The Secret Letters of '75
Written and illustrated by C. Fennessy
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1: The Raid
Chapter 2: A Warning
Chapter 3: The Green Dragon
Chapter 4: The Perfect Plan
Chapter 5: Trapped!
Chapter 6: Suspicion
Chapter 7: Spying
Chapter 8: More News
Chapter 9: A Suspect
Chapter 10: The Red-Headed Woman
Chapter 11: Urgent Messages
Chapter 12: Two if By Sea
Chapter 13: News from Concord
Chapter 14: The Battle Fought
Chapter 15: The War Begins
Chapter 16: Interception
Chapter 17: Decision
Chapter 18: Dr. Church
Chapter 19: Church Disappears
Chapter 20: The Code is Broken
Chapter 21: Battle at Bunker Hill
Chapter 22: Searching for Jonathan
Chapter 23: Night Journey
Chapter 24: On to Newport
Chapter 25: Arrested!
Chapter 26: Sarah to the Rescue
Chapter 27: Caught in the Act
Chapter 28: Meeting with General Washington
Chapter 29: Secrets Decoded
Chapter 30: The Trial
Epilogue
Chapter 1: The Raid
“Would you gentlemen care for a bit of grog?” asked sixteen year-old Sarah, smiling pleasantly.
The two British guards at the fort gate stared at her curiously. She held out a cup of the rum drink to each of them.
“There’s a nip in the air tonight and the tavern owner thought you might need something to warm you up…seeing as how you’re guarding the streets out here. He says that since you’re keeping the streets safe for his customers, the least he can do is offer you some grog.”
The two men broke into smiles. One of them answered her in broad cockney.
“Eh, ain’t that right nice of ‘im! I don’t ‘spose it’ll hurt me to have a little tot of grog.”
The other added, “It’s just the thing to warm us up, Miss …just as you say!”
She handed them their tin mugs and asked, “What about the others? Wouldn’t they like some too?”
The guards looked back at the small guard house at the entrance to the ammunition battery, looking uncertain.
“Well,” said the first one, “they ain’t suppos’d to leave their posts.”
“Oh, I don’t mind going to them,” Sarah smiled, picking up her jug and two more tin mugs.
“Thank ‘ee, young miss!” said one of the guards.
“You’re quite welcome!” she smiled and went ahead to the guard house, only three yards away. The guard house was at the entrance of the British Army fort overlooking Boston Harbor. No one was allowed inside except army personnel, and a young guard stepped forward as soon as Sarah approached.
“Stop there! State your business!” he shouted.
She stopped, feeling her heart lurch. She forced herself to smile at him calmly.
“Why sir, the only business I have is to offer you and your friends a cup of grog from the tavern owner.”
The young guard squinted at the attractive teenage girl suspiciously.
“What for?”
“To thank you for keeping the streets safe for his customers,” she replied, holding up the jug.
Before the young man could warn her off, a fat, older guard lumbered out of the guard house asking,
“You got grog there?”
“Yes, sir. It’s for you, and your friend. I even have cups for you, too!”
“Who’s this tavern owner what sent it?” he asked.
“It’s from Mr. Colby, at The Rose and Crown.”
It was a popular hangout for British soldiers.
“Aye, I knows him! Give it here, Miss!”
She smiled and handed him a cup of the rum drink, which he gulped down quickly.
“Ehh!” he cried, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “That’s just the thing! I’ll have another!”
Sarah grinned and poured him another cup and told the young soldier,
“Come on, you can have some, too!”
Reluctantly, the young man came forward and took the drink Sarah offered him, thanking her politely. She almost felt guilty about tricking him, but reminded herself he was a soldier in the British Army, and he deserved what he was going to get.
When the jug was empty, the guards thanked Sarah. She hurried back to meet her teenage friend, Jamie, in the dark alley next to the tavern.
“Did they drink it?” he asked.
“I’ll say! They drank the whole jug!”
“Good!” Jamie grinned, “In a few minutes they should all be asleep. But I doubt that any of them will admit to it in the morning!”
Another man came up behind them, carrying a pistol. His dark hair was pulled into a pony tail and his tricorn hat shadowed his brown eyes, shining with excitement.
“Are they asleep yet?” he asked.
“Not quite,” replied Jamie, “A few more minutes should do it.”
Paul Revere nodded his reply. A few others emerged from the dark alley and joined them while the guards succumbed to the sleeping powder they had mixed into the grog.
“You did a fine job out there,” Jamie smiled at her, “Very convincing.”
She smiled. “Thanks! But I was scared to death! Just like that night I had to distract the guards while you warned my father that the soldiers were coming.”
“I remember that night!” Jamie nodded, hugging a sack filled with tools.
Sarah’s father, Jonathan Harper, emerged from the darkness saying, “They’re asleep! Come on, let’s go!” He turned to Sarah, “You go straight to the Green Dragon and wait there for us.”
Jamie said, “I’ll see you later!”
