The Missing Button

Written by Andrea Hein

Captain John Prescott rode his horse hard through the night, coming upon the Boar's Head Tavern on the edge of Boston just before dawn. Exhausted and hungry, he dismounted and handed the reins to a stable boy who stood waiting.

“Will you be awhile, sir? Shall I have the horse brushed and fed?” the boy asked.

“Yes, yes, that's a good lad.” Captain Prescott smiled at the boy. “Care for her well and there will be an extra shilling in it for you.”

“Aye, sir!” the boy said cheerfully. He led the captain's horse around to the stables and began using a currycomb to loosen the mud collected on the mare's coat. Captain Prescott rubbed a hand over his weary face, then turned and entered the Boar's Head Tavern.

A fire burned low in the hearth, and next to it stood a hardback chair with a plush seat. Captain Prescott sighed as he gratefully sank into the chair. It had been over two days since he'd last slept, and he'd just come from the Battle of Bunker Hill. He'd lost a great deal of men, but not as many as the British had, and now he'd been dispatched to deliver a secret message to General Washington.

“Excuse me, sir, may I help you?” came a voice from the other side of the room.

Captain Prescott stood up quickly. “Are you the owner of this establishment?”

“Indeed I am sir,” the man replied. “The name's Thomas Murray.”

“I'm Captain John Prescott of the Continental Army. I've heard rumors that your loyalties lie with the colonies; is this true?”

“Yes sir it is,” said Mr. Murray. “I want nothing to do with those lobster backs or King George. You won't find any of them ‘round here.”

“Unfortunately that may not be true for long,” said Captain Prescott. “Word is the British are planning to lay siege to Boston. I've stopped here only for a short rest and a light meal, if you would be so kind.”

“Of course, captain! I'll have my wife Eliza fix you something right away. Terrible news, just terrible,” Mr. Murray said, shaking his head.

Captain Prescott sat back down while Mr. Murray called for his wife. Mrs. Murray came out shortly, holding a plate of cold cornbread and salted pork. “Captain,” she said, holding out the plate for him, “I'm sorry the fare is so poor; we haven't been able to get much since all the fighting started.”

“Not at all, my good woman, I thank you.” Captain Prescott took the plate and hungrily began eating. It was the first meal he'd had since the vinegar and rice he'd eaten shortly before the battle had begun. Mr. Murray came over and handed him a mug of ale, which the captain swallowed at once. After he finished his meal, Mrs. Murray led him to a room above the tavern where he could rest.

“I'll go now and fetch some water for your washing. Let me know if you need anything else,” she said, gently closing the door.

The captain sighed deeply and removed his boots and his coat, which he placed on a chair near the bed. He noted how clean Mrs. Murray kept the room. The captain crawled onto the bed with his musket and immediately fell asleep.

Sunlight was streaming in through the shutters when Captain Prescott suddenly awoke with a start. How long had he been sleeping? The captain got out of bed and went over to the washstand, where Mrs. Murray had evidently left a pitcher of water for him. He poured it into the basin and quickly washed up.

Captain Prescott dried his face, and then turned to the chair where he'd left his coat. It was gone! Captain Prescott hurriedly put on his boots, grabbed his musket and ran out the door.

A portly man was sitting in a chair by the fire, and Mrs. Murray was sweeping dirt from the tavern floor when the captain came running down the stairs.

“Who has stolen my coat?” the captain demanded when he reached the bottom of the stairs.

“No one sir, I assure you!” said a startled Mrs. Murray.

“Who are you?” the captain said to the man by the fire.

“George Sanders and who are you, sir?”

“Captain Prescott of the Continental Army. Where do your loyalties lie?”

The man chuckled. “With the ale, captain, with the ale.”

“He means no harm, captain,” said Mrs. Murray.

“Then tell me, woman, where is my coat!” Captain Prescott said.

“It's hanging over on the wall by the front door,” Mrs. Murray said.

