No one noticed when Thompson eased out from the table to stand near the open door, while Brown gazed back and forth at the five men a few steps in front of him. He was unarmed, having left his gun and sword in the room upstairs, and he was acutely aware that his adversaries carried knives and tomahawks in their belts. He could not believe they would actually attack him, with so many witnesses in the tavern. Everything seemed like a dream, happening in slow motion. As the men moved forward, he thrust his table toward them, leaped toward the stairs, and then saw one of the heavy chairs swinging toward his head.

When he regained consciousness he was lying facedown on the rough and filthy floor covered with blood, and his hands were tied behind his back. Thompson and most of the other patrons had disappeared.

CHAPTER 22

Tar and Feathers

Bostick was seated on the edge of a table, just one of the blurry-looking faces that Brown could see around him. The contents of his pockets were on the table, and Bostick, sneering at the prostrate man, said, “Well, Mr. Thomas Brown, I see from this paper that you are a lieutenant in His Majesty’s service. Please explain to us what your duties are here among us and where your uniform might be.”

When there was no response, Bostick directed that Brown should be pulled to his feet and said, “I’m still waiting for you to pledge your support for liberty and an end of tyranny directed from your friends in London.”

Brown refused to speak, and when Bostick nodded, one of his men struck the helpless man just above his ear with the flat side of a tomahawk, knocking him to his knees. With his left eye temporarily blinded and blood running from his scalp and the corner of his mouth, he considered his predicament and could see no way to escape from this incredible situation. He could only hope that some commitment to the law and to proper conduct would prevail, or perhaps the awareness of future punishment would deter the gang of thugs.

Bostick said, obviously for the benefit of his audience, “I am hereby convening an official session of the Sons of Liberty, and we will give this scoundrel a fair trial for insulting the revolutionary cause. I have heard that Captain Elijah Clarke is in town with a few of his troops, and we are sending for him to serve as judge. While we all have another drink, will someone please place the accused in a chair, in a more respectable position that this distinguished courtroom deserves.”

There was some mandatory laughter among Bostick’s associates and a shuffling among the remaining spectators, but no one made a comment, everyone obsessed with the drama developing before them.