THE SONS OF LIBERTY

“Is it far to Doctor Warren’s house?” Robert asked of the landlord after supper.

“Oh no, only a few steps around the corner on Hanover Street.  So you are going to call on him, just as your father always does.  You will find him a nice gentleman.  He is kind to the poor, charging little or nothing when they are sick and need doctoring.  He isn’t quite thirty years old, but there isn’t a doctor in town that has a larger practice.  He is a true patriot.  I heard a man say the other day that if Joe Warren would only let politics alone he would soon be riding in his own coach.  The rich Tories don’t like him much.  They say it was he who gave Governor Bernard such a scorching in Ben Edes’s newspaper awhile ago.  He is eloquent when he gets fired up.  You ought to hear him in town meeting; you won’t find him stuck up one mite; you can talk with him just as you do with me.”

With the cheese under his arm Robert walked along Hanover Street to Doctor Warren’s house.  It was a wooden building standing end to the road.  Entering a small yard, he rattled the knocker on the door.  The doctor opened it.

     “Good sense and modesty with virtue crowned;
     A sober mind when fortune smiled or frowned. 
     So keen a feeling for a friend distressed,
     She could not bear to see a man oppressed.”]

“Good-evening; will you walk in?” he said.  It was a pleasant, cheery voice, one to make a sick person feel well.

“Please step into the office.”

Robert entered a room smelling of rhubarb, jalap, ipecac, and other medicines in bottles and packages on the shelves.

Sincere and hearty were the thanks of Doctor Warren for the present.

“I want Mrs. Warren to make your acquaintance,” he said.

A beautiful woman entered and gave Robert a cordial greeting.

“It is very kind of you to bring us such a gift.  It is not the first time your father has made us happy,” she said.  “We must find some way, husband, to let Mr. Walden know we appreciate his kindness.”

“That is so, wife.”

“We live so far away,” said Robert, “we do not know what is going on.  Father wishes me especially to learn the latest news from London in regard to the proposed tax on tea, and what the Colonies are going to do about it.”

“That is a very important matter,” the doctor replied, “and we are to have a meeting of the Sons of Liberty this evening to consider what shall be done in case the bill now before Parliament becomes a law, as I have no doubt it will.  I shall be pleased to have you go with me.  Of course our meetings are somewhat secret.  We do not care to have any mousing Tory know just what we intend to do.  You will have a hearty welcome from the boys.  It is only a few steps from here, at the Green Dragon.”

“That is where I am stopping,” Robert replied.

“You can say to your father,” the doctor continued, “that the redcoats are becoming very insolent, and we fear there will be trouble.”

Robert said nothing about his experience at the town pump.

“Tommy Hutchinson,” the doctor went on, “is acting governor.  He is not the hyena Bernard was.  Hutchinson was born here.  He is a gentleman, but loves office.  I would not do him any injustice, but being in office he naturally sides with the ministry.  He does not see which way the people are going.  King George believes that he himself is chosen of God to rule us, and Lord North is ready to back him up.  The people around the king are sycophants who are looking after their own personal advantage.  The ministers know very little about affairs in the Colonies.  They are misled by Bernard and others.  They are determined to raise revenue from the Colonies, but will be disappointed.  But we will go round to the Green Dragon.”

They reached the tavern.  Doctor Warren nodded to the landlord, and led the way up the stairs along the hall and gave four raps on a door.  One of the panels swung open.  A man on the other side said something which Robert could not understand, neither could he make out what the doctor said in reply.  The panel closed, the door opened, and they passed into a large room dimly lighted by two tallow candles.  A dozen or more young men were seated in chairs around a table smoking their pipes.  At one end of the table was a large punch-bowl, a basket filled with lemons, a bottle of rum, a plate of crackers, and half a cheese.  One young man was slicing lemons and making rum punch.  All clapped their hands when they saw Doctor Warren.

“I have brought a young friend; he is from New Hampshire and as true as steel,” said the doctor.

