But she could think of no way to do this without having the rabble attempt to rescue her—certainly she could think of no way to convince the harassed artillery officer to go along with the charade. The soldiers who manned the British batteries at either horn of the mile-wide crescent of Boston Harbor seldom emerged from behind the palings of their garrisons, and with good reason. Vastly outnumbered, it would not take much of a confrontation for someone to start shooting . . . Which is all we’d need, with the King and Parliament convinced we’re a rabble of traitors because we refuse to submit to arbitrary taxes. It was all Harry would need, she reflected a moment later, when he came before the Admiralty Court— No. She thrust the thought from her mind. We can’t let it go so far. One way or the other, we cannot let him be taken aboard the Incitatus . . . But as she followed the stretcher-party out the door of the Watchhouse, she could think of no way of stopping the event. Coldstone had promised he would try to be appointed for the defense.
