Servant of the People

“Come to breakfast, Andrew,” my wife, Mary, said, rousing me from my reverie as I looked out the window onto Oliver Street. The sun was shining, with fluffy clouds drifting across the sky. There seemed to be fewer people on the street than normal for a Wednesday. A few workmen strolling by, a four-horse coach making a delivery of building supplies for the new customs building, but that was about it.

The economy had taken a dive ever since the war. My business had suffered, but I was still making a profit.

I sighed, then smiled as I turned to my wife. Mary was as beautiful as when we had first met, although hair was silver now.

I joined her at the table, which was spread with bread, butter, strawberry jam, and ham. Alice, our servant, poured a cup of tea into a ceramic teacup rimmed with gold.

“Thank you,” I said, placing my napkin in my lap.

“Do you have any plans for today?” my wife asked.

I cut a piece of ham. “I have some work to do this morning. Urgent government business.” There always seemed to be some urgent government business. After nearly thirty years of being a public servant, I was used to it. “They’re upset over new taxes that Britain wants to impose on us.”

Life was easier when I was simply a merchant. But as a servant of the people, I was there to make their lives better, and I’d like to think I did a fairly good job at it.

“Peter was hoping we could have dinner with him this afternoon.” Peter was my brother. He also worked in government.

“I should be done by then.”

Our peaceful meal was interrupted by loud, rapid banging on the front door. A few minutes later, Alice returned with a breathless messenger.

“What is it, young man?” I said, placing my napkin on the table and standing up. “You look like the new customs building is on fire.”

“There’s a large group… of people… gathering in Hanover Square,” he said, taking deep, heaving breaths during his pauses. His three-cornered hat was askew, and his hair had strands coming out of its braid.

“Are they causing a commotion?”

“Not at the moment.” He paused again to regain his breath. “But they hung you in effigy?”

“What?”

“Well, not exactly. The figure hanging from the old elm had ‘A. O.’ written on it.”

It obviously meant me, Andrew Oliver. I paced the room. After all I’ve done for the people, this is what they do to me?

“I think your brother-in-law is sending the sheriff to have them disperse.”

“Good.”

Mary’s face was white. Her hands were fidgeting with her apron. “Is there anything we can do?”

“It will be okay, love. They’ll be back to work by dinner. They’re just a little upset about the Stamp Act. And times have been difficult lately.”

She let out a long breath. “I don’t feel good about this.”

“Thomas—” my brother-in-law, “—wanted me to take this job. And it’s a good opportunity for us financially.”

“Thank you, Joseph,” I tell the messenger. “I’m sure this will be cleared up soon. If you need to update me, I’m headed to my office.”

He nodded before heading out. I grabbed my coat and hat, then checked to make sure my wig was on straight before kissing my wife goodbye. Outside, James, my driver, already had waiting for me.

“Been quite a ruckus this morning,” James said. The horses began clopping down the street.

“I heard,” I said with little feeling.

As soon as I got to the office, I got to work. I would like to see my brother and his wife for dinner.

It wasn’t long before my door flew open. It was my brother-in-law, obviously. Being the lieutenant governor, he had the right to barge in whenever he wanted. He was in a foul mood.

I raised an eyebrow. “Trouble with the ruffians in the town square?”

He growled. “I sent the sheriff, and they told him to stuff it. Threatened to hang him for real if they wouldn’t stop pestering him.”

My jaw hardened. “Why doesn’t he just arrest them then?”

He took the seat opposite my desk. “There are thousands of them.”

That would explain the lack of foot traffic in front of my house this morning.

“There’s going to be a meeting with the governor and the rest of the town council in fifteen minutes to see what we can do,” Thomas said. “See you there.”

Guess I’ll have to have dinner with my brother some other day.

As I prepared for the meeting, I started to hear the crowd. The roar continued to get louder, until I could hear the words clearly. “Liberty, Property, and No Stamps!” The chant repeated itself over and over.

I peeked out the window. The hooligans were headed up the street, shouting their foul chant. “Liberty, Property, and No Stamps!” They filled the street, carrying a flaming—body? It wasn’t a real one, just a dummy. The one the messenger told me about, maybe. I quickly shut the curtain.

The meeting was solemn, and ended up resulting in shouting. How were we going to get the people to disperse?

Another messenger knocked, interrupting our meeting. He took off his hat. “Sorry to interrupt. They’re tearing down the customs building.”

This only made my brother-in-law even more upset. His face was practically red at this point.

“We can’t shoot them,” Thomas said, pacing the room. “That would only make things worse. We can’t arrest them all either. Half the town is there.”

“Ungrateful wretches,” I mutter. “People want the benefits of government, but they don’t want to pay for it.”

“Britain wants someone to pay for the war,” the governor said.

John, one of the council members, gingerly raised his hand. “They seem to be upset that they don’t have representation in Parliament,” he said. “Or, at least, that’s what my wife told me.”

“Anna is a little gossip,” I said.

“But she does talk to the regular people,” Thomas said.

“Did you read what Humphrey Ploughjogger said in the Gazette on Sunday?” Matthew, another council member, added.

Governor Bernard scoffed. “That’s a fake name if there ever was one.”

“But he might reflect the sentiments of the regular people,” John added.

“Bunch of garbage about ‘independency’ and the like.” I shook my head.

The meeting continued, and we all agreed that the colonists were ungrateful and needed to pay their fair share for the war. After all, the French had been threatening our borders. What we couldn’t agree on was what to do about it.

Another messenger knocked on the door, and the governor called him in. Mary was standing in the door with him, wringing her hands on her apron. Tears were tracking down her face.

“It’s awful,” she said. “They’re—they’re—”

“They finished tearing down the customs building,” the messenger said. “They’re working on your house now.”

I stood up. “Ungrateful—”

“Maybe you should leave for a couple of days,” the governor said. “It might not be safe for you in Boston tonight.”

I rushed to my wife and embraced her. “We can stay with my son in Salem.”

“They want you to resign as Stamp Act Commissioner,” the messenger said.

The appointment hadn’t even been made official yet. I shook my head. Thomas was going to appoint me to the job because it would have been profitable; I would have been able to keep a percentage of the sales from the stamps. Now it seems like I’ll lose my house over the whole deal. And rebuild the customs building.

Ungrateful colonists. It’s not easy to be a servant of the people.