Part 4

Some future day shall crown us The masters of the main; Our fleets shall speak in thunder To England, France, and Spain. And nations over ocean spread Shall tremble and obey The sons, the sons, the sons, Of brave America.

Captain Mackintosh sang it, and the hall rang with cheers.

"It is pitiable," said Mr. Rowe, "that the people of England do not understand us better, but what can we expect when a member of Parliament makes a speech like that delivered by Mr. Stanley just before the last ship sailed. Hear it."

Mr. Rowe, taking a candle in one hand and snuffing it with his thumb and finger, read an extract from the speech: "What will become of that insolent town, Boston, when we deprive the inhabitants of the power of sending their molasses to the coast of Africa? The people of that town must be treated as aliens, and the charters of towns in Massachusetts must be changed so as to give the king the appointment of the councilors, and give the sheriffs the sole power of returning juries."

"The ignoramus," continued Mr. Rowe, "does not know that no molasses is made in these Colonies. He confounds this and the other Colonies with Jamaica. One would suppose Lord North would not be quite so bitter, but he said in a recent speech that America must be made to fear the king; that he should go on with the king's plan until we were prostrate at his feet."

"Not much will we get down on our knees to him," said Peter Bushwick. "Since the war with France, to carry on which the Colonies contributed their full share, the throne isn't feared quite as much as it was. Americans are not in the habit of prostrating themselves."

Captain Mackintosh once more broke into a song.

"Come join hand in hand, Americans all; By uniting we stand, dividing we fall. To die we can bear, but to serve we disdain, For shame is to freedom more dreadful than pain. In freedom we're born, in freedom we'll live. Our purses are ready: steady, boys, steady, Not as slaves but as freemen our money we'll give."

The Sons again clapped their hands and resolved that they would drink no more tea. The formal business of the evening being ended, they broke into groups, helped themselves to crackers and cheese, and lighted their pipes.

A young man about Robert's age came and shook hands with him.

"Did I understand correctly that you are Robert Walden from Rumford?" he asked.

"That is my name, and I am from Rumford."

"Then we are cousins; I am Tom Brandon."

"I was intending to call upon you to-morrow."

"You must go with me to-night. Father and mother never would forgive me if I did not take you along, especially when I tell them how you rubbed it into the king's lobsters."

The bells were ringing for nine o'clock--the hour when everybody in Boston made preparations for going to bed. All the Sons of Liberty came and shook hands with Robert.

"It is the most wholesome lesson the villains have had since they landed at Long Wharf," said Doctor Warren, who hoped to have the pleasure of seeing more of Mr. Walden.

"We must rely upon such as you in the struggle which we are yet to have to maintain our liberties," said Mr. Molineux.

Tom Brandon took Robert with him to his home on Copp's Hill. Robert could see by the light of the moon that it was a large wooden house with a hipped roof, surmounted by a balustrade, fronting the burial ground and overlooking the harbor and a wide reach of surrounding country.

"Why, Robert Walden! where did you come from?" Mr. Brandon exclaimed as Tom ushered him into the sitting-room.

"What! stopping at the Green Dragon! Why didn't you come right here, you naughty boy?"

He tinkled a bell and a negro entered the room.

"Mark Antony, go up to the Green Dragon and get this gentleman's trunk. Tell the landlord I sent you. Hold on a moment: it is after nine o'clock, and the watchman may overhaul you and want to know what you are doing. You must have an order."

Mr. Brandon stepped to a writing-desk and wrote an order, receiving which Mark Antony bowed and took his departure.

Mr. Brandon was in the prime of life, hale, hearty, vigorous, a former ship captain, who had been to London many times, also through the Straits of Gibraltar, to Madeira, Jamaica, and round Cape of Good Hope to China. He had seen enough of ocean life and had become a builder of ships. He was accustomed to give orders, manage men, and was quick to act. He had accumulated wealth, and was living in a spacious mansion on the summit of the hill. On calm summer evenings he smoked his pipe upon the platform on the roof of his house, looking through a telescope at vessels making the harbor, reading the signals flying at the masthead, and saying to himself and friends that the approaching vessel was from London or the West Indias.

