One by one, they began to see the handbills tacked onto their doors. With eyes that widened with every word they read, they gaped at the posters. The bills stated that Americans had rights, that English rule was going to come to an end. They said the English had no right to search without warrants or to house troops in American homes. There were words against the customs laws, saying Americans had the right to import and export goods without going through England.
“Seize them!” Admiral Westmoreland bellowed, standing on the Wentworth porch, wearing his uniform jacket over his long nightshirt. After a look of disgust at Mrs. Wentworth, he tore the handbill from her hands. “Back to the kitchen where you belong, woman.”
He turned on his heel to return to the house, but then the bell at the lighthouse on the south end of the peninsula began to ring. People stopped to look.
There, standing precariously on the top of the lighthouse was a figure dressed in black.
“It’s the Raider,” someone whispered and the word “Raider” seemed to spread like a typhoon throughout the crowd.
As the town watched, he loosened a sheaf of handbills and let them float to the ground. Then he was gone.
“After him!” the admiral shouted to his half-clad soldiers. Two men had shaving lather on their faces.
“And seize these filthy things,” the admiral shouted, crumpling a handbill and throwing it to the ground. “Anyone found with one of these will be hanged.” With that he went back into the house and so didn’t see Mrs. Wentworth step on the wadded handbill and slide it under a flowerpot.
That afternoon, Alex looked up from a tankard of ale in the Montgomery common room to see Jessica enter, a smile on her lips. She threw down a net of fish. She smiled even more broadly when she saw Alex.
“Did you see him?” she breathed. “I didn’t. I couldn’t get here in time, but everyone says he was wonderful.”
“I assume you mean the Raider?” Alex looked down at his ledger. He was trying to see just what Pitman was doing with the Montgomery books. “Damned foolish if you ask me. Now the town’ll have serious problems from the admiral.”
“I agree,” Eleanor said as she held her hand in the oven, counting off seconds to judge its temperature. “We’ll all be punished for what he did.”
“Yes, but did you read the handbills? I didn’t see one.” Her face fell. “He didn’t leave one on our door.”
“First sensible thing I’ve heard,” Alex said. “Now, Jess, could you please stop interrupting me with your fairy tales of that overdressed rabble-rouser? I’m trying to add these figures.”
Jess glared at the top of his powdered wig, then jerked the ledger around to face her. “Two hundred thirty-eight pounds and twenty-nine shillings,” she said almost immediately. She glanced up at Alex, then took his pen from him, ran her finger down the other five columns and wrote the total at the bottom of each one. She turned the ledger to face him. “Some of us can do things. Not all of us sit on our behinds and watch.”
With that she turned and left the house, ignoring Eleanor’s demand that she return and apologize to Alex.
But Alex’s words, unfortunately, turned out to be true. Admiral Westmoreland was enraged that the Raider would dare appear while he was in command. Three cargoes were seized immediately and put under guard. He said the shipmasters were suspected of carrying contraband, but everyone knew the three men had been in the street the morning of the Raider’s appearance and the admiral had seen them reading the Raider’s handbills.
Two men were jailed after English soldiers appeared in the middle of the night, searched their houses, and found the illegal documents.
But the admiral didn’t dare hang the men, because even he could see how the townspeople were reacting. The Raider had done just what Jessica had wanted him to do—he’d given the people hope.
The admiral didn’t want to push the rabble over the edge—as he thought a double hanging might—he just wanted to let them know who was in command. He whipped a young man for impertinence when the man was heard to mutter something about “independence.”
Jessica was returning one evening from gathering fish when she saw someone in the stocks in the town square. She almost tripped over Abigail who was hiding and sniveling in the shadows.
“What are you doing?” Jess demanded. “I almost ran into you.”
Abigail began to cry harder.
With a sigh, Jess put the bag of clams down. “What’s wrong, Abby?” she asked, trying to make her voice sympathetic. “Have a fight with Ethan?”
Abigail blew her nose, then pointed toward the stocks.
Lately, the stocks had always been full, but now Jess’s eyes widened. “Is that…your mother?” She was aghast.
Abby nodded and began crying again.
Jess put her hand against a tree to steady herself. It had been amusing to see Mrs. Wentworth frying clams, but now to see that proud lady like this was not amusing. “The admiral?” she asked.
Abby nodded. “He said her attitude wasn’t properly subservient to the English.” Her voice rose. “He dropped cigar ash on her brocade chair and she complained.” Abigail began to cry harder.
“How long has she been in there?”