Here we go, folks: the final installment of part III:
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Excerpted from Open Revolt, by Anna Simmons, (Rockwell/Fontaine, Confederacy of Southern America, 1990):
The immediate reaction by British authorities was nothing short of brutal. Mass arrests, summary executions, shots fired at civillian targets… The commitment of the British forces to their goal of restoring order at once went so far as to justify the arrest—and in some cases, extralegal execution—of persons believed to be potention leaders of a colonial resistance. Notably, James Otis sr. was dragged from his home and sentenced to death in a mock trial that lasted under two minutes.
From our perspective, it is difficult to grasp the rationale of such a strategy. Keep in mind, however, that the British government was mostly fearful of Boton turning into a second Montréal. Seeking to prevent another
guerre des fantômes [1] from erupting, they attempted to crush such a possibility from the very outset, before any restistance movement could organize.
As history has taught time and again, oppression only serves to embolden the American spirit of independene. But we must keep in mind that this was not yet understood at the time. Most of all, we must consider that the British strategy was not as senseless as it is sometimes portrayed. In the context, it was far from ludicrous. After all, it eventually proved effective, at least as far as (…)
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Boston, Massachussetts, 21st of August 1766
Adam followed the other two men through the drafty hallway. From the outside, the townhouse had seemed empty, but at the end of the hall, he saw the flickering of a candle. One of his silent companions rapped on the door, three times in rapid succession.
“What stranger comes to my door at night?”
“An orphan looking for a home,” the man before him yelled back, “that he can make it his castle!”
Adam supposed that such code-phrases were bitter neccesity these days. The door opened, revealing a man that Adam guessed to be roughly of his own age – in his early forties. The man had a slightly round face and acutely intelligent eyes that seemed to study the newcomes all very intently before the man stepped back. “Come in, gentlemen.”
He urged them to take a seat at the table, and then sat down opposite Adam. “Mister Braith, I’ve been looking forward to making your acquaintance.” He cocked his head slightly, as if he was trying to judge Adam’s character by looking at him. “You’ve turned into quite the figurehead of… rebellion.”
He hesitated slightly at that word, as is weighing it, testing the feel of it.
Adam coughed. “I wouldn’t know about that, sir. I’m… just trying to help people as need my help. We’re fighting them, by God, we’re fighting the redcoats openly. Seems that it’s up to every man to do his best. Give his all.”
“Yes,” said the man, very softly, “isn’t that the truth?” Adam couldn’t place the sadness in the man’s voice as he spoke, but before he had a chance to ask, the man looked up sharply. “I think you’re an honest man, mister Braith. And these colonies need honest men right now. But forgive me – I have not yet introduced myself. I am James Otis.”
Suddenly, Adam knew exactly where the sad tone in this calm man’s voice had come from: he was sitting here opposite James Otis
junior, and no more that twelve hours ago, the British had executed James Otis
senior. He felt the other man’s loss nearly as keenly as his own—no less because the elder Otis had not been a man that America could afford to lose.
He held out his hand to the other man. “I’m sorry for your loss, mister Otis.”
A moment’s hesitation, and then Otis took his hand across the table and shook it firmly. “Thank you, sir. Am I… am I correct in assuming that you, too, have lost someone to our common enemy?”
Adam nodded. “They killed my little girl.”
“They will not stop until we stop
them—by force.”
Adam started at the unexpected voice from behind him. A voice with a heavy French accent was the last thing he’d expected. He stood and turned, his eyes falling on a man who had to have been standing behind the door when they entered. Adam hadn’t even seen it. It was a young man, gaunt and tall, with a shock of uncombed dark hair.
Otis caughed. Adam looked back at him, and saw him looking pointedly at the Frenchman—at least, Adam
assumed the man was French—for a moment, before shrugging. “My apologies, mister Braith. Our…
associate… is not a very patient man. Nor one inclined to stay silent.”