Robert admired the homelike residence, the paneled wainscoting, the fluted pilasters, elaborately carved mantel, glazed tiles, mahogany centre-table, armchairs, the beautifully carved writing-desk, the pictures on the walls of ships under full sail weathering rocky headlands.

Mrs. Brandon and her daughter Berinthia entered the room. Mrs. Brandon was very fair for a woman in middle life. Berinthia had light blue eyes, cherry ripe lips, and rosy cheeks.

"I have heard father speak of you often, and he is always holding up cousin Rachel as a model for me," said Berinthia, shaking hands with him.

Tom told of what had happened at the town pump.

"The soldiers are a vile set," said Mrs. Brandon.

"They are becoming very insolent, and I fear we shall have trouble with them," said Mr. Brandon.

Mark Antony came with the trunk, and Tom lighted a candle to show Robert to his chamber. Berinthia walked with him to the foot of the stairs.

"Good-night, cousin," she said; "I want to thank you in behalf of all the girls in Boston for throwing that villain into the watering-trough."

IV.

AN EVENING WITH SAM ADAMS.

"How beautiful!" Robert exclaimed, as he beheld the harbor, the town, and the surrounding country from the top of the house the following morning. Berinthia pointed out the localities. At their feet was Copp's Hill burial ground with its rows of headstones and grass-grown mounds. Across the river, northward, was Charlestown village nestling at the foot of Bunker Hill. Ferryboats were crossing the stream. Farther away beyond fields, pastures, and marsh lands were the rocky bluffs of Malden, the wood-crowned heights russet and crimson with the first tinges of autumn. Eastward was the harbor with its wave-washed islands, and the blue ocean sparkling in the sunlight. White sails were fading and vanishing on the far distant horizon. Ships were riding at anchor between the town and castle. Southward were dwellings, stores, shops, and the spires of meetinghouses. Beyond the town were the Roxbury, Dorchester, and Milton hills--fields, pastures, orchards, and farmhouses. Westward rose Beacon Hill, its sunny slopes dotted with houses and gardens; farther away, across Charles River, he could see the steeple of Cambridge meetinghouse and the roof of the college.

"This is Christ Church," said Berinthia, pointing to the nearest steeple. "That beyond is the Old North Meetinghouse where Cotton Mather preached.[18] Of course you have heard of him."

[Footnote 18: Historical writers have made a mistake in speaking of Christ Church as the Old North Meetinghouse. They were distinct edifices--Christ Church standing in Salem Street, the Old North fronting North Square. Christ Church is the historic edifice from whose steeple Robert Newman hung the lantern to give notice of the movement of the king's troops, April, 1775. The Old North was torn down during the siege of Boston.]

Robert replied that the name seemed familiar.

"He was one of the ministers first settled," said Berinthia, "and wrote a curious book, the 'Magnalia.' When he was a boy he picked up Latin so quickly that when twelve years old he was able to enter college, graduating four years later. That stately mansion near the meetinghouse was the home of Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson. A mob smashed the windows in connection with the attempt to enforce the Stamp Act; and it was that which induced the king to send the two regiments of soldiers to Boston. The house adjoining is the home of Lady Agnes Frankland."

She told the romantic story of Lady Frankland's life; how Sir Henry, when a young man, came from England to be the king's collector of customs. One day he went to Marblehead, and while at the tavern saw a girl scrubbing the floor. She was barefooted, but had a beautiful face. He thought that so pretty a girl ought not to go barefooted, and gave her money to buy a pair of shoes. A few weeks passed, and again he saw her barefooted, still scrubbing the floor. She had purchased the shoes, but was keeping them for Sunday. Sir Henry was so pleased with her that he offered to give her an education. A good minister took her into his family and she learned very rapidly. She in return gave him her love, and after leaving school went to live with him. He not only owned the house in town, but a great estate in the country. He kept horses and hounds, and had good wines. After a while he took Agnes to England with him, and from thence to Portugal. He was in Lisbon in 1755, at the time of the great earthquake, and was riding in his carriage when suddenly the earth began to heave and tremble, and houses, churches, all came tumbling down, burying thirty thousand people. Sir Henry's horses and himself and carriage were beneath the bricks and mortar. Agnes was not with him at the moment, but showed her love by running as fast as she could and digging away the bricks with her own hands, finding him badly mangled but alive. He thought he was going to die, and made a vow that if his life was spared Agnes should be his lawfully wedded wife. His wounds healed and he kept his word, making her Lady Frankland. They came once more to Boston, bought the house next to Chief Justice Hutchinson, and lived very happily.

