Part 13

It was a summer night. The air was fragrant with the perfume of lilacs and apple-blooms. The young moon was going down in the west, throwing its departing beams upon the unfinished tower of King's Chapel. Ruth, looking out from her white-curtained window, beheld a handful of cloud drift across the crescent orb and dissolve in thin air. She could hear the footsteps of passers along the street growing fainter as they receded. The bell on the Old Brick Meetinghouse struck the hour, and then, in the distance, she heard the watchman's voice, "Ten o'clock, and all is well." With perturbed spirit, she laid her head upon the white linen pillow which her own deft hands had made. So Lord Upperton was to solicit her heart and hand, and she had consented to meet him. What should she say to him? Why should he, having an acquaintance with the noble families of England, come across the sea and offer his attentions to an obscure New England girl, and desire to make her mistress at Halford Castle? Ought she not to feel flattered in having a noble lord for a lover? The thought did not stir her blood. Why was she averse to receiving his attentions? What was there about him that made the thought repellent? Was he not a gentleman? Was he not polite? Did he not show proper respect not only to herself but to everybody? Why not make an effort to overcome her repugnance to him? Would any other girl in Boston or anywhere else hesitate a moment over such an opportunity as had come to her to be called My Lady,--to be mistress of a ducal castle,--a position of power and influence among the lords and ladies of the kingdom? To have diamonds and pearls? To have precedence over others of lower station in social life? Questions came in troops before her; vain her attempts to answer them.

Again the deep tones of the bell rang upon the still night air, and once more she heard the watchman's voice announce the hour. For a moment it interrupted her reverie, but again the questioning went on. Her father and mother not only had given their consent for Lord Upperton to make proposal, but they earnestly desired she should become his wife. She could understand the motives that animated them. She was her father's idol, her mother's joy--very dear to them. Were they not ever doing what they could for her? Would not her marriage to Lord Upperton contribute to their happiness? Might not her father, through Lord Upperton's influence at court, attain a more exalted position? Would not her marriage fill her mother's life with happiness? Would it be an exhibition of filial duty were she to disappoint them? And yet, what right had they to make a decision for her when her own life's happiness was concerned? Was she not her own? Had she not a right to do as she pleased? Ought she to sacrifice herself to their selfish interests? She did not like to think it was wholly selfishness on their part, but rather an earnest desire to provide for her future welfare. Ought she not to abide their judgment as to what was best for her? Could she ever be happy with Lord Upperton? Could she find pleasure in fine dressing, card playing, and masquerading as he had described them? What would such a life be worth? Were position in society, pleasure, gratification of self, to be the end and aim of life? There seemed to be another somebody beside herself propounding the questions; as if an unseen visitor were standing by her bedside in the silent night. Was she awake or dreaming? She had heard the great lawyer, James Otis, put questions to a witness in a court where her father in his judicial robe sat as magistrate. It seemed as if she herself had been summoned to a tribunal, and one more searching than the great lawyer was putting questions which she must answer. Should she give her hand to Lord Upperton and keep back her heart? Ought she to allow prospective pleasure or position to influence her choice? Could she in any way barter her future welfare for the present life and for the larger life beyond? Was Lord Upperton of such lofty character that she could render him honor and respect, even if she could not give to him a loving heart?

In the half-dreaming hour another face looked down upon her--the face of him, who, in a time of agony, had been as an angel of God, rescuing her from the hands of ruffians. Oh, if it were he who solicited permission to pay his addresses, how would she lean her head upon his bosom and rest contentedly clasped forever by those strong and loving arms! Through the intervening months his face had been ever present. She lived again the hour of their first meeting, that of the afternoon tea-party, the launching of the Berinthia Brandon, the ride in the pung. She had received several letters from him, which were laid carefully away in her writing-desk. Many times had they been read and with increasing pleasure. He had not declared his undying love for her; the declaration was unwritten, but it was between the lines. He wanted to be more than he was, and she could help him. He wanted to do something for justice, truth, and liberty; to stand resolutely with those who were ready to make sacrifices for their fellow-men. What a sentence was this: "I want to be better than I am; I want to do something to make the world better than it is; and you are pointing the way."