Adam glanced back at the young man, who looked slightly bashful. “This,” Otis told him, “is mister Maurice Lansquenet, of Montréal. He has, let us say, ample experience when it comes to fighting the British army.”
That made sense. This was one of the insurrectionists, then. He sure
looked like he’d been living off the land, always on the run. Having now been involved in the conversation, Lansquenet didn’t appear to be able to stay silent any longer. He stepped forward eagerly. “Mister Braith,” he said, his accented morphing the words, “it is a great pleasure to meet you. An honor. Forgive my uncombed appearance—we are not barbarians, in Montréal, but in times such as these, an honest rebel must travel by country roads, and at night.”
What could he say to that? He muttered his thanks at the compliment, and congratulated the Frenchman on his safe arrival. Behind him, Otis laughed. “Mister Lansquenet, I must tell you, has already expressed great admiration for your exploits.” At that, Lansquenet grinned. “
Vraiment! I hope we will be able to fight side by side, monsieur.”
“It’ll come to that, before long.” Otis looked less than pleased by the prospect. “I would much prefer to settle this matter without fighting at all. But my father tried that, tried to negotiate a cease-fire, and they just dragged him away and shot him in cold blood.”
That had been a disgusting act of cowardice, Adam thought. They had killed the elder Otis merely because he was the nominal head of the colony’s militia—which was now openly fighting the redcoats. They obviously hoped that to kill their figurehead would send the entire militia into disarray. Well, they’d never fought true-blooded Americans, then.
“We must coordinate our efforts, gentlemen,” Otis interrupted Adam’s thoughts. “Mister Lansquenet has come here tonight to tell me that James Wolfe has been summoned to this city.”
That threw Adam for a loop. James Wolfe, the general who had captured—and since then governed—Montréal, was coming to Boston? That was bad news, very bad. The general was known to have carried out anti-resistance measures with cold-blooded determination, and he was sure to bring a whole army with him. Which meant…
“This will take the pressure off, back home.” Lansquenet slapped him on the back. “And that frees up a lot of my compatriots for… other engagements. Wherever Wolfe goes, he won’t be able to shake
me off! I'll chase him to the gates of hell, if need be. My men are at your service, mister Braith. We will fight the Redcoats, right here in Boston—
together!”
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Excerpted from Sanssouci, by Leroy French (Robinson & Quayle, Confederacy of Southern America, 1950):
Sanssouci took all possible advantage from Wolfe’s departure for Boston. No sooner had the bulk of the British forces left, or the resistance efforts in Montréal doubled. Organizing formally, the resistance movement formally appointed Sanssouci as their leader. Ofted dubbed “Maréchal Frédéric”, he had instituted a rigid training regime, turning a bunch of rebellious young men into a veritable army. Indeed, Frédéric proved no less of a military genias than his brother, the king of Prussia. By this time, the British authorities had become aware that he was not merely writing essays and pamphlets of a subtly seditious nature—they had begun to suspect his more direct involvement in the resistance movement. His high birth prevented any action taken against him, but he certainly had to act carefully.
Leading the insurrectionist efforst from the shadows, Frédéric proved his talent for strategy and logistics. With the bulk of Wolfe’s army occupied elsewhere, Montréal was soon beyond the control of the British forces. Secure for the moment, the Montréal resistance movement dispatched various envoys to the rebels organizing in New England, and in 1767, sent representatives to the Williamsburg Convention.
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Excerpted from Road to Revolution, by Thomas J. Fields (Rockwell Books, Confederacy of Southern America, 1970):
The brutal tactics of the British administrators served to turn moderates into radicals, and before long, the streets of Boston were as rife with dissent and insurrection as those of Montréal. Nevertheless, the resistance was barely organized, despite the useful aid and advice from several experienced freedom fighters from Montréal. Noticably, Maurice Lansquenet – more readily remembered for his later political achievements – managed to train capable resistance fighters within a short period of time.
