The Liberty Gun

Written by Tammy Miller

Peter came bursting in the door, his tricorn hat falling off as he shouted: “Someone has stolen the new cannon, right out from under the guards’ noses.”

John Webster, Peter's father, emerged from his office into the entryway still holding the feather quill and bill of lading he had been checking. He was wearing the new bifocal glasses that Benjamin Franklin had recently invented. He reached up and smoothed his brown hair, which like most men and boys of the time was bound behind the neck and reached his shoulders.

“Who do they think took it?” he asked.

Peter, who was a miniature of his father except for having red hair, tried to keep the details straight as he answered: “Well, Constable Barnes says that there are four suspects already and that he is pretty sure that at least one of them is guilty.”

Peter's father walked over to the window that looked over the loading dock and wondered aloud: “How could they have removed that enormous weight without someone noticing or hearing something?”

The Boston streets were packed with people talking about the brazen theft. Peter's mother Anna and little sister Emma were walking over the cobblestones toward him, their blond hair peeking out from beneath their frilly white caps.

“Where's your father?” his mother asked.

Peter turned and pointed to a group of men talking quietly by the ship emblazoned with the name “Resolve” painted on its prow.

“He's talking to the constable about the men who have been arrested,” Peter explained.

“Are they anyone that we know?” Emma asked.

“Yes, all of them are local people except for Captain Parker, and he's been in and out of the harbor many times; and father's company has dealt with him for many years," Peter responded.

“Bob Turkle, the blacksmith, Tom Wise, the fishmonger, and Paul Rhodes, the baker, are the other suspects, but so far nobody has told how it happened,” Peter said.

The crime was simple enough. The new experimental long-range cannon, developed and cast in France, was shipped topside because of ease of loading and removal. Sometime last night, when it was high tide, some person or persons had taken it. A cannon of this length and weight should require several dockworkers using block and tackle to remove it. Block and tackle, being notorious for making noise, and the light needed for the delicate operation, would make secrecy seemingly impossible.

Also, two trusted guards had paced the docks all night and had seen nothing unusual. There were derricks hanging out over the water at intervals, but none of them were rigged. How did they do it?

Peter walked over and listened to his father and the constable as they quietly discussed what the suspects had told them. Captain Parker had been aboard all night and had heard nothing. Dressed all in black, including hair and beard, he seemed to be a giant.

“Look, constable, you came down here yourself and looked at the cannon and so did Mr. Webster, who signed my docking papers,” he said. “I was paid to deliver the cannon to the dock and that is what I did. Now let me go about my business,” he said firmly.

“Well, you were three weeks late and now you're in a hurry,” said the constable, looking the captain in the eye. “Give us one more hour and then you can begin unloading.”

Bob Turkle, a burly man with large, muscular arms, who was a fervent patriot, was next to be questioned. The guards had talked to him about an hour before daylight on the dock. This was before the theft of the cannon was discovered. He always arose before dawn to start the fire in his forge. After performing this task, he walked down to the docks to check on a load of pig iron that Captain Parker had agreed to bring with the cannon. Pig iron is a common metal, often in brick shapes, used by blacksmiths to make metal items.

“Captain Parker often brings my iron for me and this time he gave me a break in price because he was docking here to deliver the cannon,” Bob said.

Tom Wise and Paul Rhodes, the fishmonger and baker, were suspects because they were king's men and had been heard threatening to sink the Resolve.

“Aye, I’m a loyalist,” the small-framed Wise admitted proudly, “but I’m no thief.”

The baker was no less outspoken. “Everyone knows I’m for King George,” Rhodes said, raising his voice and standing up despite his limp. “The patriots are making a mess of things and are going to bring us to ruination. But I don’t have yer gun. And if I did, where would I put it, my bakery?” he said, sneering.

Peter, John and the constable then inspected the ship but found it empty except for the enormous stack of iron running along the keel. It was covered with an oil-impregnated cloth to keep the salt air from rusting it. They raised the cloth to get a better look and stared at the iron bricks. When they returned to the dock the hour was almost up.

Peter went over to his father who was staring at the bow of the ship, trying to figure out the enigma.

“Father, what are those roman numerals going down the side of the bow?” Peter asked. “What? Oh, those tell how deep in the water the ship is laden,” he said. He did a double take.

John Webster suddenly turned and looked at Peter with a great smile on his face. “Peter, I think you have solved the mystery,” he said. “Give me two minutes in my office and I'll tell you for sure.”

When John Webster returned he said to his son: “The ship was as deep in the water as it was yesterday.” Webster announced to the crowd: “I know where the cannon is and who took it.”