Ever as she read the words her eyes had filled with tears. She pointing the way! Those words in one end of the scale, and Halford Castle and everything connected with it in the other, and the writing tipped the beam.

The night was sultry; her pulses bounding; her brow hot with fever. She sat by the window to breathe the pure air. The stars were shining in their ethereal brightness; the dipper was wheeling around the polar star; the great white river, the milky way, was illumining the arch of heaven. She thought of Him who created the gleaming worlds. Beneath her window the fireflies were lighting their lamps, and living their little lives. She could hear the swallows crooning in their nests beneath the eaves.

"He made them; He cares for them; He will care for me," she said to herself. The night air cooled her brow, a holy peace and calm came to her troubled heart. Kneeling, she repeated as her prayer the psalm which the rector had read on Sunday.

"He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High Shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge, and my strength. My God, in Him will I trust."

In white garments, without adornment, Ruth Newville courtesied to Lord Upperton the following evening as he entered the parlor. Never before had she seemed to him, or to her father and mother, so beautiful, so sweet, and pure.

"Miss Newville," he said, "I take it for granted that you have been duly informed of the purpose of my visit this evening."

"I have, my lord."

"I come to offer you my hand and heart. I have been charmed by your qualities of character and your beauty, and I fain would make you mistress of Halford Castle. I am soon to return to England, and I desire to take you with me as my bride. I have received the gracious permission of your honored parents to begin my suit, and I fondly hope that I may receive an affirmative answer from your lips."

"My lord, I am not insensible of the honor you confer upon me, but I am not worthy of it. I am an obscure girl. I am not fitted to fill the exalted station in which you desire to place me."

"Pardon me, Miss Newville, I have met many a fair maiden, but none so charming as the flower which I desire to transplant from the Colonies to old England. My best judgment has selected you from them all."

"My lord, I appreciate your kind words, and what you would give me--your honor, respect, and love, and an exalted social position. I have heard from your lips somewhat concerning the life you would expect me to lead,--the society in which you would have me move. I trust you will pardon my frankness, but it does not attract me."

"I can quite understand you, dear Miss Newville; it is natural that you should shrink from such a change, but I am sure you would adorn the position."

"More than what I have said, my lord, I do not think I should be happy in such a position."

"Oh, I think you would. Certainly, it would be my desire to place before you every advantage that could contribute to your welfare and happiness. The nobility of the realm would follow in your train. You would captivate them with your grace and beauty. No party, rout, or ball would be complete without you. I am sure that her most gracious majesty the queen would desire your presence at court to grace her receptions."

"You flatter me, my lord, but I do not think that fine dressing, the adornment of pearls and diamonds, promenading, dancing, card playing, and masquerading would give me the highest happiness. I think that life has a nobler meaning. I should despise myself if I made them the end and aim of my existence."

Lord Upperton could not quite comprehend her. He was aware that across the sea many a mamma was laying her plans to make her daughter mistress of Halford, and the daughters had looked at him with languishing eyes, but here was a girl, guileless and pure, who was putting aside the great boon he would gladly bestow upon her. He must set before her the greatness of the gift. He described his estate--its parks, meadows, groves of oak, the herds of deer, flocks of pheasants; the rooms of the castle, the baronial hall, with antlers nailed upon the beams and rafters, banners that had been carried by ancestors at Crécy and Agincourt. He pictured life in London, scenes in Parliament, the queen's drawing-rooms, the pageantry and etiquette at St. James's. Miss Newville heard him in silence.

"Whatever there is to be had, whatever will contribute to your happiness, I shall lay at your feet, dear Miss Newville."