“Be careful!” she called to him as he ran off into the night with the others. She watched as they disappeared through the unguarded gates into the fort, sadly wishing she could be a part of the action.
Jamie paused at the guard house to make sure everyone got through the gates safely. All four guards were sound asleep, but the others on duty inside the battery would be wide awake and watchful. Jonathan and Jamie slipped into the dark shadows behind their party. One by one, they moved ahead, scurrying between the buildings of the fort, staying close to the walls. Unseen, they moved silently whenever the guards turned away. Jamie held onto his sack of tools tightly so they would not rattle.
Soon they were at the walls of the fort overlooking Boston Harbor. The masts of thirty or forty British Navy sailing ships bobbed up and down quietly on the sea. Moonlight glittered like sparkling diamonds on a black velvet sea, as the waves below gently washed against the fortress walls.
Jamie followed the others to the row of cannon guarding the harbor. They found a dark corner and each took a pair of chisels and hammers and went to work while Jamie took his position at one end of the wall as a lookout.
The sound of chinking metal was muffled by the sounds of waves lapping against the shore and
the brisk ocean breeze. The men hastily chipped away at the firing pins on the cannon, rendering each one useless. Within minutes, they were finished and moved on to the next row where they performed the same operation.
Jamie spotted a guard approaching and gave two short cries, like a gull’s call.
Quickly the men dispersed into the shadows. As soon as the guard was out of sight, they resumed their tasks.
When they finished, they regrouped. Paul Revere whispered to the others,
“See that gunpowder house over there? One match would take care of it!”
“It’s too risky!” Jonathan whispered hoarsely.
“Not if you’re all out of here when I do it,” Paul grinned.
Another man, Holbrook, shook his head, “You’ll be caught!”
“I’ll stay with you!” Jamie volunteered, “I’ll keep watch for you!”
Revere grinned, “Good lad! Let’s do it!”
“But where will you get a match?” asked Jonathan.
Revere reached into his pocket and pulled out two long matches, grinning,
“You don’t think I’d come to a British artillery battery and forget to bring my matches, do you?”
The others responded with stifled laughter.
“Good luck!” Holbrook cried, slapping his shoulder. The others went ahead and slipped quietly past the sleeping guards.
Jamie found a place in the shadows where he could have a clear view of the area around the small building where the army stored its supply of gunpowder. Paul Revere hurried to the rear of the building and pulled out a string of fuse. It took only seconds to slide the string into a wide crack in the wall near the door. He lit the end of it with a match and hurried back to Jamie, who was writing something on the wall with a piece of charcoal. When Revere saw it, he grinned and slapped Jamie’s shoulder.
“That ought to cheer them up! Let’s go!”
They dashed quietly past the sleeping guards. As they were running towards the Green Dragon, a catastrophic explosion blasted the night sky like lightning and shook the ground.
They looked back as flames shot up over the walls of the British fort, and smoke billowed into the darkness. Laughing excitedly, they both ran on to drink a toast with their friends, the Sons of Liberty.
Table of Contents
Chapter 2: A Warning
"There you are, you young rascal," Mr. Roberts greeted Jamie the next morning. Mr. Roberts lived in a small white house with black shutters, standing among a row of similar houses. The strong smell of linseed oil and paint filled the tiny front room, cluttered with paintings, frames, brushes, and paints. Mr. Roberts was a spry old man with sloping shoulders, white hair, and kindly blue eyes. He was a well-known artist who painted portraits of notable people in New England. Although he was getting on in years, he still had a steady hand with his brush. He had taken Jamie as an apprentice after seeing some of his impressive drawings.
Mr. Roberts was scurrying around the room, putting away his brushes.
"I've been waiting for you, Jamie," he said, "We've got an appointment at the Governor's house. It seems his lady wishes to have a mural painted in the drawing room." Mr. Roberts chuckled, "My, isn't that funny! A painting in the drawing room!"
Jamie didn't catch his meaning at first, and then he grinned.
"The drawing room! Oh, I see!"
"Now bring that sketch book and the measuring stick. I intend to get some preliminary sketches done while we're there."
"Yes, sir," Jamie replied.
Within minutes, they were walking along Boston's city streets, past tall, red brick buildings with black shutters and neatly painted white trim. The cobblestone streets were crowded with wagons and carriages of all sorts, and street mongers shouted about their goods for sale.
Looking in the direction of the harbor, Jamie remembered the raid they had conducted last night on the artillery depot and it brought a smile to his lips.
Jamie stared at the elegant State House where the Boston Massacre had occurred only five years earlier. The governor of Massachusetts Colony was now General Thomas Gates, the commander of the British Army in Boston. Ever since the Boston Tea Party, the city had been besieged by the military, and a stern general had stepped in to make sure the Colonists behaved themselves.
The majority of the people in the town were still loyal to King George III of England. But some Colonists, like Paul Revere, Sam Adams, John Hancock, and the rest of the Sons of Liberty, wanted the British to leave. The British government had imposed heavy taxes and had closed Boston Harbor, crippling American business and trade. Soldiers were camped on Boston Common and boarded in the homes of many Colonists.
