New York - The Novel

the following weeks, he spent more time talking to the men at the warehouse. He chatted to stallholders in the market, went into the taverns near his house and listened to what people were saying. He soon ascertained that the bad feeling was more widespread than he’d supposed. Everyone seemed discontented. Whatever was wrong with their lives, people were blaming the government. And the government was in London.
    So he was greatly concerned, late that spring, when news arrived that the Stamp Act was law.
    Even then, the protests surprised him. Down in Virginia, a young lawyer named Patrick Henry had set the assembly there ablaze when he called King George a tyrant. A furious councilman Master met in the street told him: “So now we know, John. Those damned fellows in London mean us to be slaves.” And it seemed that the poor folk were just asfurious about the measure. It was strange in a way, Master considered. It was true that newspapers and almanacs would be taxed, but he suspected it would be his own class who’d pay most of the stamp duty, rather than fellows like Charlie. But it seemed that the tax was a symbol: an imposition from London, levied without consent; proof positive that the British government thought it could treat the colonies as it liked.
    The act was due to go into effect at the start of November. Meanwhile, shipments of officially stamped paper were being sent from England.
    If New Yorkers were angry, they certainly weren’t alone. Word came that in Boston a mob had burned the stamp distributor’s house. His counterparts in Rhode Island and Connecticut were threatened. The New York distributor didn’t wait for trouble. He quit.
    New York had an acting governor at present. Cadwallader Colden was an old Scottish physician with a farm on Long Island. Years ago, his research into yellow fever had helped produce the first sanitation measures in the city, but that was of no account now. An angry crowd gathered to protest outside his city house. Colden might be seventy-seven, but he was a tough old Scot. He summoned British troops from upriver, and put more guns in Fort George. But that didn’t stop the protests.
    One day, Master caught sight of Charlie leading a crowd of angry men by the fort. Remembering Charlie’s angry words, he told Mercy: “Keep Abby indoors. I’m afraid there could be trouble.”
    That afternoon, he gathered the household together. Besides Mercy and Abigail, there was Hudson of course, and Ruth. Hudson’s daughter Hannah was a quiet girl who worked in the house with her mother. Young Solomon was quite a different character, a lively youth who liked it when Master hired him out and gave him some of the proceeds. Three other hired servants made up the rest.
    Calmly and quietly, Master told them that he wanted everyone to be careful while there was trouble in the streets, and to stay safely in the house during the coming days, and not go out without permission. Only afterward did Hudson come to him and ask if he might go out to see if he could learn a little more. To this he agreed. And when Hudson returned at dusk, the black man warned him: “After dark, Boss, I think we better close the shutters and bolt the doors.”
    That evening, down in the cellar, he and Hudson looked over the household’s defenses. Master had two fowling pieces, which fired shot, a flintlock and three pistols. He had dry powder and ammunition. Butnone of these guns had been used for a long time, and so they spent an hour or more cleaning and oiling them. Master could only hope they would never be needed.
    One ray of hope came from New York’s Provincial Assembly. There were still sensible fellows leading the colony, and Master was relieved when one of the Assembly men came to him in late summer and told him: “We’ve agreed that a congress of all the colonies shall meet in New York.”

    The congress met in October. Twenty-seven men from nine of the colonies stayed in various lodgings in the town and met together for two weeks. He would see them in the street each day. They all seemed to be sober fellows. When they had completed their work, their conclusion was carefully framed but unequivocal. In petitions to Parliament, and to the king himself, they declared: “The Stamp Act is against the British Constitution.”
    If John Master had hoped this would calm the situation, however, he was soon disappointed. Many of the merchants still weren’t satisfied, and Charlie White and his sort were