“Boys,” said Amos Lincoln, “this is the gentleman I was telling you about; let’s give him three cheers.”

The room rang.  Robert did not know what to make of it; neither did Doctor Warren till Amos Lincoln told how he had seen Mr. Walden at the town pump, knocking down one lobster, throwing another into the watering-trough, and calmly confronting the prig of a lieutenant.  When Amos finished, all came and shook hands with Robert.

Mr. John Rowe called the meeting to order.

“Since our last meeting,” he said, “a ship has arrived bringing the news that the king and ministers are determined to levy an export duty of three pence per pound on tea:  that is, all tea exported from England will be taxed to that extent.  Of course, we could pay it if we chose, but we shall not so choose.”

The company clapped their hands.

“We have sent round papers for the merchants to sign an agreement that they will not sell any tea imported from England.  All have signed it except Hutchinson’s two sons, Governor Bernard’s son-in-law, Theophilus Lillie, and two others.  The agreement does not prevent the merchants from selling tea imported from Holland.  The Tories, of course, will patronize the merchants who have not signed the agreement, and the question for us to consider is how we shall keep out the tea to be imported by the East India Company.”

“We must make it hot for ’em,” said Mr. Mackintosh.

“The tea, do you mean?” shouted several.

There was a ripple of laughter.

“I don’t see but that we shall have to quit drinking tea,” said Doctor Warren.  “We drink altogether too much.  It has become a dissipation.  We drink it morning, noon, and night.  Some of the old ladies of my acquaintance keep the teapot on the coals pretty much all the time.  Our wives meet in the afternoon to sip tea and talk gossip.  The girls getting ready to be married invite their mates to quiltings and serve them with Old Hyson.  We have garden tea-parties on bright afternoons in summer and evening parties in winter.  So much tea, such frequent use of an infusion of the herb, upsets our nerves, impairs healthful digestion, and brings on sleeplessness.  I have several patients-­old ladies, and those in middle life-­whose nerves are so unstrung that I am obliged to dose them with opium occasionally, to enable them to sleep.”

“Do you think we can induce the ladies to quit drinking it?” Mr. Molineux asked.

“I am quite sure Mrs. Warren will cheerfully give it up, as will Mrs. Molineux if her husband should set the example,” Doctor Warren replied.

Mr. Molineux said he was ready to banish the teapot from his table.

“I believe,” continued the doctor, “that the women of America will be ready to give up the gratification of their appetites to maintain a great principle.  They will sacrifice all personal considerations to secure the rights of the Colonies.  Parliament proposes to tax this country without our having a voice in the matter.  It is a seductive and insidious proposition-­this export duty.  I suppose they think we are simpletons, and will be caught in the trap they are setting.  They think we are so fond of tea we shall continue to purchase it, but the time has come when we must let them know there is nothing so precious to us as our rights and liberties; that we can be resolute in little as well as in great things.  I dare say that some of you, like myself, have invitations to Mrs. Newville’s garden party to-morrow afternoon.  I expect to attend, but it will be the last tea-party for me, if the bill before Parliament becomes a law.  Mrs. Newville is an estimable lady, a hospitable hostess; having accepted an invitation to be present, it would be discourteous for me to inform her I could not drink a cup of tea from her hand, but I have made up my mind henceforth to stand resolutely for maintaining the principle underlying it all,-­a great fundamental, political principle,-­our freedom.”

The room rang with applause.

“Sometimes, as some of you know, I try my hand at verse-making.  I will read a few lines.”

     Free America.

     That seat of Science, Athens,
       And earth’s proud mistress, Rome: 
     Where now are all their glories? 
       We scarce can find their tomb. 
     Then guard your rights, Americans,
       Nor stoop to lawless sway;
     Oppose, oppose, oppose,
       For North America.

     We led fair Freedom hither,
       And lo, the desert smiled,
     A paradise of pleasure
       Was opened in the wild. 
     Your harvest, bold Americans,
       No power shall snatch away. 
     Huzza, huzza, huzza,
       For free America.

     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.”