Above the Glebe

He entered the Vulture, nearly passing out from the stench of urine, the body odors, flatulence and bad breath. Once inside, he took short, shallow breaths so as not to retch on his empty stomach. Men filled both rooms of the place and most were bearded and disheveled. With nowhere to sit, he found a bench outside the entrance and he sat there until a place inside the Vulture became free. He dropped his head into his calloused and blistered hands and is reminded of his captivity.

As he glanced at the scars on his wrist, he realized they would always be there to haunt him. He still carried regret, grief, anger and confusion from his captivity. His fingers spread up over his face moving into his head while massaging his scalp. It had been a couple of weeks since he bathed and he missed the feeling of being clean. Lifting his chin high, he stretched the back of his neck, tilting his head one way and then the other. As he looked up, he saw the tavern’s sign that hung over the street. It was a gruesome yet stately vulture. The vulture’s eyes saw each patron who entered or left the establishment. The wooden carving of the vulture appeared almost real. Joseph recalled what he had read in a book about birds and wildlife. Some classified the bird as “eaters of the dead” and others saw the vulture as a stealth bird, with no voice. The creature barely made a sound.

Joseph, staring at the looming vulture, whispered: “You can keep secrets forever. Whatever you have seen or heard from those who have walked below you, no one will ever know.” Joseph would swear that the vulture winked at him. He sat with his elbows firmly planted on his bony knees, took a deep breath, and tried again to enter the Vulture. The tavern was still crowded. As he scanned the crowd, he noticed a few new faces. They looked to be J.R.’s age and Joseph felt certain they were not wharf rats. Then he repeated to himself, things are not always, as they appear.

Mid - June 1778 Spy and Vulture

June was becoming a good month for Joseph, in spite of the usual talk of espionage and the fate of traitors. He listened to patrons of the Vulture quietly sharing a conversation about secret activities and codes. They talked hotly about how a few years back in Boston, propaganda had spearheaded opposition toward the King.

“Well,” a sailor said, “now we have a rebel in Philadelphia writing and talking about men’s rights and liberties. I think this man is a criminal of some sort from England.” Men at the table laughed.

He responded, “No, seriously, I’ve heard something about him escaping the King’s soldiers. Now we have him here writing for the rebels, festering discontent and anger. His writings are boosting the morale of Washington’s men.” The sailor paused and said in a discouraged voice, “Seriously, and whatever the writer is proclaiming they say, it is working.”

Other seaman at the Vulture believed the rebels were masters of subversive tactics to undermine Parliament’s power, to join with France and to invade England. There were all sorts of rumors out there. Joseph thought some of those rumors were worth thinking about.

He noticed the mariners who were Vulture regulars did not partake in conversations about the war, with one likely exception. When the war affected their domain on the wide-open sea. They complained about the surge in pirates and privateers. They shared stories about boats taken over by privateers, and brought back to port like Boston and Portsmouth. Otherwise, they only cared about getting cargo to port and getting paid.

It was a stormy evening of unrelenting rain and wind. While dawdling at the Vulture, Joseph was spellbound by the story of a man named Hale.

A Vulture patron muttered in a low voice, “It happened a couple years past, somewhere right around here at a tavern.”

“Was it here at the Vulture?” A man at the table asked.

“No, if it was I would have told you. Anyway this man named Hale was young man who they said, from his dress, to be a schoolteacher. Not far from here, a group of British soldiers circled him and arrested him right then and there.” He paused, leaving his listeners in suspense.

“Tell us what happened next?” the man asked.

The British soldiers took Mr. Hale to their officers and young Hale was charged with being a rebel spy! No trial…”

Someone interrupted, “Yeah, I remember hearing about that. They hanged him.”

The Vulture patron telling the story slammed his fist on the table. “Why did you have to spoil the ending to my story!”

Joseph listened to the harsh words exchanged at the table. He remembered the first time he had heard the story, about a year ago. It was when he was scouting with Red, he recalled thinking it was not likely true. Joseph listened.

A docker cleared his throat and said, “I can’t believe the British hanged a teacher, you got some wild imagination. They wouldn’t hang a young man, without a trial. What the hell is the matter with you? Has the war come to this, we believe almost anything we hear?”

A shabby-looking, bearded man jumped to his feet yelling at the docker, “You half-wit! Any fool would know this story is true, Hale was a damn good for nothing rebel spy. He lurked in Queens to ferret out information on British troop movements.”

The bearded man got right in the docker’s face. “If you have not noticed, we are at war. Open your damn eyes! What are you, a friend of the rebels? The story is true, we hanged the schoolteacher not far from here.”

“You are a sad stupid son of bitch to dare say that to me.” The docker puffed his chest out and flexed his arms. Within a blink of an eye, a brawl began. It began with the docker and the bearded man and as they swung their fists at each other, they were attracting other men like a magnet. First, there were two and a minute later, ten men were punching, yelling and cursing.

Joseph was mesmerized by the growing group of men, tossing mugs of beer, shouting, smashing tables and breaking chairs. Unable to take his eyes off the brawl, Joseph slowly backed outside, the rain was coming down heavy. A crowd of men came in from the rain and other taverns to watch or participate in the brawl. In short order, half of the men were on the floor with bloody faces and the other half ordered more ale and wondered what had just happened.

Joseph knew the story and believed it was true, even though it was hard to believe the British would hang a man without some kind of trial. This was how the King did say he would punish anyone supporting the rebellion Joseph shuddered to hear people still talking about that event nearly two years after the fact. But who really knew, it could be propaganda against the British. Joseph felt uneasy to have to guess at the truth.

After all the excitement, a shifty-looking regular who appeared drunker than usual, noticed the tense, almost frozen appearance on Joseph’s face when the story about Hale was being told.

The drunken man grinned and yelled loud enough for all to hear, “Hey lad, the story about the school teacher being hanged didn’t frighten you, did it?” Joseph ignored the man’s remark acting as though he did not hear him.

“The skinny lad enjoyed that story, did you see the expression on his face! Have you got another one to tell him, anyone, he is about the pee his pants!” said the drunk.

The tavern keeper walked up to the loud mouth and told him to either leave the kid alone or get out. Joseph felt ashamed that he didn’t hide his sense of fear. After all his training, he should not have let someone see his feelings. The loud mouth drunk picked right up on it. Joseph thought, maybe being scared isn’t all bad. After all, I am only a fourteen-year-old kid and I have to remind myself to act like one.

Late June 1778 Smugglers