Treason in Philadelphia

July 4, 1776
Treason in Philadelphia
By SHAWN POGUEMAHONE
Royal Press Writer

PHILADELPHIA (RP)--

As darkness falls over Philadelphia, one can barely make out the hand-painted warning on the white gable wall:  "You are Now Entering Free Philly," it says, an ominous reminder to outsiders that this is rebel terrority, home of the Minutemen, the ruthless armed wing of the Continental Congress.  It is here, deep in rebel country that this reporter dared venture to obtain an exclusive eyewitness account of the signing of the so-called 'Declaration of Independence'.

"Come in this way," says my unnamed source, ushering me through the back door of an unnamed tavern on an unnamed street in Philadelphia.

We take our seats in a dark tavern booth.  Forgetting where I am, I stupidly ask for a cup of tea.

"Hush," my companion hisses, "There are Minutemen about, you fool!  If they hear you asking for tea, they'll kill you in a minute, man!"  I hastily apologize for my egregious error, and my companion asks the publican for two cups of "tea substitute."  We are given cups of an oily black liquid known to the locals as "coffee."  As we  drink the bitter, awful stuff, my companion spins his tale of being held hostage in the sweltering July heat by the Minuteman-linked Continental Congress and forced to commit treason by signing the document.

"It was Jefferson who forced us to sign," says my unnamed source, referring to slave-owner and self-admitted 'patriot' Thomas Jefferson.  "Jefferson may look like an letter-writin', book readin', pony-tail wearin', wine-makin' fancy-boy, but he's a murderin' bastard, that one.  It was Jefferson who fired the first shot at Lexington and Concord."  Although my anonymous source did not witness the shooting first-hand, he has it on good authority from the first cousin of a friend's mother's great-aunt's dressmaker that the first shot was most definitely fired by Jefferson.

But this day in Philadelphia, Jefferson used another weapon of choice and held the signers hostage, not with cannon balls, but rhetoric.

"Jefferson bombarded us with it for hours in the sweltering heat!  It was horrible!  The endless speech-making by Jefferson and his henchmen was more than anybody could take!  We were forced to sign under the threat of being horribly, brutally, bored to death!"

My poor, wretched anonymous source breaks down into sobs, handing over a crumpled sheet of paper listing the names of 56 traitors. I immediately recognize the names of two of the most notorious criminals of Massachussets Bay, Elbridge Gerry and Samuel Adams.  Before arriving in the colonies, I met with Thomas Hutchinson, former governor of Mass Bay Colony and now champion dog breeder to King George III.  According to Hutchinson, Gerry and Adams are nothing more than terrorists, "Those two need to be brought to heel," says Hutchinson.  "They're not housetrained.  Immediately upon arrival in Massachusetts, I announced to the citizens that I would resign if the Minutemen did not hand over their weapons at once.  But they did not!  And not only did they not hand over weapons, they engaged in an illegal protest of the Stamp Act by burning the stamp master in effigy.  They also broke the windows of the stamp master's house, which were very expensive to replace.  Well, I don't need to tell you who was behind that!  It was Adams...Gerry and Adams!  I felt like taking a rolled up newspaper and swatting the two of them across the nose," says Hutchinson, lower lip trembling ever so slightly at thought of all that expensive broken glass.  "But in the end, I was forced to take more drastic action.  I immediately resigned and returned to England."  Harsh punishment, indeed, for the people of Massachussets Bay Colony; one wonders if Hutchinson was a bit too hard on the colonists, but he's a man of his word and gave fair warning of his intentions to resign from the very beginning.  "One has to stick to one's principles," says Hutchinson.

It is late evening as I slip out the back door of the unnamed tavern onto the unnamed street and ride into the night on a horse with no name.  As I gallop away from rebel country into friendlier, Loyalist territory, I ponder the fate of my poor unfortunate source and the 55 other traitors, whose names I have tucked away in my pocket.  They'll be hanged, I suppose, and the Minutemen will most likely flee rather than suffer the same fate.  But if the fear of hanging will not make them surrender, the coffee certainly will.  The black oily liquid is no worthy substitute for tea and will never catch on as a the beverage of choice.  The colonists will soon be begging us for tea, submitting to British rule and all will be right with the world again.  Remember, you read it here first.