I take his warnings even more to heart.
Ezra Pickering looks about at the assembled gang of conspirators and says, "There have been some developments. Our Reverend Mather has redoubled his efforts at getting his petition of guardianship granted. He has hired an attorney, a Mr. George Blish, a man I personally cannot abide but who is nonetheless extremely competent. Blish has entered into the Court record a deposition describing your recent physical fight with another girl at the school and your propensity for singing and dancing in public houses. Reverend Mather seems to have excellent sources of information, and you, of course, do everything possible to further their case." Ezra looks at me sternly.
The vile Dobbs, I thinks, and prolly Wiggins, but what I sighs and says is, "There'll be no more singing and dancing. I shall try to be good."
"And I shall try to block this petition at every turn, but it is getting increasingly difficult. And I shall continue looking into the matter of reclaiming your money, but somehow I do not think this case is entirely about the money."
"It isn't, Mr. Pickering," I says. "I believe he has convinced himself that I am a witch. The same thing he convinced himself about Janey Porter, and we all know what happened there."
Ezra is silent for a while on that, and then he says, looking steadily at me, "We must all be very careful then, mustn't we?"
After we leave Ezra's office and return up the hill, I see a strange thing in a side yard of a stable. It seems to be a wooden figure of a man with a cone-shaped hat on his head sitting in a chair that's on a narrow platform, and right behind him is another wooden figure, a devil with pitchfork and horns and tail, painted red.
I say, "What's that?" and Ephraim says that it's a Pope's Day wagon that will be paraded down the street on the night of November fifth, and the gangs from the North End will try to knock over and destroy the Popes of the South End gangs, and all will have torches and the fights will go long into the night.
"And there's supposed to be at least three British ships in, which should add some spice to the mix," he says. He gives his arm to Betsey and she takes it. They smile at each other and I think it's the first time each has really smiled in a while.
I'm thinking it's a lot like Guy Fawkes Day back in old London town when me and the gang would get wholeheartedly into some serious mischief. "Sounds like fun," I says, ever up for some excitement. "Can we come, too?"
Chapter 31
"Come on, Henry," I'm sayin', dragging on his arm. "You can be my gallant escort, come on!"
"But the horses—"
"Sven can watch the horses, can't he, Herr Hoffman?" Herr Hoffman has appeared as I am trying to haul his son out of the stable and into the riot of the night. Halloween's come and gone and now it's Pope's Day!
Herr Hoffman puts his hand on his son's head and ruffles his brown hair. "Ach, ja, Heinrich, go with the young people. Have fun, boy. The responsibilities of age vill come soon enough."
With that, Henry grabs my arm and we are off joyously into the night.
The others are right down the street. There's Sylvie and Abby and Rachel and her young man, Paul Barkley, whom she will marry in the spring, and they plan to go west to claim a homestead and farm. He brings along his brother, who is pleasant and soon accepted by all and who quickly falls into step with Abby, who don't seem to mind. Amy has climbed down the ladder route and is dressed in her common gear to fit right in with us milkmaids, and we're to pick up Annie and Betsey on our way down. We walk the road between the school and the church, and I look up and sure enough, there he is at his window. I'll leave you alone tonight, Preacher. May you not enjoy the rest.
"The others are waiting down the road, and Maudie has said we can go up on the roof of the Pig and watch the whole thing from there! Won't it be grand?" I crows.
Henry allows that it will be and thanks me for taking him with our merry group, and I say, "Thanks nothing, you are a finely turned out fellow and I'm proud to walk by your side." I am a little surprised to learn that Henry does not know all the girls of the Sisterhood, what with him working so close to them and all. I guess their paths just don't cross is all. Like, he had never really met Sylvie before. Now, upon their first meeting, she gives him a shy bat of her dark lashes, and he can barely stammer out his own name.
Darkness has long since fallen and already we can see groups of torches gathering in the streets down below. I assume there are others over there in the North End as well. There is the sound of sporadic firecrackers. I'm sayin' that I hope it's not gunfire, but Amy says Pope's Day isn't as big as it once was, before their Revolution, when the gangs of Protestants from the North End would clash with the gangs of Catholics from the South End and injuries, and even death, would occur. It sort of ended when General Washington told everybody to knock it off because he had both Catholics and Protestants in his army, everybody fightin' for liberty and such, and he didn't need them at each other's throats. Sylvie says that's true, but some of the old customs hang on, 'cause they're too much fun to give up right off.
It is good to hear Amy talk so easy and unfearful with everyone. I have put her through a bit since coming into her life, but I think she is the better for it.
Annie and Betsey come out of the darkness to join us and Ephraim appears at the corner of State and Cornhull. He don't approve of all this but comes along to lend his protection. Boys, I clucks to myself, so careless of their own conduct, so careful of ours.
"So, how did you get out?" he asks Betsey, who is already on his arm and looking up into his face. "I'm sure your father knows nothing of this."