"We will go down to father's shipyard," said Tom, "and you can see the carpenters at work building a ship."

They descended the hill and entered the yard. Robert hardly knew what to think as he listened to the clattering of axes and mallets. Some of the workmen were hewing timber and putting up the ribs of the vessel; others were bolting planks to the ribs. The size of the ship amazed him; it was larger than his father's barn. In a few weeks the hull would be finished, the masts put in, the rigging rove, and then the ship would be launched.

"Father is going to name her for me, and I am to be the figurehead; come to the carver's shop and see me," said Berinthia with sparkling eyes and merry laugh.

They went into a little shop where a good-looking young man, with chisels, gouges, and mallet, was fashioning the bust of a woman. Tom introduced him as Abraham Duncan. Robert noticed a lighting up of Mr. Duncan's eyes as he greeted Berinthia.

"Mr. Duncan is one of us. As for that matter, every man in the yard is a Son of Liberty," Tom said.

"That is me," said Berinthia, pointing to the figurehead. "I am to be perched beneath the bowsprit to look out upon the ocean and see which way the ship ought to go. The waves will wet my hair, and the tears will run down my cheeks when the storms are on. My eyes will behold strange things. I shall see the whales spout and the porpoises play, and poke my nose into foreign parts," she said playfully.

Robert saw that the carver had fashioned the face to look like her. She had been down to the shop several times, that he might study her features. On Saturday evenings after work for the week was over he put on his best coat and called at the Brandon house to look at her as she sat by the fireside with the light from the hearth illumining her face. Although Mr. Duncan usually went to hear Reverend Mr. Checkley preach, he sometimes strayed away to Reverend Doctor Cooper's meetinghouse in Brattle Street, and took a seat where he could see Berinthia's features in repose, as she listened to the sermon. Although the minister was very eloquent, Mr. Duncan was more interested in looking at her than hearing what was said in the pulpit. Robert noticed that she seemed to enjoy talking with the carver, and when he went to the other side of the building to get a portfolio of drawings to show her how the cabin was to be ornamented her eyes followed him.

"Father says Mr. Duncan is a very talented young man, and one of the best artists in town," she said, as they walked back to the house.

After dinner, Robert went to the Green Dragon, obtained a chaise, harnessed Jenny, took in Berinthia, and crossed the ferry to Charlestown, for a ride in the country. They drove along a wide street at the foot of Bunker Hill, and came to a narrow neck of land between Charles River on the south and Mystic River on the north. The tide was flowing in and covering the marsh lands. They gained the summit of Winter Hill, gazed upon the beautiful landscape, then turned southward toward Cambridge. Reaching the college, they entered the library and the room containing the philosophical instruments. Robert rubbed his knife on a magnet so he could pick up a needle by touching it with the blade. They had little time to spare, for they were to take supper with Mr. Samuel Adams. Berinthia informed him that Mr. Adams was not rich, that he was very kind-hearted, and had lost his property through kindness to a friend.

"He lives very plainly," she said as they rode homeward. "We shall find simple fare, but he will give you a hearty shake of the hand. People have faith in him because he is true to his convictions."

It was supper time when they reached Mr. Adams's house.

"I am pleased to see you, and am glad to have an opportunity for a little talk," said Mr. Adams, welcoming them.

