Grimm slapped the boy across the face. Blood spattered on the table, and the boy began to whimper in pain. “Enough!” shouted Grimm with an air of pompous authority. “I do not believe for a second that you had no knowledge of what you were doing. Give me one of your pamphlets.”
Gabriel’s was furious. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do to Grimm, but he had to do something. These loyalists were beating an innocent boy, who was obviously nothing more than an ignorant street urchin. Gabriel began to stand, but Ben quickly pulled him back down and subtly shook his head, mouthing the word, “No.”
The squat, toad-like man with the dark pudgy eyes ripped off the boy’s coat and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a handful of papers and gave one to Grimm. Grimm scanned over the paper and then looked around the tavern, transfixing his eyes on every occupant as if he were a stage actor about to deliver the most important lines of a performance. “I read to you now the words of Alexander Hamilton, a known traitor to the crown: ‘No man has any moral power to deprive another of his life, limbs, property or liberty; nor the least authority to command, or exact obedience from him; Our King and his Parliament are subversive of our natural liberty,’” he read with growing anger, “‘because an authority is assumed over us, which we by no means assent to! For such authority can never exist while we have no part in the making of the laws that are to bind us!’”
Grimm slammed the pamphlet down on the table. “Treason against the king! Treason, I say!” He continued his gaze around the tavern. “Who among you supports this unnatural rebellion — this rejection of God’s will? Who believes that we are to live without the king’s authority over us? Who is willing to stand for this unholy division that leads us down the road to anarchy, to disorder, to chaos, to treason?”
Gabriel was about to boldly step from the table and confront Grimm. It was no different than standing up against Reverend Loring. Ben’s eyes went wide, and he whispered, “Do not move a muscle. He will kill you.”
Ben’s words froze Gabriel. Kill him? Would this man really kill him?
Gabriel stood motionless as Bradford Grimm continued. “This is the New York that I know. You are the people who are loyal to the king. We are the ones that must help to crush this rebellion.”
Grimm lowered his head, as if his performance was complete. Then he grabbed the boy standing weakly in front of him. With his massive hand, he took the boy’s chin and forced his wobbly head up. “Tell me, boy, who is printing these pamphlets containing the words of a known traitor?”
The boy cowered, clearly expecting another blow. “I don’t know . . . I don’t know,” he sobbed.
Grimm leaned over and yanked the bayonet from his musket. He took its gleaming point and held it next to the boy’s throat. “I will ask this one more time. Who is printing these pamphlets?”
Gabriel could no longer hold himself back. He pushed his chair back and grabbed it firmly in his hands. He was about to fling it at Grimm, when, suddenly, the boy croaked out an answer. “Cavendish. The man where I got the pamphlets . . . his name is Cavendish. He has a store in the city. That’s all I know, I swear.”
Grimm let the bayonet fall away from the boy’s throat. As he did, Gabriel released his grip on the chair. Grimm reattached his bayonet and then raised his musket in the air. “You will take us to this Cavendish. Who will go with me to weed out this rebel?”
Grimm’s men whooped around him and. A few other men in the tavern joined the mob and stormed out of the tavern. Gabriel sat at the table, his heart still racing. Ben must have sensed Gabriel’s shock and anger. He spoke in a soothing voice. “I know you wanted to help, but it would not have done any good. Bradford Grimm is a twisted man. There was nothing we could have done to help that boy.”
Gabriel swallowed hard. “Will they let him live?”
Ben nodded. “I suspect they will, for now. But I would be lying if I didn’t tell you that traitors are hanged.”
Gabriel didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. He just sat in silence trying to comprehend all that had happened.
Ben went up to the tavern keeper, said something to the man, and passed him what looked to be some coins. He returned to the table and told Gabriel, “There is a room upstairs for you here tonight. You need a good night’s rest before you set out from Manhattan Island.”
“But —”
“But nothing, son. You listen to me. Your journey will be long and full of peril. What you saw here tonight is just a taste of the turmoil that is about to begin. You are among friends here. You need your rest. Now, you get on upstairs.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied Gabriel in disbelief.
“No need to thank me. A couple more important things, though, before I leave,” said Ben. “First, there are likely to be loyalists just like Bradford Grimm along the Post Road between King’s Bridge and Boston. When you hear hoof beats approaching, you best get off the side of the road and into the grass or bushes. If they find a young lad toting a drum, they’re not likely to believe you’re just out for a Sunday stroll. They’ll know where you’re headed and with whom you’re aiming to join.”
“I had been doing this when I first started out, since I was still so close to New York. I will continue to do so, if you think it a good idea.”
“That I do.