What should she say to him? How inform him that all the pageantry of King George's court, all the wealth inherited from his ancestors, was of little account in her esteem when set against eternal verities, and one of those verities was fidelity to the conviction that she must be true to herself.

"My lord," she said, "you may think me unappreciative; you may regard me as strange, but I must be true to myself. I cannot do violence to my better nature. I cannot barter my convictions. I could honor and respect you, but something more would be your due; that I could not give you. I could not make you happy, and I should forever despise myself."

It was spoken clearly, distinctly, but with a tremor of voice and a flush upon her cheek that heightened her beauty. Lord Upperton sat in silence, pondering her words. It was dawning upon him that a girl of the Colonies had rejected his suit. He had come to her with his castle, his ancestry, his title, his position as a peer of the realm, but she had put them all aside. Not with them could he win his suit. Instead of accepting what he had to give, she stood calm, serene, beautiful, radiant, and pure, upon a height so far above him that he never could stand by her side. The silence was embarrassing.

"Miss Newville," he said, rising and standing before her, "your answer is painful to me. I had anticipated the winning of your hand and heart. It had not occurred to me that I should fail. I appreciate what you have said. A loftier ideal of the nobleness of true womanhood has come to me. My honor, respect, and love for you are deeper than ever, but I see that what I desired cannot be. I bid you farewell."

She courtesied to his bow, and extended her hand. He touched it to his lips, and passed from the room.

Her head was pressing her pillow once more. The bell struck the midnight hour. Once more she heard the watchman's voice.

"Twelve o'clock, and all is well."

"Yes, all is well," she said,--and her sleep for the night was calm and peaceful.

XIII.

THE MOHAWKS AND THEIR TEA-PARTY.

On the evening of October 29, 1773, the Sons of Liberty again assembled at the Green Dragon. A ship had dropped anchor during the day off Castle William, bringing the news that Parliament had passed a law taxing tea. Ever watchful for the welfare of the people, they came together to hear what the London newspapers and their friends in England had to say about it, in letters which Samuel Adams had received. The night being cool, the landlord lighted a fire to warm the room, and enable those who might like a mug of flip to heat the loggerhead in the glowing coals. Upon the table, as usual, were the punch-bowl, crackers, cheese, tobacco, and pipes. Mr. Adams seated himself by the table and opened a letter.

"It is from Mr. Benjamin Franklin," he said, "who writes that Parliament has passed a law levying three pence per pound on tea. It is not to be collected here, as on other articles, but the merchant who ships it is to pay the duty. It is a very adroit attempt to collect revenue. The consignees in the Colonies, of course, will add the amount in their sales, and so the revenue will be collected without any agency on the part of the Custom Houses."

"I suppose," said Doctor Warren, "Lord North and the whole British nation think we are such simpletons, we shall not see the cat in the meal."

"It is an insidious act," Mr. Adams resumed, "intended to undermine the political virtue of the people. Two years ago our wives and daughters exhibited their allegiance to lofty principles by signing an agreement not to drink tea until the obnoxious laws then existing were repealed. Lord North laughed at the time, but he has discovered that the people of the Colonies can be loyal to a great principle. The East India Company's receipts have fallen off at the rate of five hundred thousand pounds value per annum. The company has seventeen million pounds of tea stored in London, intended for the Colonies, and for which there is no market. It owes the government a vast sum. The merchants who have grown rich out of their profits in the past are not receiving any dividends. The shares of the company, which a few months ago were quoted at high rates, have become unsalable. Parliament has repealed the obnoxious laws for taxing the Colonies, and passed this act, doubtless thinking that, so long as we do not pay it directly into the Custom House, we shall acquiesce and go to drinking tea again. And there is where the danger lies. We have been so true to our convictions the revenue received from its sale last year in all the Colonies was only fifteen hundred pounds. It is very humiliating to the king and ministry to turn to the other side of the ledger and find that it has cost several hundred thousand pounds to maintain the troops sent to the Colonies to aid in enforcing the revenue laws upon a reluctant people. This new act, by having all the customs machinery in England, will have a tendency to seduce the people from their allegiance to a great principle. How to thwart the plans of the ministry is the all-important question for us to consider. Mr. Franklin writes that several vessels are soon to leave London for different colonial ports--three of them for Boston."

