Duncan Mathews, 15 years old, looked outside. A crowd was moving towards the docks. He saw a lad he knew well, Barnabas Hawkins. He turned to Mistress Tucker, "Folks are headed to the waterfront, shall I go see what the ruckus is, Ma'am?"
Prosperity Tucker, 75 years old, but still spry, adjusted her spectacles and said, "Be right back now, I've a load of fine wool I need taken over to Mr. Wimball."
"Coats for the fancy folk up Beacon Hill, Ma'am?" Matthews said as he tugged his own threadbare coat on, the weather looked to be turning on this day in October. There had been a frost in the morning, now it was clouding up.
"I reckon so, now don't dawdle, go there, see what is happening and then hasten ye back."
"I will, Ma'am!"
He flinched as the door slammed behind him, he doubted Mistress Tucker would notice though, she was nearly as deaf as a post!
When he stepped into the street he saw that Hawkins had waited for him.
"What's all the fuss, Barnabas?" Matthews asked as the two boys headed to the docks.
"William Prescott says that two regiments of regulars are expected. Fellow up in Dorchester saw the ships coming in, he passed the word to William's father."
"Mister Prescott, he's a militiaman, ain't he?"
"That he is."
"Think there will be trouble?" Matthews asked with a worried look on his face. Many of the men he knew were getting more vocal about all the taxes the Crown was imposing on Massachusetts. There had been rumbling in the streets of throwing the Crown's agents out of town.
"My Master thinks not. More soldiers in town might calm the hotheads, at least he hopes so."
"Is your Master for the King, then?"
"No, my Master is for business, he says all the troubles that might come would be bad for business. He's for anything which keeps the rabble quiet." Hawkins answered his friend with a wry grin.
Captain Thomas Gilbert, of His Majesty's 29th Regiment of Foot, stepped onto the pier from the ship. He was heartily glad to be back on dry land. He turned to his company's drummer, a fine looking black lad from Jamaica.
"Young Billy, sound the assembly before the company wanders off to find a tavern."
Billy, who used the last name Kingston, he didn't know of any other, smiled, "Yes, Cap'n, I'd wager the lads will be silly with drink soon enough."
As he beat the assembly, the soldiers of Gilbert's company, the 3rd, began to fall in to ranks. Gilbert wondered just where his sergeants were, he had no lieutenants and his one ensign was under the care of the ship's surgeon. Out of a theoretical establishment of 1 Captain, 2 lieutenants, 1 ensign, 4 sergeants, 4 corporals, 2 drummers, and 100 privates, he only had two sergeants, no corporals, one drummer and 67 privates present for duty.¹
"Sah!"
Gilbert turned, there were his sergeants, half carrying, half dragging a private soldier between them.
"Burton here thought he'd have a go at being a civilian." Sergeant Robert Miller told the Captain.
"No Sir, I was seasick, trying to get me land legs, honest, Sir, I warn't tryin' to desert!"
"Damn your eyes, Burton, you'd be halfway to the lower parts of the town if we hadn't espied you trying to doff your coat in yon alleyway!" Sergeant Teegarden, the older of the two sergeants, cuffed Burton to make his point.
"Extra duty then Burton? Or shall I send your name up to the Colonel? He might just flog you or, if he's in a mood, have you shot for desertion. Your choice, lad." Gilbert had delivered all that in a calm voice. Those who had served with him on the Continent shivered, the Captain was most dangerous when he seemed calm and collected.
Burton swallowed hard, "Extra duty is fine for me, Sir. Sorry, Sir, won't happen again, Sir!"
"Damned right it won't!" Teegarden cuffed the man again.
Burton scurried into ranks, his mates didn't look at him. They didn't wish to be tarred with the same brush as Burton, a ne'er-do-well since he'd joined the Army.
"New regulars landed today, Ma'am. Few hundred at least." Matthews paused in his hauling of bundles of wool out to the handcart he used for deliveries.
"Harrumph, maybe the scallywags around the town will be less troublesome now." Mistress Tucker was of the same mind as Barnabas Hawkins' master, trouble was bad for business.
¹ British Line Infantry Organisation of the Seven Years War, Source.
Taxes and "bad for business".......some things never change eh Sarge?
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