“I’m afraid they would, Eleanor,” the elder Bowles said. “I’ve been expecting it. I hadn’t wanted to tell you, but on Monday last I was notified that my services to the county were no longer welcome and my positions had been filled by patriotic Americans. They passed a resolution that no English loyalist be allowed to hold a public post.” His mouth set in a harsh, bitter line. “They have turned ‘loyalty’ into a dirty word.”
“But Thomas, to think they could stoop so low as to vent their hates on children.”
“The way Samuel Adams and John Hancock have inflamed the mindless rabble with their rantings about liberty and independence, no one—man, woman, or child—who remains faithful to his king and country will be spared.”
Young Tom had already lost interest and wandered off but Will stood rooted, his mind in a turmoil. He had been hearing such talk between his parents for many months without giving it his close attention or really understanding what it meant. Now suddenly, with his own personal involvement, this growing bitterness between loyal Englishmen and rebel “patriots” took on a new and deeper meaning.
“What can we do, Pa?”
“The first thing,” his father said soberly, “is to see that you and your brothers continue your education. Judge Kennerly is a man of superior education and refinement who has unfortunately fallen upon hard times. I am quite sure he would welcome a few extra shillings for giving you boys private tutoring. I’ll ride in now and make the arrangements.”
“Oh, Thomas,” his mother cried. “Do be careful.”
“Don’t worry, Eleanor. I have learned something these past days. That pack of unwashed patriots has gone too far in their madness to listen to reason, so I’ll not waste any reason on them. Hereafter, no matter how they rave and prattle, I shall keep a tight rein on my tongue and avoid stirring further trouble. This will all be over in a matter of weeks, anyhow. We can expect any day to hear that General Howe’s forces have captured New York and wiped out the ragged rabble George Washington calls his Continental Army. Once that is accomplished, this insane fever to separate from the mother country will be stamped out quickly.”
He went to the door, then stopped with his hand on the latch and looked sharply back at Will. “You take that advice to heart, too, young man. You’ve a tendency to be altogether too free with your opinions and quick with your tongue at times. Getting yourself beaten up, or worse, will benefit neither you nor England. I want your promise to remain quiet at all costs.”
“All right, Pa,” Will said reluctantly. When the door had closed, he whispered fiercely under his breath, “I’m glad Pa didn’t think to ask a promise about my fists.”
Chapter 2
When Thomas Bowles returned an hour later, he seemed to have aged ten years. He tramped in heavily, his shoulders sagging, his face drawn and ashen. Will’s mother looked up from her sewing, then sprang to her feet, scattering the baby dresses she was hemming for Mary Neil.
“Thomas, something dreadful has happened. Don’t keep it from me. I’ve a right to know everything.”
“You will, Eleanor.” He sank into a chair and looked at Will, standing wide-eyed and rigid by a window. “You, too, William Augustus, since part of this concerns you.”
Will sat down, too shocked at his father’s appearance to speak. Thomas Bowles was silent for a long moment, gripping the chair arms so fiercely that the cords stood out white and taut on the backs of his hands. When he spoke his voice came thickly.
“Yesterday noon a committee of so-called patriots arrested Peter Sueman, Henry Shell, and five others, including John and Adam Graves, on charges of communicating with the British on Long Island. They’re to be tried for high treason, and I’ve little doubt that by hook or crook, they’ll be found guilty.” He drew a deep, ragged breath. “The usual penalty is hanging.”
Will felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach. These men were friends and neighbors, their children his classmates. His mother’s gasp was almost a sob.
“Oh, no!” she cried. “Why, those men are the very souls of honor. They have given freely of their time and money to aid every worthwhile project in this county. Has everyone gone stark, raving mad?”
“Yes,” Thomas said flatly. “Stark, raving mad. The world has turned upside down. Scoundrels who defy law and reason and foment bloody revolution dare call themselves patriots. We, who remain loyal to king and country and to the English Constitution—the wisest and fairest framework of law ever granted to mankind—are branded and persecuted as traitors.”
He dropped his face into his hands. Eleanor Bowles wrung her hands helplessly, tears running down her cheeks. Will’s eyes blazed with hot anger. He clenched his fists, longing to strike out wildly at this evil that was closing around them.
“That’s not all,” his father said, “nor the worst. The Peabodys have been good friends and good neighbors to the Suemans ever since they came here. Last evening, Ben Peabody did the neighborly thing and went over with his boys to take care of the milking and chores for Mrs. Sueman.”
“Of course,” Will’s mother said. “With no grown sons and her husband in jail, Mary Sueman could never have done it all by herself. It was the decent, neighborly thing to do.”
“Not any more,” his father said harshly. “About midnight, a pack of ruffians calling themselves the Liberty Boys dragged Ben Peabody and his sons from bed and horsewhipped them for giving aid and comfort to the enemy. Before they left, they burned Ben’s henhouse to the ground with all his setting hens, more than two hundred of them, trapped inside.”
Will’s mother could only stare in horror. In the silence he heard his own voice croak, “What about Judge Kennerly and the tutoring, Pa?”
“I’m coming to that, William.” His father sounded calmer, but it was the calm of controlled fury. “I knew the judge would be in the coffeehouse so I went directly there. The place was full of idlers and town ruffians, swilling rum and muttering together under their breaths. Except for a polite ‘Good morning,’ which none returned, I ignored them and went straight to Judge Kennerly’s table. He was delighted with my offer and promised to begin the instruction of the boys on Monday morning.”
“Thank heaven,” Will’s mother said, snatching for the one small crumb of comfort. “At least…”
“I’m not finished, Eleanor. We were shaking hands on it when Sib Roebaum, the blacksmith”—he shot a quick glance at Will—“swaggered over, smirking and stinking of rum. He leaned on our table, bold as brass, and looked at the judge with those little pig eyes while he said his say.”
His voice dropped and roughened, mimicking the coarse accents of the blacksmith. “Judge, that’s a mighty nice house you’re livin’ in with your son and his wife. It’d be a pity if it got burned down one of these nights because somebody did somethin’ careless—like teachin’ book-learnin’ to a pack o’ Tory whelps.”
“Thomas, that brute wouldn’t dare speak so to his betters. What did Judge Kennerly say?”
“The judge, Eleanor, is an old man, poor in health and dependent upon the bounty of his children. When I saw the abject fear in his eyes, I had no choice but to tell him that our agreement was off. He almost wept with gratitude. Then our gallant patriot turned his attention to me.
“‘I hear that loose-tongue squirt o’ your’n got his comeuppance today, Bowles,’ he said with a sneer. ‘You kin tell him that’s only the beginnin’. My boy’s a real, true patriot, he is, and he hates Tories wuss’n he hates skunks an’ rattlesnakes.’”
Will was on his feet, his eyes blazing, cheeks crimson with anger. He shook his clenched fists. “I’m not afraid of Garf Roebaum. I’ll find him and pound him to a pulp. I’ll…”
“You’ll