"There is an old song," said Doctor Warren, "about a crafty old spider inviting a silly little fly into his parlor. I don't believe the fly will accept the invitation this time."

"The consignees," said Mr. Adams, "are Elisha and Thomas Hutchinson, the governor's two sons; Richard Clark and sons, Benjamin Faneuil, Junior, and Joshua Winslow,--all honorable merchants; but their sympathies, as we know, are not with the people. If we allow the tea to be landed, I fear the consequences. We must not permit the levying of a tax, without our consent, in any form."

"I move," said John Rowe, "that we do not permit the landing of any tea."

The meeting voted to adopt the motion. The formal business ended, they refilled their pipes, helped themselves to crackers and cheese, punch and flip.

* * * * *

Berinthia Brandon, the following week, could not understand why Tom wanted Dinah to make him a pot of paste; nor why he was out so late at night,--not getting home till three o'clock in the morning. None of the watchmen, going their rounds, saw anybody pasting handbills on the walls of the houses, but everybody saw the bills in the morning.

TO THE FREEMEN OF THIS AND NEIGHBORING TOWNS.

GENTLEMEN,--You are desired to meet at Liberty Tree, this day at twelve o'clock noon, then and there to hear the persons to whom the tea shipped by the East India Company is consigned make a public resignation of their office on oath as consignees; and also swear that they will reship any tea that may be consigned to them by said company, by the first vessel sailing for London.

O. C. _Secretary._

BOSTON, NOV. 3, 1773.

_Show us the man that dare take this down!!!!!_

Early in the morning the town crier was jingling his bell and calling upon the people to be at the Liberty Tree at the appointed hour. Samuel Adams, John Hancock, Doctor Warren, and William Molineux were there, and a great crowd. The consignees were assembled in Richard Clark's store. The people voted to choose a committee to inform them that, if they did not resign or pledge themselves not to land the tea, they would be regarded as the enemies of their country. William Molineux, Doctor Warren, and six others were chosen.

A great crowd accompanied the committee. Governor Hutchinson, looking out upon them from the window of the council chamber, saw that they were the foremost men of Boston. The consignees were in Richard Clark's store, and the door was locked.

"From whom are you a committee," asked Clark, opening a window.

"From the whole people."

"I shall have nothing to do with you."

"Then you will be regarded as an enemy of your country," replied Molineux.

"Out with them!" cried somebody.

"Hold on. Don't let us make fools of ourselves," said Tom Brandon.

There was a murmuring in the crowd.

"In the king's name, I command you to disperse," said the sheriff, stepping forward.

It was not he, however, but Doctor Warren, who, by a wave of his hand, stilled the people, and persuaded them to depart.

On Sunday morning, November 29, Tom Brandon, looking with the telescope, saw a ship at Nantasket, and knew by the signals that it was the Dartmouth, Captain Hall. When meeting was over at noon, he called upon Doctor Warren and found him writing a circular to be sent to the surrounding towns, asking the people to assemble on Monday morning in Faneuil Hall. Tom took the writing to the printing office of Edes & Gill in Queen Street, and a printer quickly put it in type. On Monday morning the people of Boston, Charlestown, Cambridge, and all surrounding towns were reading it.

FRIENDS! COUNTRYMEN! BROTHERS!

The worst of plagues, the detested tea, shipped for this port by the East India Company, has arrived. The hour of destruction or manly opposition to the machinations of tyranny stares you in the face. Every friend to his country, to himself, and posterity is now called upon to meet at Faneuil Hall at nine o'clock this day, at which time the bells will ring, to make a united resistance to this last, worst, and most destructive measure of administration!

BOSTON, NOV. 30, 1773.