With the arrival of general Wolfe, this advantage soon dissipated. The British commander had dealt with the insurrectionists in Montréal, and wasted no time in adopting the techniques that served him the best: confisquating food supplies and weapons, and a policy of ruthless punishment to discourage any dissent. It has been concluded time and again that, had the British been more lenient in the first place, there would never have been a revolt to start with. Whatever the truth of that may be, it can be concluded that Wolfe’s techniques were effective.
By no means did he manage to discourage the American people from resisting the British oppression, of course, but his superior organization skills and his merciless approach to the fight proved too lethal a combination. Before long, the initial successes of the revolting colonists were reversed.
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Excerpted from Why the New England Revolt Failed by Edith Baker, the winning entry in Living History’s seventh annual essay contest, 1972:
(...) how, then, were the British able to crush a popular revolt that had garnered such immense support in Massachusetts, Connecticut and Rhode Island, and which certainly enjoyed the sympathy of the other colonies? The reason is twofold: firstly the ruthless resolve of the British, secondly the poor organization of the colonists.
The first point by no means implies that the colonists were not resolved to win their independence, only that the British were ready to commit any sort of atrocity to prevent them from achieving it. And they amply demonstrated their resolve during the conflicts of 1766-‘67.
The second point is perhaps even more crucial than the first. The colonists were of one mind, but not of one arm to strike at the British. There were few coordinated actions to interrupt the British supply lines, and there was no centrally organized effort to turn the colonial militias into a unified force capable of meeting the British on the field (...)
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Excerpted from Road to Revolution, by Thomas J. Fields (Rockwell Books, Confederacy of Southern America, 1970):
By the time of the Williamsburg Convention, in 1767, it was already clear that the revolt in New England was a lost cause. Officially a meeting of representatives from all colonies with the aim of peacefully ending the revolt, the Convention was actually an attempt to unite the colonies in a bid for more indepenence from the crown.
The representatives came to virginia in large numbers, some taking great risks by attending, such as John and Samuel Adams. They were all to aware that the Convention was New England’s last hope—in vain, as it turned out. Although there were several leading figures from the other colonies who expressed (in veiled terms, naturally) their willingness to join in open revolt, it was simply too late already. The rebelling factions in New England were forced into retreat all across the board, and no colony outside New England was willing to risk openly supporting the revolt.
When the news reached Williamsburg that James Otis had been captured by the British, all efforts finally broke down. John and Samuel Adams went into hiding, their death warrants having been issued by general Wolfe. Perhaps the only positive outcome of the Convention was that it brought pro-independence thinkers from all the colonies together. That ultimately proved of inestimable value in later years.
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Boston, Massachussetts, 5th of October 1767
James Otis knew he had little time left, so he wrote faster. On the other side of the door, peering at him through the iron bars, the guard tapped his heel against the stone floor. His handriting was far from neat, but he had a feeling his sister would not mind in this particular instance.
…and so I write these words to you as I face the gallows, he wrote.
Would that I could talk to you in person, but I cannot be sure you would be safe. I am glad that Sam has escaped capture, and pray for his well-being. Should you see him again, send him my love.
He sighed, knowing he would never see his siblings again.
My only wish was for all of us to live in a free land. I regret but that I failed in the endeavour.
Your brother,
James
He put down his quill, and nodded at the guard. “My legal council will collect this letter… afterwards. Now—let’s waste no more time.”
He was led to a waiting tumbril cart, hands tied behind his back. Standing on the cart, he was rode out, to where the gallows waited. The autumn sun blinded him for a moment, after the darkness inside. The cart was halted, and he glanced around. At the people watching. At the noose. The severity of the situation brought a twisted humor to his mind—like father, like son. Yes. Both dead for the same cause. Well, at least it had been a noble cause.
As he glanced left, he saw a familiar face in the crowd. The honest eyes of Adam Braith stared back at him, with grim determination. So. They had come to rescue him. For a second, James considered it. Only for a second. There were at least a hundred soldiers here. It would only get them all killed—instead of just himself.
