Midnight Rider: Chapters 34–48

“I have the throat distemper.” His voice was hoarse and garbled. “There’s a white membrane forming in my gullet.”

“And put on my jerkin and boots, too.”

She walked casually down Marlborough Street with long strides, imitating the demeanor of the young men in the town.

She passed several taverns and could hear the boisterous singing of soldiers.

“There is one inconsistency, however. My source tells me that it will take place on Saturday.”
“I don’t know who your source is, Mr. Revere,” Hannah said, “but I know for a fact it will be on the Sabbath.”

I made plans a few moments ago to row to Castle William tomorrow—Friday—and see what’s actin’ up at the garrison there.

“What a prize! Revere and his three men caught blatantly spying on Castle William!” one of the soldiers exclaimed.

Hannah thought about her friends and neighbors in Salem and how they would be spending a quiet, reverent Sabbath, unprepared for the soldiers who would arrive to take away their only means of protection.

The people of Salem, like those of Boston, would be more inclined to believe a boy than a girl.

He’s in the garret, and sick he is with his bad foot.

“No, not at my age,” he said with dismay. “I wouldn’t be able to make the ride—especially on these snow-packed roads.”

Will propped himself up on one elbow and reached for a sheaf of paper near his bed.

“Take my saddlebag for your belongings. I wish I were going in your stead.”

Dawn was breaking as Mr. Hubbard furtively rowed Hannah across the mouth of the Charles River.

Hannah felt the same sense of exhilaration as her horse, free at long last from the confines of the Province House.

To her surprise, Promise balked at her command and tossed his head, flinging a spray of snow from his mane onto Hannah’s face.

“For two pence I’ll give you a blanket and pillow, but you must tender the money to me now. For all I know, you’ll get up and leave without paying.”

When they crossed over a brackish inlet, Hannah caught the scent of the sea.

“Why didn’t Will Samson bring this message to us? He’s the messenger we trust.”
“This boy is just another harbinger of disloyalty sent by those Boston Whigs!” a Tory in the audience yelled.

After a quick prayer the meeting was adjourned.

Satisfied that her trip had not been in vain, Hannah closed the door and sat in a chair.

“They’d be even more humiliated if they knew that this was all brought about by one plucky girl and her steadfast horse.”

“They’d be even more humiliated if they knew that this was all brought about by one plucky girl and her steadfast horse.”

When they passed the family homestead where she had lived with Aunt Phoebe, Hannah was appalled to see how deserted and unkempt it was.

“I’m treating him with a dressing of herbal liniment. We’ll take turns during the night with our stable hands to keep the dressing moist and get the swelling down. We want to get him on his feet as quickly as we can. The bones aren’t broken, but the tendons and muscles are sprained badly.”

They paddled through the ice floes, and Hannah, as before, poked the floating ice away.

There were no soldiers in sight when she arrived at the entrance to the tunnel. She kicked away the snow and ice from the trapdoor with a sudden anger. How she hated creeping through this damp, dark shaft!

A plethora of murmurs and cries arose from the crowd.

He stuck out his foot, which was swathed in strips of flannel.

Will slowly unwrapped the cloths, which stuck to the scabby lesions where his toes had been.

“Mr. Hubbard is a staunch Yankee and has been seen attending meetings at the Green Dragon,” Chester Pratt exclaimed.

“I have put up with the lapses in intelligence long enough. This young man will get forty strokes every day until he confesses and tells who his informant is.”

Hannah pulled the breeches on over her skirt, thrust her arms into the jacket, and donned Will’s gold-braided tricorn hat.

“I left him in Salem after he foundered and fell. He is badly hurt.”

“After what you’ve done, you never will see him again,” Lieutenant Pratt said with relish.

The stallion was motionless now, watching Hannah warily.

“Alive, but not doing well. Hannah, I’ve nursed that horse’s leg as if it were my own child’s. The swelling is down, but I can’t get Promise on his feet. He just wants to lie there, and sometimes he tries to roll about. These are all signs of colic, which troubles me the most. We must get him up and walking or he’ll eventually bloat and possibly die, Hannah.”

Mr. Samson led them to the stall where Promise lay with a poultice bandaged to his leg.

Sarah Tarrant stood on the threshold carrying a covered basket from which emitted a series of chirps and scratches.

“You think Mrs. Gage was the informant?” Sarah asked skeptically.
“It is hard to believe,” Hannah agreed.