Midnight Rider: Chapters 24–33

The Royal Navy’s ships, with cannon pointed from their hulls, encircled the town with silent threats.

Let tyrants shake their iron rods,
And Slav'ry clank her galling chains.
We fear them not, we trust in God.
New England's God forever reigns.

Soldiers wagered with each other as to who would be the one to catch the daring horseman, who was now being blamed for every problem that arose among the troops.

“You haven’t forgotten me, even though you’re having such a good time here with your wayward friends, my sweet boy.”

There was a sense of tranquility and camaraderie, even with sentries posted at every gateway.

“I don’t know why we are celebrating an American holiday,” Miss Lydia complained as she scurried through the dining room. "We bend over backward to appease these American bumpkins!”

“I don’t know why we are celebrating an American holiday,” Miss Lydia complained as she scurried through the dining room. "We bend over backward to appease these American bumpkins!”

Hannah held back a powerful urge to burst into laughter as Miss Lydia paled and immediately began prattling excuses.

“Please excuse...you misunderstood...” Miss Lydia rambled on, her lips stretched into a mollifying smile.

She stood in front of her mirror and primped her hair.

Hannah assumed she had inherited her striking coloring; it was rumored that she was of English, Greek, and Portuguese descent.

One woman sat demurely in a large cushioned chair, sipping wine.

Everyone laughed, and the tension abated.

Meg climbed into the bed and shivered in her chemise.

“This is a lot of drivel,” Meg exclaimed. “I hope Chester’s heart is broken. I never want to see him again.” She tossed the poem into the fire.

Hannah glanced at Meg, who looked bored as she sipped her tea. Hannah noticed that Miss Meg was not as vivacious and dazzling as she was when young officers were present.

Hannah wondered if any of these women had an inkling of the organized preparation of the minutemen, the Committees of Correspondence and Safety, and what was going on at the clandestine meetings at the Green Dragon Tavern.

“It’s a difficult time for you, I’m sure,” she said kindly, “being both American and British.” General Gage’s wife gave her a wan smile.

As if to quell Hannah’s curiosity, Mrs. Gage added, “It’s an invitation to tea. I’d like to visit with Miss Phillis on a more intimate basis, without Mrs. Wheatley, to discuss her poetry.”

Why was Mrs. Gage so reticent? Why did she keep that stationery in the secret drawer Hannah had shown her?

If Mrs. Gage was sending a blank page with an iris embossed on it to say, “I have a message for you,” then where was the message?

“I sent dispatches to His Majesty and to Parliament,” General Gage stated to the staff who were congregated in his headquarters. “I demanded—I begged—for more troops to be sent to Boston. I promised they would save both blood and treasure if they would heed my needs.”

Mr. Revere listened intently as Hannah told him about the plan to secure the fortress and take the arms before the New Hampshire Whigs plundered the munitions.

“I heard it with my own ears,” Hannah stated emphatically.

“We have long wondered how General Gage is so often one step ahead of the Whigs and the Sons of Liberty. But still...a turncoat? I cannot imagine who it could be.”

They were standing under a lamp, and she recognized them as the surly young men who had sung parodies about General Gage when she and Catherine walked home from church that Sunday morning.

He was tall and gaunt, with graying hair gathered in a pigtail at the back of his neck.

Hannah overheard talk that Paul Revere had rushed to Portsmouth and set the Whigs into turmoil. Actual fighting had occurred at Fort William and Mary as the few British officers on duty there bravely defended the fort.

She had only heard the name of the Somerset in garbled conversation.

To make matters worse, other New England communities had followed suit and absconded with ammunition from their local forts and armories before Gage’s men could secure them.

Hannah, in her mother’s red cape, and Meg, in dark-green velvet with an ermine collar, sat side by side, bundled in a rug.

Hannah had been taught that the Christmas celebration was a substitute for the ancient Roman celebration of Saturnalia, a festival of wild revelry that took place at the winter solstice.

At one time fines had been imposed in the Massachusetts Bay Colony upon families that celebrated Christmas.

Hannah wondered if she had a new beau. If so, she had not said a word about him to Hannah.

Instead of a minister, the distinguished Dr. Warren, one of the Sons of Liberty, was in the pulpit.

Instead of a minister, the distinguished Dr. Warren, one of the Sons of Liberty, was in the pulpit.

Dr. Warren was an eloquent speaker, and he appealed to the citizens to maintain order in the town.

As she made her way through the parishioners, she caught sight of Catherine talking intimately to her friend Mr. Greenleaf.

“In the event that there is a traitor among you, I’ve asked Mr. Revere never to disclose that it was I who warned him about General Gage’s plan to reinforce Fort William and Mary,” Hannah said. “And I pray that you have not revealed me to anyone in the Sons of Liberty either. Mr. Revere says I am in great danger now.”

Hannah, who had little to do with the officers who visited the Province House regularly, was spared the illness, as were most of the servants. On this bleak February Thursday, since Meg was gone, Miss Lydia put Hannah to work in other capacities around the house.