"We told him we were going to spend the night with Sylvie," says Annie.
"And I told my father that I was staying with you," laughs Sylvie.
It turns out that everybody is staying with someone else.
"Some are sure to get in trouble," warns Ephraim, with a dark look.
"Not if we get back before our fathers get back! They are out there, too!" says Annie. "Ours is fighting for Ward Number Ten!"
"And mine for Ward Number Four!" cries Abby. "They'll all be kept busy, and I'll wager they'll all be too tired to beat us when they get back!" Wards, I am told, are voting districts and go from Ward 1 in Boston's North End down to Ward 12 in the South End.
Actually, it turns out that all of them plan to go to the school in the wee hours and so avoid capture by any father, which seems like a good plan to me.
A gang of young boys comes up to us and they beat sticks upon their crude Pope and Devil figures. Some wear masks and some are fully costumed as devils, and they sing out to us.
"Don't ye hear my little bell
Go chink, chink, chink!
Please give me a little money,
To buy my Pope a drink!"
"Not very respectful of the Holy Father," says Annie, giving each of the boys a treat. "But I suppose they don't really take the sense of it at all."
Each of us girls has a basket that is filled with small balls of dough that were fried in lard until brown and then rolled in sugar. Peg made 'em for us sayin' that we wouldn't get far without givin' out some treats. They are very good, if you don't eat too many. Here's another bunch of boys with a wooden figure that looks like it's supposed to be King George and they have another chant.
"Pray Madames, Sirs,
If you will something give,
We'll burn the dog,
And not let him live!"
"Not very respectful of His Majesty," says I, also dropping treats into the outstretched hands of the boys. "And where are your sisters, boys?" I asks.
"Why, home where they belong, Miss," says one boy, eyes wide with the stupidness of my question.
"Right," I say, and let it go.
We give out the pastries to each group of small boys who come up and demand a treat, and they are appreciative, but the boys are getting bigger and bigger and their demands are not for sweetmeats but for other kinds of sweets, and I am glad when we reach the Pig and get the ladder from Bob and climb on the roof and pull it up after us.
What a great perch! We can see the various groups as they make their way up the narrow streets, slowed down by their very numbers and slowed down even further by meeting the resistance of rival gangs.
Young men down below whistle and tell us to come down and they'll show us a treat, and we go to the edge and say that we know what kind of treat they plan for us and though they are all very pretty they can all go and sod off. This gets us hoots and hollers, but all seems in good fun.
Maudie and Bob have got the good sense not to open up the inside of the Pig but instead are dealing the ale and rum out the front door with the lower half of the door shut. The tankards have small lengths of light chain attached to their handles so they can't be carried off by the revelers.
There is a mob in the street below, waiting for one of the Popes to try to get through and so I go over to the edge of the roof over the doorway and pull out my pennywhistle and toots out a high and shrill bit that'll carry over the noise of the throng and I gets some cheers and so I goes on and gives 'em a few more, but then there's a real roar, "Here they come!" and a Pope cart appears at the end of the street, surrounded by very determined-looking defenders. I'm told that the object is to get your cart to Cobb's Hill against all odds and there to burn it on the bonfire that is already raging in the distance. That is, you throw it on the fire there before your opponents can destroy it and burn it in the street.
The cart gets closer and we can hear the chant of the South End stalwarts what are pushing it along.
"It's up the long ladder and down the short rope!
The hell with King George and up with the Pope!
If that doesn't do, we'll tear him in two,
And send him to hell with his red, white, and blue!"
The chant incites the attackers to great violence, and from the crush of fists and clubs comes the chant of the North Enders who have now come out of the night ... "Here comes another," is the shout, and they have their own Pope and Devil up on their shoulders. Their Pope has a barrel for a body and there is someone inside, prolly a small boy, who turns the grotesque head about and about, and it glares at all who gaze upon it. They have a chant, too, but I can't make it out over the roar of the crowd, but it don't matter, anyway. I jumps up and down and cheers and shouts and the blood is up in me for sure and me heart is beatin' in me chest hard enough to burst out and I know I shouldn't like this wildness so, but I do, I do. I take my whistle and I just blasts on it to add my bit to the mayhem and the chaos of the night. Amy reaches up and pulls me down to sit next to her and she says, "Be good!"
The two groups come together with ruinous intent and there's the bellowing of threats and curses as the Pope and Devil figures rock back and forth in the press of the combatants and then there's great shouts and the South End cart goes down in the sea of bodies and there's crackings and splinterings and a huge cheer and the North Enders have won—this battle at least.
The crowd surges back and forth and it's hard to tell who's who in the way of the teams and there's blood on some faces and some are on their knees recovering from blows, and the crowd eventually surges up the street in the direction of Cobb's Hill, and the defeated ones pick up the pieces of their vanquished Pope and Devil and follow, in as good a cheer as can be expected.