatter through the regiment said the deserter was lucky. Although whippings weren’t common, 100 was usually one of the lighter sentences. Up to 300 could be the norm. However, with the half a dozen strips coming from the handle, wouldn’t that mean 600 lashes instead of 100?

“Do you think they’ll go light on him?” Thomas whispered.

James shrugged. Did rope hurt more than leather? He didn’t want to think about the pain the man was about to undergo. Gage spoke to the doctor but what he said wasn’t heard. As the highest-ranking officer present the General was the one to give the order to start.

Danny did a drum roll at the General’s signal.

One of the four soldiers administering the punishment stood directly behind the deserter. The other three stood to one side.

Danny picked up his batons as the man raised his arm, the whip dangling. Danny hit the drum hard, the sound echoing at the exact moment the whip seared the flesh of the deserter. The man did not scream.

Again, again, again, again.

The other soldiers were mute as if mannequins on display in some war museum.

James knew the traitor had friends in the ranks, but none of them would break formation to help. He found himself counting as the number of lashes mounted. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two. Then he realized that the serjeant in charge was counting aloud.

The man doing the whipping stepped back to allow a second soldier to take his place.

The drum beat continued. The serjeant’s counting continued until, “Forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty.”

Danny’s single drumbeat marked the whip cutting the deserter’s back.

The traitor’s mouth did not open. James assumed he wasn’t screaming. Or maybe the snow was blurring his vision. He wasn’t sure he could be as stoic. Yes, he was sure — sure that he wouldn’t be able. He had never planned to desert. Serving out his contract couldn’t come fast enough after witnessing this. Still, he would do his duty as he had sworn to do.

Red stripes crisscrossed the deserter’s back.

“Stop!” The doctor’s voice broke the rhythm of the whip and drum. He walked over to the man and examined his bloody back. He took the man’s pulse. James thought he heard him ask if the man preferred to continue now or tomorrow, although with the wind, that would have been impossible to make out what was being said. He didn’t see the deserter’s lips move. “Continue,” the doctor yelled. Everyone on the parade ground heard.

The third man took the place of the second man.

It started again: the crack of the whip whistling in the wind and the single drumbeat.

The fourth man took the place of the third after the seventy-fifth slash.

Then, “Ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred,” James counted aloud along with the serjeant.

“Cut him down,” the doctor yelled.

The two soldiers, who had fastened the man to the wall, undid the shackles. The deserter fell to the snow-covered ground. One soldier took the man’s feet, the other under his arms and headed back to the jail leaving a patch of red snow.

 

Chapter 43

Boston, Massachusetts

December 1774

 

 

THE NIGHT BEFORE General Gage was to leave for Salem, he told James he wanted to convince Samuel Adams to become his spy. James was ordered to sit in the corner of the General’s office, say nothing but observe the two men during their meeting. Afterward, the General wanted a full written report. James was forbidden to take notes. The General was afraid that would intimidate Adams.

James had done this before. He wondered what people talking to the General thought about a soldier sitting in a chair mimicking a statue.

James had become proficient in melting into walls. His excellent memory meant he remembered the major points after a meeting. He knew from writing other reports that the sooner he wrote it, the more complete it would be. If he waited three or four days, there would be holes in it. He also knew if he reread the report five or six days later, some detail he could add might work its way back into his head. He hated asking the General if he could write an addendum. The General always said yes, but with a look of disappointment.

General Gage was slated to go to Salem in the morning. He told James to stay to write the report as well as make sure Mrs. Gage was safe. The General did not want her wandering around Boston alone where some rebel might attack her.

They heard a knock. The maid Beth showed Adams into the General’s study.

James thought Adams a bit chunky. Although he had heard the rebel was in his mid-thirties, his full head of hair was graying. Strands had escaped the leather tie holding his hair in place. He was well-dressed as his status as Clerk of the House of Representatives dictated. James knew he was also a delegate to the Continental Congress made up of delegates from other colonies. They had held their first meeting in Philadelphia during the fall.

At the Green Dragon, James had heard people mumbling that if there hadn’t been a blockade of Boston Harbor, the Congress would never have happened. And if there hadn’t been the Boston Tea Party, the harbor blockade wouldn’t have happened. James was always amazed how one event melded into another. It made him think of a runaway hoop rolling down a hill so fast it was next to impossible to catch it.

Allegedly, the Congress wanted to improve relationships with King George and his representatives but at the same time they wanted the King to understand their point of view The letter that they had sent to the King had had no response although it was still too early to expect much. Their letter had probably just reached the King, and he would not have had time to think of an answer.

The General had been outraged that the delegates tried to contact the King directly. He had not been able to discover everything that went on in that meeting, and if it was one thing the General hated was having partial information. James understood this, because to make a good decision, one needed all the facts or at least most of them. Thus, James had been asked to find out all he could about Adams. It wasn’t hard: so much was known. He was born into a Puritan family, attended Boston Latin before Harvard and seemed much more suited to politics than business.

What James didn’t say in his earlier report on Adams was that the man was stubborn. Everyone he spoke to mentioned his stubbornness.

Because the General was one of the most stubborn man he ever met, he figured this meeting might be a battle of equals in personality despite a difference in rank. He also knew that Adams did not care about rank. He cared only about results, or so people reported.

“Thank you for coming,” the General said. “We’ve a lot to talk about.”

Adams shucked his coat and put it over the arm of one of the upholstered chairs. He seated himself upright in one chair when the General suggested another. A coffee table was between the two men.