"We have very simple fare, only mush and milk, pandowdy,[19] and some Rumford cheese which is very delicious," said Mrs. Adams as she invited them to the supper table. They stood by their chairs while Mr. Adams asked a blessing, then took their seats.

[Footnote 19: Pandowdy was a compote of apples, with several layers of pastry made from rye meal, baked in a deep earthen dish and eaten with milk.]

"We have abolished tea from our table," he said. "I see no better way of thwarting the designs of the king and the ministry to overthrow the liberties of the Colonies than for the people to quit using it."

"Do you think the people will deny themselves for a principle?" Robert asked.

"Yes; I have unbounded faith in the virtue of the American people. I do not know that we naturally are more virtuous than the people of other lands, but the course pursued by England ever since Cromwell's time has been one of oppression. Now tyranny, when exercised towards a free and intelligent people, is a process of education. Away back when Cromwell was administering the affairs of the nation a law was passed, the design of which was to build up the commerce of England. At that time Spain and Holland were great maritime countries. The ships of Spain were bringing gold from Cuba, Mexico, and South America to that country. The ships of Holland were bringing silks and tea from India and China. Those countries were doing pretty much all the carrying on the ocean. Cromwell, one of the greatest and most far-sighted of all England's rulers, determined that England should have her share of the trade. The law which was passed provided that no goods should be imported into that country or exported from it except in English vessels, and the master of every ship and three fourths of the crew must be Englishmen, under penalty of forfeiture of the ship and cargo. The act was passed in 1651. In a very short time the commerce of England was twice what it had been. The law was not designed to work any injury to the Colonies, but for their benefit. The great abundance of timber in America, so much that farmers were slashing down hundreds of acres and burning it, enabled the colonists to build ships very cheaply, and so there was a swinging of axes in all our seaport towns. When Charles II. came to the throne the royalists determined there should be nothing left to remind the people that a Commonwealth had ever existed. All the laws enacted during the period were repealed. Their hatred was so great they could not let Cromwell's bones rest in peace, but dug them up, dragged them through the streets of London, and set his skull on Temple Bar. Well, that did not hurt Cromwell, but it did hurt Charles II. and monarchy. I do not imagine anybody in coming years will erect a statue to the memory of that voluptuous king or hold him in reverence, but the time will come when Oliver Cromwell will be held in grateful remembrance."

Mr. Adams passed his bowl for more pandowdy, and then went on with the conversation.

"The meanness of human nature," he said, "is seen in the action of Parliament immediately after Charles II. came to the throne in repealing every law enacted during the period of the Commonwealth. Having wiped out every statute, what do you suppose Parliament did?"

Robert replied that he had not the remotest idea.

"Well, they reënacted them--put them right back on the statute book. They were good laws, but the Cromwellians had enacted them and they must be expunged; having blotted them out, they must be put back again because they were good laws."

Mr. Adams leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily.

"Now we come to the iniquity of Parliament," he continued. "Under the Commonwealth the Colonies were kindly treated. Cromwell, at one time, together with John Hampden, thought of emigrating to America, but he did not, and by staying in England rendered inestimable service to his fellow-men. The iniquity was this: Parliament enacted a law which made each of these Colonies a distinct country, so far as commerce was concerned. Greed and selfishness prompted the passage of this act, which aimed to make England the distributor of all commerce, not only between the Colonies and other countries, but between this country and England, and, to cap the climax, England was to control the trade between the Colonies; that is, Massachusetts could not trade with New Hampshire, or New York with Connecticut, except by paying tribute to England. The people were no longer Englishmen, with the privileges of Englishmen, but outsiders, foreigners, so far as trade was concerned. If a Dutchman of Amsterdam wanted to find a market here in Boston he could not send his ship across the Atlantic, but only to England, that the goods might be taken across the ocean in an English ship. The merchants here in Boston who had anything to sell in Holland, France, Spain, or anywhere else, could not send it to those countries, but must ship it to England. The fishermen of Gloucester and Marblehead could not ship the codfish they had caught to Spain or Cuba. The people in Catholic countries cannot eat meat on Friday, but may eat fish. Spain and Cuba were good customers, but the fishermen must sell their fish to merchants in London or Bristol, instead of trading directly with the people of those countries. You see, Mr. Walden, that it was a cunningly devised plan to enrich England at our expense."

