They’d continued in this way for a minute or two more when she heard shouting coming from the street behind her. She paused to listen, but after a moment it seemed to die down. The ball passed back and forth a few more times when she became aware that people at the end of the green were starting to hurry in the direction the noise had come from, as though drawn to a spectacle of some kind. She hesitated, wondering what to do. “Throw, Abby,” called Weston as he tossed the ball to her.

Pretending to miss her catch, and turning to retrieve the ball, she went back a little way, trying to see what was happening—only to catch sight of Solomon, running toward her.

“You gotta stay here, Miss Abigail,” he told her breathlessly, as soon as he reached her.

“What is it?”

“The Boss,” he whispered to her, so that Weston should not hear. “They come for him. They sayin’ he’s a spy, on account of his gettin’ letters from England. Don’ you go back there,” he added urgently. But she wasn’t listening.

“Stay with Weston,” she commanded. She thrust the ball into his hand. “Keep him here.” And she began to run.

There was quite a crowd in front of the house. They were waiting expectantly. She tried to push through them, but before she could get to the gate, the front door of the house opened and the crowd let out a roar.

They had stripped her father to the waist, and his feet were bare. He was still a large and powerful man who could have put up a fight, but at least a dozen men were coming through the doorway with him, too many to resist. He was trying to maintain his dignity, yet his face was ashen. She had never seen her father at a disadvantage before. The men were jostling him.

The shouts from the crowd rose. By the sound of it, they wanted entertainment as much as revenge. On the steps in front of the door, her father was made to stop. One of the men was carrying a bucket of tar.

And now Abigail understood. It was no use trying to intervene; she knew she could do nothing. She had to think quickly. She turned, and started to run. Where should she go? Up to Wall Street? The City Hall was there, and people with authority. But the fort was closer. There was so little time. How long did it take, to tar and feather a man?