The bells rang. The people surged into Faneuil Hall. There was a crowd in the square around the building,--so many people that they adjourned to the Old South Meetinghouse, where they voted that the tea must go back to England, and that twenty-five men should keep watch day and night, to prevent its being landed. The meeting adjourned till Tuesday morning to hear what the consignees would do.

Through the night Abraham Duncan and the other watchmen patrolled the wharves. The Dartmouth had sailed up the harbor and was riding at anchor.

A great crowd filled the meetinghouse at nine o'clock Tuesday. The moderator read a letter from Richard Clark and the other consignees, who said they could not send the tea back, but would put it in their stores till they could hear from the East India Company.

"No! no! no!" shouted the people, who were more than ever determined that it should not be landed.

Tom saw the sheriff, with his sword by his side, as the emblem of authority, enter the meetinghouse, with a paper in his hand.

"It is from his excellency, the governor," said the sheriff, bowing to the moderator.

"We don't want to hear it," shouted the people.

"We are assembled in orderly town meeting. I think we had better hear what the governor has to communicate," said Samuel Adams, and the great audience became silent. Tom's blood began to boil as the sheriff read:--

"You are openly violating, defying, and setting at nought the good and wholesome laws of the Province under which you live. I warn you, exhort, and require each of you, thus unlawfully assembled, forthwith to disperse, and to surcease all further unlawful proceedings at your utmost peril."

Tom, and all around him hissed.

"We won't disperse till we've done our business," shouted a man in the centre of the house.

"We will attend to our affairs, and Tommy Hutchinson may mind his own business," cried another.

"Let us hear from Mr. Rotch," the shout.

Mr. Rotch, a young merchant, wearing a broad-brimmed hat, and who owned the Dartmouth, rose.

"I am willing the tea should go back without being landed," he said.

The people clapped their hands.

"Hall! Hall! Let us hear from Captain Hall," they cried.

The captain of the Dartmouth, sunburned by exposure, said it made no difference to him. He would just as soon carry the tea back as anything else. Once more the people decided the tea should not be brought on shore. To prevent its being landed it was voted that the watch should be maintained; that if the attempt was made by day, the meetinghouse bells would ring, if by night, they were to toll.

A few days later, the Beaver, commanded by Captain Coffin, and the Elenor, commanded by Captain Bruce, arrived. Tom, once more looking down the harbor, saw the warship Kingfisher drop down below the Castle and anchor in the channel; also the Active. He understood the meaning of the movement--that the governor did not intend the ships should depart with the tea on board. He knew things would soon come to a head, for under the law, unless a vessel discharged its cargo within twenty days after arriving in port, the ship and cargo would be confiscated. Once more the people assembled, electing Thomas Savage moderator, and passing a vote directing Mr. Rotch to ask the collector to clear the Dartmouth for London.

Rain was falling, and the wind east, rolling the waves into the harbor, on the morning of December 16. Unmindful of the storm, people from Boston and all the surrounding towns were gathering in the Old South Meetinghouse. Little did the farthest sighted among them comprehend that the fullness of time had come for the opening of a mighty drama; that the bell up in the tower was heralding the beginning of a new era in human government.

Tom and Abraham found seats in the gallery. After prayer, Samuel Adams said the committee appointed at a previous meeting had called upon the collector, with Mr. Rotch, asking him to clear the Dartmouth, but the request was not granted.

"We all know," he continued, "that the twenty days will expire at twelve o'clock to-night. After that hour the Dartmouth will be moored under the guns of Admiral Montague's warships, and will be taken possession of by a party of marines. I therefore move that Mr. Rotch be directed to enter his protest at the Custom House, and that he be further directed by this meeting to apply to Governor Hutchinson for a permit that shall allow the Dartmouth to pass the Castle and sail for London."

"All in favor of that motion will say aye," said the moderator.

"Aye!" thundered the floor, galleries, aisles, and pulpit stairs.

"All opposed will say no."