"It was unrighteous and wicked," Robert exclaimed.

"I do not wonder that it seems so to you, as it must to every one who believes in justice and fair dealing," Mr. Adams continued; "but human nature is apt to be selfish. In 1696 Parliament passed an act establishing the Lords of Trade, giving seven men, selected by the king, authority to control and regulate commerce.[20] The governors of the Colonies were to carry out the provisions of the act, which forbade all traffic between Ireland and the Colonies, and which repealed all the laws enacted by the colonial legislatures relating to trade and manufactures."

[Footnote 20: "The causes which brought about the American Revolution will be found in the acts of the Board of Trade."--JOHN ADAMS.]

"Did not the people protest against such a law?" Robert asked.

"Yes, the Great and General Court sent a protest to London, but they might as well have whistled to the wind."

Mr. Adams turned partly round in his chair and took a paper from his desk.

"This is a copy," he continued, "of the protest. It represents that the people were already much cramped in their liberties and would be fools to consent to have their freedom further abridged. They were not bound to obey those laws, because they had no voice in making them. They stood on their natural rights. It would take many hours to tell you, Mr. Walden, the full story of oppression on the part of Parliament towards the Colonies, or to picture the greed of the merchants and manufacturers of England, who could not then, and who cannot now, bear to think of a spinning-wheel whirling or a shuttle flying anywhere outside of England, or of anybody selling anything unless for the benefit of the men who keep shop in the vicinity of Threadneedle Street or Amen Corner.[21] The course of England in selfishness and greed is like the prayer of the man who said,--

"'O Lord, bless my wife and me, Son John and his she, We four, No more.'"

[Footnote 21: Threadneedle Street and Amen Corner--noted localities in London.]

Robert, Berinthia, and Mrs. Adams laughed heartily. Mr. Adams finished his mush and milk, and while Mrs. Adams was serving the pandowdy he went on:--

"Memory goes back to my boyhood. When I was ten years old or thereabouts, there were no less than sixteen hat makers and possibly more in this one town. I used to pass several of the shops on my way to school. Beavers were plenty on all the streams in New Hampshire and western Massachusetts, and the hatters were doing a thriving business, sending their hats to the West Indies and Holland. One of the merchants sent some to England. The makers of felt hats over there could not tolerate such a transaction. There was a buzzing around the Lords of Trade; a complaint that the felters were being impoverished by the hatters of America. Parliament thereupon passed a law to suppress the manufacture of hats. Here is the law."

Mr. Adams read from the paper:--

"No hats or felts, dyed or undyed, finished or unfinished, shall be put on board any vessel in any place within any British plantations, nor be laden upon any horse or other carriage to the intent to be exported from thence to any other plantation, or to any other place, upon forfeiture thereof, and the offender shall likewise pay five hundred pounds for every such offense. Every person knowing thereof, and willingly aiding therein, shall forfeit forty pounds."

"That is diabolical," said Robert, his blood beginning to boil.

Mr. Adams saw the flush upon his cheek and smiled.

"I see that it stirs you up, as it does every lover of liberty. But I have not given you the full text of the iniquitous act: the law forbade any one from making a hat who had not served as an apprentice seven years, nor could a man employ more than two apprentices. Under that law no hatter up in Portsmouth could paddle across the Piscataqua and sell a hat to his neighbor in Kittery because the hat was made in New Hampshire. The hatter who had a shop in Providence could not carry a hat to his neighbor just over the line in Swansey, one town being in Rhode Island and the other in Massachusetts. The law, you see, was designed to crush out the manufacture of hats. The law applied to almost everything."

"I had no idea that such laws had been passed; they are abominable!" Robert replied with a vigor that brought a smile to Mr. Adams's face, who took a bit of cheese and smacked his lips.

"Every time I taste it I think of you and your father, mother, and sister who made it," he said.