New York - The Novel

spoiling for trouble. It didn’t help that the very day the congress finished, a ship arrived in the harbor carrying the first two tons of stamped paper to be used under the act. Old Governor Colden wisely smuggled the cargo into the fort under cover of darkness, but that didn’t get rid of the problem. Crowds swirled round the fort, threatening leaflets were printed, people hung flags at half mast all round the town. There was only a week to go before the act came into force and the stamped paper would be used. God knows what would happen then.
    At the end of the month, Master attended a meeting of two hundred of the city’s leading merchants. Some, like himself, counseled patience, but the mood of the meeting was clean against them. When he got back he told Mercy: “They’ve decided on a non-importation agreement. We’ll refuse to import any more goods from Britain. That’s clever, of course, because it will hit the London merchants like Albion, and they in turn will put pressure on Parliament. But I wish we hadn’t done it, all the same.”
    On the last night of October, he stood by the water’s edge under the stars. At the tip of Manhattan, the squat, black mass of Fort George, nowarmed with ninety cannon, silently guarded the stamped papers from England. Tomorrow those papers were due to be distributed. In five days’ time, it would be the Fifth of November—Pope’s Day, with its usual bonfires, no doubt. But what larger conflagration, he wondered, might be about to engulf the city before then?

    The day began. The sky was clear. A faint, cold breeze crossed the harbor. He walked over to Bowling Green. All was quiet. He returned to the house, had breakfast with Mercy and Abigail, then attended to business for some hours.
    At noon, he went out again. There were people about, but no sign of trouble. He went to the fort. There was no word that old Governor Colden was attempting to distribute any of the stamped papers. Thank God for that at least. He went back to his house, and settled down to work again.
    There was much to do. The non-importation agreement would hit his business with London, of course. But it also opened up opportunities. Like any sensible businessman, Master had been listing the goods that would no longer be obtainable in New York. Which of these could be manufactured locally? What were the likely substitutes? What should he do, meanwhile, with the balance of credit held for him by Albion in London? These were interesting questions. In the middle of the afternoon, Hudson came in to inquire if he wanted anything. Master asked for tea, and told Hudson to send the boy out, to see if anything was happening in the town. Then he went back to work. He did not know how long he had been working when Hudson entered the room again.
    “Solomon’s back, Boss. He says something’s happening up on the Common.”
    Master strode swiftly up Broadway. The November afternoon was already turning into dusk. In his right hand, he held his silver-topped walking stick. He strode past Trinity Church. He could see Montayne’s Tavern ahead, and the Common beyond. But he got no farther.
    The crowd that was streaming toward him must have numbered a couple of thousand people. By the look of it, they were mostly the poorer sort—small craftsmen, sailors, freed slaves and laborers. In the middle of this procession, he saw a large cart like a carnival float. He drew to one side, to let them pass.
    It was hard to gauge their mood. They looked truculent, rather than angry, he thought. Many were laughing and joking. As for the carnival float, in its way it was a work of art.
    For anticipating Pope’s Day, they had constructed a splendid mock gallows. Except that, instead of the Pope, they had made a large, and really very lifelike, dummy of Governor Colden, with another dummy of the devil sitting beside him. The governor held a huge sheaf of stamped papers in his hand, and he also carried a drum. Despite himself, John acknowledged the grim humor of the thing. Obviously they intended to burn the governor instead of the Pope this year. The question was, what else did they mean to do? Joining the throng of spectators who were moving along beside the procession, he kept pace with the float as it went down Broadway.
    He had gone about a quarter-mile when he heard the roars. They were coming from a side street, and they were rapidly getting louder. Something was approaching, but he couldn’t see what.
    The hideous crowd