War

On the fifteenth of May, 1774 the Carson's sailed to Boston. The unrest kept their enjoyment well tempered and on the eve of their last night, British war ships were seen heading into Boston Harbor. As soon as it was dark, Caleb, Alfred and Uriah went off to watch.

The remainder of the family sat around the dinning room table and waited. Only three candles had been lit in the grand candelabra above. Another, centered on the long dining room table, yielded barely enough light to see faces and over the windows, hung every shred of dark cloth they could find. Their foreboding was as gloomy as the darkness. Finally, the door opened and the men came in.

Seated at the head of the table, Matthew's hair seemed even whiter than it had the day before. Over the months, he'd lost weight and wrinkles had collected around his eyes. "Well?"

Uriah quickly sat down beside Mary and took her hand, "MacGreagor is safe. He sailed away in the night and none gave chase. He left word he will await us in New Bedford."

"Praise God. Have the British begun the burning yet?" asked Matthew.

"Not yet."

"How many ships?"

Caleb sat down, pulled a kerchief out of his shirt and dabbed at the sweat on his brow, "Seven, at last count. They intend to block the harbor and stop all trade until we meet the King's demands."