New York - The Novel

that suddenly debouched into Broadway from the west side must have been several hundred strong. They, too, had an effigy, but of a different kind. Lurching wildly about on a pile of wood was a huge and obscene-looking dummy of the governor, looking more like a pirate than a pope. With Indian whoops and cries, this second procession, like a stream in spate meeting a river, crashed into the main body, causing a massive eddy. The first float rolled like a vessel that has been struck amidships, though it righted itself.
    Many of the new crowd were carrying lanterns and torches. Some had clubs. Whatever they were going to do, they clearly meant business. And now, with the pressure of this new addition, the tide of the procession picked up speed so that John Master, even with his long legs, had to stride as fast as he could to keep up.
    As the two effigies of the old governor passed Trinity almost side by side, he was able to get a good look at the second cart—and realized to his horror that it was not an ordinary cart at all. The wood on which the dummy sat had been piled up in no less a vehicle than the governor’s carriage. God knows how the mob had managed to steal it. He saw a figure clamber up into the carriage. The figure was waving a cocked hat and shouting wildly to the crowd. It was Charlie White. And there was no doubt where they were headed. Reaching the southern end of Broadway, they made straight for the fort.
    From the edge of Bowling Green, Master watched them. With torches lighted in the gathering dusk, they yelled abuse at the governor. He saw a party of them run forward and nail a message on the fort’s big wooden door. Then, surging all around the fort, the crowd started throwing sticks, stones, anything they could lay their hands on, at the walls of Fort George, fairly daring the governor to fire upon them.
    If the troops fire on them now, thought Master, they’ll burn the whole place down. But the garrison remained silent, behind their stout walls.
    The crowd wanted action though, and they meant to have it. With whoops and shouts, a large group began to drag the two effigies of the governor back onto Bowling Green. Another party was bringing bales of straw to the green; moments later, he saw flames starting to rise. They were setting fire to the effigies, burning the float, governor’s carriage and all. Almost forgetting the danger, he found himself watching the bonfires, fascinated like a child. Until he heard a voice hiss by his side.
    “Enjoying the bonfire?” It was Charlie. His face, gleaming menacingly in the light of the flames, contorted into a snarl. “After the fort, we’re coming for you.”
    Master was so horrified that for a moment he could not speak; and by the time he said, “But Charlie …” it was too late. Charlie had gone.
    He was glad to see, when he reached his house, that all the shutters were closed. Once inside, he told Hudson to bolt the doors. Everyone knew what was passing at the fort nearby, and Mercy looked at him anxiously. “I got the guns ready, Boss,” Hudson whispered to him. But he shook his head, and murmured: “There’s too many. Better not provoke ’em. But if they come, you and Solomon take all the women down to the cellar.” The worst moment was when Abigail, her eyes wide and round, asked him: “Is the bad man who hates you coming to kill us?”
    “No such thing, child.” He smiled. “We’ll all go into the parlor now, and I’ll read you a story.”
    So he and Mercy and Hudson’s wife and the other household servants all went and sat in the parlor. And John read to them from the children’s tales that Abigail liked. But Hudson and young Solomon kept watch on the street from the windows upstairs.
    An hour passed, and more. From time to time they heard roars from the direction of the fort, but the crowds did not seem to be coming in their direction. Eventually, Hudson came down, and said: “Sounds likethey’re going away. Maybe I’ll take a look.” But Master wasn’t sure whether to let him.
    “I don’t want you getting hurt,” he objected.
    “It ain’t the black men, Boss, that they’re after tonight,” Hudson answered quietly. A few moments later he slipped out into the street.
    An hour passed before he returned. The news he brought was not good. After burning the effigies of the governor, the crowd had swung back up Broadway to the house of Major James, the fort’s English artillery commander. “They took everything out