They made small talk about their wives and children. Adams had two surviving children from his first marriage, none from his second. “I hope your family is settling in well, General?”

“My wife is from New Jersey. She is as comfortable here as she was in London.”

Adams leaned back. “Why did you ask me here, General?”

He gets straight to the point, James thought.

“I don’t suppose you know where the missing cannons are?”

“Missing cannons?”

“Stolen. We’ve also lost gun powder and . . .”

Adams crossed his legs. “I would say then, your security needs to be increased, General. I would also suggest that it is not in the best interest of the citizens of Boston and nearby towns to be under threat from the soldiers.”

James watched the General’s grimace, the one he made when trying to control his temper. “If we knew how to remove troublemakers, we could serve all the population better.”

“And how do you define troublemaker?”

“Perhaps people who dress as Indians to throw tea in the harbor rather than pay tax.”

The General was 95 percent sure that Adams had been one of those Indians. He’d complained about it enough times to James or in James’ hearing to others.

“In general, General, there are many colonists who do not understand why taxes are imposed on us at all. We have no say. The money goes back to the home country.”

“The money is used for your protection. It pays for the soldiers.”

“Soldiers we do not want here.”

James noted that Adams lowered his voice to the point that the General had to lean forward to hear Adams speak.

“That is no excuse. We’re here to protect English people, English property.”

“We are no longer in danger from Indians. But we are in danger from our own countrymen.”

“Maybe not real Indians. I wonder how you would look with war paint, Mr. Adams?”

James thought that statement might be bad strategy if he wanted to get Adams on his side. Rumors, reliable ones, had Mr. Adams as one of those temporary red men. It was hard imagining the immaculately dressed Adams with feathers, buckskin and war paint.

Adams laughed. “General, are you referring to the attack on the Beaver? What a waste of good tea that was.”

“We can agree on the waste. I also was referring to a shipment that was on the Fortune last February. More of those light-skinned Indians.”

Adams set back in his chair. “I heard that it was a measly 35 boxes.”

“Still, soldiers are needed to protect against Indians whatever the shade of red.”

“It seems to me, General, the only Indians that attack these days are those that don’t like taxes imposed by London.”

“Before we can change those taxes or lift the embargo on the harbor, we must have the troublemakers removed.”

“There’s an interesting word, troublemaker, General. I believe the colonist would call them heroes, although Indian heroes are an interesting concept, don’t you think?”

There was a long silence. James suspected that the General wasn’t sure where to go. His intention had been to offer Adams a large sum of money for names.

“Not everyone in Boston would agree with you. They want the unrest to come to end. They are loyal English citizens.”

“As we all do, General. Fewer soldiers, taxes decided locally and spent locally, perhaps on our own militia, would probably do that.”

A chicken-and-egg argument, James thought. He was getting stiff, sitting in the uncomfortable chair, barely moving not to call attention to himself.

The General stood up and walked to the window and looked out for a minute or two before turning. “Mr. Adams, I was hoping you would consider helping us. It could benefit you in any way you see fit.”

Adams stood and picked up his coat. “I believe, General, we are too far apart on how to solve disagreements between colonists and the Crown until the Crown can give us some of the things I spoke about earlier. But I thank you for your time.”

He walked to the door. “I can show myself out.” He shut the study room door behind him. They heard footsteps then the outer door open and shut.

The General checked the short corridor to the outside. He slammed the door to the study shut so hard that the figurines in the bookcase quivered. It was followed by a string of obscenities that James had never heard the General use.

Mrs. Gage rushed in. “What’s happening?”

Immediately the swearing stopped. “I failed at getting Adams on our side.”

“From what I’ve heard about Mr. Adams, he’s so dedicated to his cause, even if he gave you information, could he be trusted?” She put her hand on her husband’s arm, something James had seen her do whenever the General seemed to be getting upset, although that was usually when the children were getting too boisterous for the General’s liking.

The General took several deep breaths. The red in his face returned to his normal color. “I’m going to Salem tomorrow, Dear. What are your plans?”

“I need to do some errands. I want to visit some of the officers’ wives while the children’s French tutor is here in the afternoon.”

The General turned to James. “I want you to stay and accompany my wife at all times. Then put on your civilian clothes and continue to try and find what the hell, excuse me Mrs. Gage, anything that might help us.

He went to the table where there stood a bottle and several glasses and poured a glass of port to offer to James, who shook his head.

His stomach was queasy. “I need to . . .” He wanted to go back to the barracks to his narrow army bed. If it weren’t the most comfortable sleeping place, it was easy to disassemble in case it needed to be moved to another location.

The General swished the port in his mouth. “We are Englishmen who must do whatever the King wants us to do.”

“Adams believes in his cause more than he believes in anything you could do for him,” James said.

“And he’s wrong.”

As James walked to the barracks he shivered in the wind. He thought about the rebels. The King giving no consideration to their needs bothered him. In Ely, when taxes were raised on flour, it had been a problem. It meant the price of bread had to be raised. Their customers complained and had to raise prices on their goods. It seemed to James a never-ending circle. He had no idea how to change it but refusing to pay the taxes didn’t seem right either. Was there no way to make the King and parliament understand?

He was tired. He just wanted to sleep. Inside the room where 30 of his regiment slept, he noticed 15 empty beds.  Maybe there was some kind of mission he missed hearing about.

He debated taking an extra blanket from the empty cots. He could return it when the soldier returned from wherever.