Captain Prescott rushed over to where his coat hung. He hurriedly checked coat, and his heart sank as he saw one of his buttons was missing.

“Who dared remove my coat from my room!” he demanded, gripping his musket tighter.

“It was my wife, sir,” said Mr. Murray, coming out of a back room. “She saw that it was in need of mending, so she patched it.”

Captain Prescott looked at his coat. The holes in the sleeves he'd gotten from battle were indeed mended with homespun cloth, and the coat was mostly clean, except for a smear of dirt. But the second button from the top of his coat was missing and it was a very important button. Inside the covering of the button was a tiny message that he was to deliver to General Washington, which contained sensitive information about the movement of the British. Someone had stolen it.

“Did she also remove my button?” Captain Prescott said angrily.

“Are you accusing my wife of something?” Mr. Murray said.

“Yes, I am accusing your wife of the theft of personal property from a Continental soldier!”

Mrs. Murray began to cry. “I assure you, captain, I did nothing of the sort! I merely patched your sleeves. The button was not missing when I mended your coat or I would have sewn on a new button!”

“Well it wasn't missing before I slept! Who else has been in this tavern since that time?”

“Only Mr. Sanders, Ian from the stables, and us,” said Mr. Murray.

“Bring in Ian now!” ordered Captain Prescott. Mr. Murray hurried out to the stable while Mrs. Murray continued to cry and sweep the floor.

“Mr. Sanders, I demand you stand up sir!” said Captain Prescott.

“What for, I've only just gotten here,” answered Sanders.

“When did you arrive?” asked the captain.

“I arrived a few minutes before you came down the stairs. I just came in for a drink, if that's all right with you.”

“Mrs. Murray, can you confirm that?”

Mrs. Murray nodded. Mr. Murray came back inside with Ian, who looked confused.

“Now then,” said Captain Prescott. “I demand to know where each of you were while I slept!”

Mrs. Murray hurried over to sweep up the new dirt Ian and Mr. Murray had tracked in. “Mrs. Murray, stop that sweeping!” the captain bellowed.

Mrs. Murray jumped, and then set the broom aside.

“We'll begin with you, Mrs. Murray,” said the captain. “What were your exact activities while I rested?”

“After I left you,” Mrs. Murray said, sniffing, “I went and fetched water from the well, then filled the pitcher in your room. I saw that your coat was a bit tattered, so I took it with me and sat mending it by the hearth.”

“What did you do after that?” asked Captain Prescott.

“After I finished mending the coat, I cleaned it and showed it to my husband before I hung it on the hook by the door. Then I set about preparing the cornbread for our noon meal.”

Captain Prescott turned to Mr. Murray. “Can you confirm what she has told me?”

“Yes, sir, for the most part,” answered Mr. Murray. “I saw all the buttons when she was done mending your coat. Then I went in the back to see about bringing out another barrel of ale. When I brought the barrel to the bar, the coat was hanging up.”

“And what were you doing the rest of the time?”

“I was in the back, keeping the books,” said Mr. Murray.

Captain Prescott turned to Ian. “And what were you doing?”

“I looked after your horse, as you asked me to, sir,” answered Ian. “You did promise me a shilling if I took good care of her. I brushed her and saw that she had some oats to eat.”

“Did you come inside at any point, lad?” asked Captain Prescott

“Aye sir, just once, to help Mr. Murray with the barrel of ale.”

Prescott looked quizzically at Mr. Murray. The tavern owner nodded.

“And what did you do after that?” the captain asked Ian.

“After Mr. Murray left the room I went back to the horses.”

“Where were you, Mrs. Murray, while Ian and Mr. Murray were moving the ale?”

“I was sweeping up the dirt. The mud from outside is terrible, and it gets tracked all through the place. Then I went to go make the cornbread.”

Captain Prescott shook his head. There were only four people who could have stolen the button. The captain held his coat and studied it. Suddenly, he knew who it was.