So he shook his head, ever so slightly, hoping that no-one but Adam would see. No-one did, and when he looked back into the crowd, the erstwhile butcher was nowhere to be seen. The noose was wrapped around his neck, but he refused the blindfold. A man should not die with his face hidden.
“Any last words?”
This time he shook his head clearly, defiantly, for all to see—gazing at general Wolfe, who looked back in stony silence. For a moment, all was still. Then Wolfe gave a nod, and the noose was placed around his neck, the horse whipped into movement, and the cart slipped out from under his feet—
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Excerpted from Sanssouci, by Leroy French (Robinson & Quayle, Confederacy of Southern America, 1950):
With the revolts in New England suppressed, and colonial resistance in those parts reduced to disorganized bands, general Wolfe assembled his army and returned to Montréal. Frédéric, realizing that open warfare was a lost cause, ordered his resistance fighters to simply fade into the shadows. This presented to Wolfe an illusion of a quick victory. Montréal was placed under martial law, and for a short while, all seemed calm. In reality, Frédéric was waiting for the British to lower their guard just a fraction. As soon as they did, a rapid campaign of attacks by resistance cells on military targets followed—only for the rebels to disappear again. Waiting for the next time and place where the British would relax just the little bit—invariably leading to renewed attacks.
This strategy drove the British military to exhaustion and paranoia, leading to ever more repressive methods against the civillian population in an effort to repress the resistance. It is a cynical thought, but this was exactly what Frédéric expected and in fact wanted his enemy to do. The more Wolfe repressed the people, the more support his resistance movement received. By this point, Frédéric himself had been forced in to hiding, Wolfe having issued an arrest warrant against him, any political implications be damned. And from the shadows, Frédéric waited. He was not yet ready to take on his opponents, but he was content to weaken Wolfe, while strengthening his own position. Sooner or later, he knew, the pressures of the “American situation” would lead to an explosive result, and not just in Montréal. When that time came, he would be ready.
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Excerpted from Road to Revolution, by Thomas J. Fields (Rockwell Books, Confederacy of Southern America, 1970):
Regardless of the varying opinions in regard to the legality of it, the fact remains that the atrocities committed by the British soldiers during the revolt permanently rendered any reconciliation impossible. No less because the British made no effort to appease the colonists following their victory: they captured any colonial leader they could, and executed every prisoner they took.
[2]
The three revolting British colonies—Massachussetts, Connecticut and Rhode Island—had their charters indefinitely revoked and their civil administrations dismanteled. They were forcibly merged into a single military-controlled district:
Plymouth Colony. The colonists themselves had no further say in its government, and it was placed under permanent martial law. Northern Massachussetts, which had been relatively calm throughout, was split off to become the self-governing
Mayne Colony—partially to reward the people there for their lack of resistance, partially to punish the people of former Massachussetts for the abundance of same. Montréal, under martial law already, saw the British military presence increased considerably.
Ruling through fear, the British kept Plymouth Colony under their thumb while discouraging the other North American colonies from showing any signs of disloyalty. Meanwhile, loyalists were elevated of position to power—in an attempt to convince the population that Americans themselves could still rise in the government bureaucracy, if only they remained loyal...
These methods were depressingly succesful, for a time. But a system based on oppression and fear can never last forever. The
revolt had been crushed, but the
revolution drew closer every day.
END OF PART THREE
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FOOTNOTES
[1] “Phantom war”, meaning guerilla.
[2] These claims are exaggerated, although widely believed in America.
GENERAL NOTES
...and that, my friends, concludes Part Three. As of this installment, it's not much fun to be an American patriot ITTL. But who knows what the next part might still bring? After all, it has the
possibly quite hopeful title:
If At First You Don't Secede...
...well, I'll leave you guessing as to how that sentence should end.