When they arrived at Province House, Jamie stared in awe at the three-story brick manor with a grand entrance. Two ancient oak trees framed the house, and a lane on the left led to the carriage house in the back.
Province House of Boston, 1775
A butler admitted them and told them to wait in the foyer while he announced their arrival. As they stood, a British officer dressed in a red coat with brass buttons, gold epaulets on his shoulders, a white vest and breeches, and black boots, strutted past them without a glance and went inside, leaving them alone.
Mr. Roberts said quietly, "Remember to keep your ears and eyes open and your mouth closed."
"Yes, sir," Jamie nodded. He knew that Mr. Roberts was sympathetic to the rebels’ cause and would help them in any way he could. But he always gave everyone the impression that he was a loyal British subject of the king, because being a rebel was very bad for business.
The door opened and the butler led them into the hallway and through a large entrance on the right. Standing straight, his tall figure and balding head towered over them.
"This is the drawing room. Madam is not at home, but there is the wall where the mural shall be. If you should need anything, send the boy to the back of the house. I shall be in the kitchen."
"Thank you," Mr. Roberts nodded.
The butler left, and Jamie looked around at the richly decorated room with its high ceilings, plastered walls, ornately carved wood trim, and its huge marble fireplace. They set their things beside the richly upholstered furniture and began to measure the wall. Jamie wrote down the measurements as he was directed.
Soon they heard a door opening across the hall. The officer they had seen earlier was leaving, followed by another man, who was speaking.
"Make sure those orders are dispatched immediately," he said.
"Yes, sir!" The officer saluted, and left.
The other officer, wearing a general’s uniform, strolled into the drawing room with his hands behind his back, and watched as they took measurements.
"Are you the artist who'll be painting the mural?" he asked.
Mr. Roberts smiled and walked to him.
"Yes, I'm Daniel Roberts.”
They shook hands. “I’m General Thomas Gage. I want to talk to you about this mural,” Gates went on, “I don’t want any crude Colonial scenes of pastures and farms. I want to see London…a full panorama of exquisite architecture…perhaps Whitehall and Westminster. Have you ever been to London?”
“Yes, sir. I’m a Londoner myself.”
General Gates’ stony face melted into a smile.
“Ah! Very good, indeed! Then you can appreciate why I want to see London on this wall and not these rough-looking sheds they call architecture in Boston.”
“Of course, sir,” nodded Mr. Roberts, “perhaps I could include St. Paul’s Cathedral?”
“Absolutely!” the General exclaimed, “And perhaps just a glimpse of the Tower as well.”
“Yes, sir!”
“And keep the colors somewhat muted and understated, if you know what I mean.”
Another officer arrived and General Gates joined him in his office.
They heard the tapping of heels and the rustle of petticoats in the hallway.
“Ah! You’re here!”
Mr. Robert
s turned and smiled at a lovely woman dressed in a long mauve dress, with a lace collar, and a tight fitting bodice. Jamie noticed her warm brown eyes and dark hair twisted up neatly. Her beautiful smile drew his attention.
Mr. Roberts greeted her and introduced Jamie to Mrs. Gates.
“I’ll tell the butler to bring some tea. Please make yourselves comfortable,” she added, pointing to the sofa.
Jamie stared after her, thinking she was quite attractive. By her speech, she sounded American, and he wondered why she had married a British general. When she returned in a few minutes, they all sat down.
“I want something very peaceful and pleasant to look at,” she said. The butler entered and placed a silver tea service on the coffee table. She poured out tea into delicate bone china cups and handed one to each of them. Then she offered them some small pastries on a plate. Jamie took one and waited until the others had theirs. Upon first bite, the pastry was so delicate that it melted in his mouth like sweet cream butter. The small pastry was gone in two bites, and he craved another.
Mrs. Gates went on to describe the scene she had in mind, which was entirely the opposite of what her husband envisioned. But Mr. Roberts kept nodding and smiling, as if he intended to do everything that she wanted. Jamie was puzzled about how this could be accomplished, but he kept silent.
Mrs. Gates turned to Jamie and held the plate of pastries to him.
“Do have another. Take two. They’re so dainty but so delicious!”
“Thank you, Ma’am,” Jamie nodded and put down his cup to take another. It was then that she noticed his missing hand. Her eyes filled with concern and she cried,
“Oh, my! What happened?”
Jamie felt his face burn with embarrassment. She immediately looked startled, and her hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to be so rude! Please forgive me!”
Jamie smiled, “That’s all right, ma’am.”
Mr. Roberts explained, “Jamie was in the Royal Navy when his ship was attacked. His hand was crushed under the rigging, and unfortunately, the surgeon was unable to save it.”
Mrs. Gates looked shocked, “Oh, you dear boy!” she cried pitifully, “And I was so impolite just now! I hope you won’t hold it against me! I can’t understand why the Navy takes such young boys into danger.” Her face drew into a kindly smile, “But now you are here in Boston as an apprentice for Mr. Roberts!”