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. Of course you have heard of him.”

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, 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.

“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 reenacted 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. 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.”

“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. 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.’”

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.

“I hope to see them sometime,” said Mrs. Adams.

“I am not quite through with the iniquity,” continued Mr. Adams.  “About forty years ago-­it was in 1737, I think-­Parliament passed what is called the Sugar Act, which imposed a duty on sugar and molasses, if imported from any of the West India Islands other than those owned by Great Britain.  Cuba, as you know, is a dependency of Spain and St. Domingo of France.  The sugar plantations of Jamaica and Guinea are owned by Englishmen, and the law was passed to compel the Colonies to trade solely with the Jamaica planters.  The Great and General Court protested that the act was a violation of the rights of the Colonies, but no notice was taken of the protest-­it was thrown into the basket for waste paper.  Since the time of Charles II. not less than twenty-nine acts have been passed, which, in one way or another, restrict trade and invade the rights of the Colonies.  I suppose, Mr. Walden, you leach the ashes, which you scrape up from your fireplace?”

“Oh yes,” Robert replied; “not only what we take from the hearth in the kitchen, but when we have a burning of a ten-acre lot, as we had a few weeks ago, we scoop up several cart-loads of ashes which we leach, and boil the lye to potash."

“And what do you do with the potash?”

“We shall probably bring it to Boston and sell it to Mr. Hancock or some other merchant.”

“Oh no, you can’t do that legally, because you live in New Hampshire, and the law prohibits trade of that sort between the Colonies.  You can take the potash to Portsmouth, and if there is an English vessel in the Piscataqua you can send it to England and have it shipped back to Boston; but it must be in an English ship, not in one owned by my good friend John Langdon, merchant in Portsmouth, who is ready to stand resolutely against all oppression; or you may pay the Custom House officer what it will cost to transport it to England and back to Boston, and he will give you permission to ship it direct to Boston.  That is the law; but it has been inoperative for several reasons-­one, because it could not be enforced, and another, because Great Britain has been compelled to rely upon the Colonies to aid in driving the French from Canada.  That has been accomplished, and now King George, who is not remarkably intelligent, but pig-headed, and his short-sighted ministers are determined to carry out measures, not only to obtain revenue from the Colonies, but to repress manufactures here for the benefit of the manufactures of England.  Thanks to our spinning-school, a stimulus has been given to our home manufactures which will enable us to spin and weave a goodly amount of plain cloth.  Perhaps, Mr. Walden, you may have noticed the spinning-school building in Long Acre, near the Common-­a large brick building with the figure of a woman holding a distaff.”

“Yes, I saw it yesterday, and wondered what it might mean.”

“Well, quite a number of years ago, the Great and General Court passed a law for the encouragement of spinning, levying a tax on carriages and other luxuries for the establishment of the school.  Its opening was celebrated on the Common.  About one hundred women and girls came with their spinning-wheels and set them to humming beneath the trees.  The court gave prizes for the best work.  At present we buy our broadcloths and velvets in England, but the time will come when we shall make them this side of the Atlantic.”

“The spinning-wheel and loom are going in our house from morning till night,” Robert said.

“I am glad to hear it; the road to independence of the mother country lies in that direction.  Industry will bring it about by and by, but I apprehend that other repressive and tyrannical measures will be passed.  These arbitrary acts of Parliament have had one lamentable result, they have made the people of the Colonies a community of smugglers.  I am pained to say that we are losing all correct sense of moral obligation in matters pertaining to the government.  No one thinks it disreputable to smuggle goods into the country because everybody feels that the laws are unjust.  The ministry undertook to enforce the laws against smuggling not long since, by issuing Writs of Assistance, as they were called.  That attempt was more unjust than any of the laws that had been passed regulating trade.  It gave the Custom House officers authority to enter not only stores, but private dwellings, break open chests, boxes, and closets in search of smuggled goods.  Now if there is anything that Englishmen prize, it is the liberty secured by Magna Charta.  Every man’s house is his castle.  Writs of Assistance violated the fundamental principle of English liberty.  Our great lawyer, Mr. James Otis, has immortalized his name by his masterly oration in opposition to the measure.  The writs have not prevented smuggling; on the contrary, it is regarded as almost a virtue and a duty to circumvent a government which enacts unrighteous laws.  For instance, a little more than a year ago, John Hancock’s sloop, Liberty, arrived from Madeira with a cargo of wine.  The Custom House officer went on board.  He was followed by half a dozen seaman belonging to one of Hancock’s other vessels, who locked the officer into the cabin, unloaded the vessel, all except a few pipes of wine, and carted the cargo away.  The next morning the captain of the vessel made oath that half a dozen casks was all the wine he had to deliver for payment of duty.  The collector, Mr. Harrison, and the comptroller, Mr. Hallowell, resolved to seize the Liberty.  Admiral Montague sent a company of marines, who took possession of the sloop and anchored her under the guns of the Romney.  That incensed the people, who smashed in the windows of the office, seized the collector’s boat, carried it to the Common, and burned it.  The revenue officers, fearing for their safety, fled to the Castle, where they remained till the troops arrived last October.  Tyranny begets resistance on the part of the people.”

“What is to be the outcome of all this?” Robert asked.

“I do not know,” Mr. Adams replied thoughtfully, “just what will come of it, but of one thing I am sure, the people of America never will be slaves.  At present, we have an insolent soldiery walking our streets, challenging and provoking the people.  We are treated as if under military law.  The quiet of the Sabbath is broken by the rattling of drums and the shrill notes of the fife.  The soldiers become intoxicated, and are ready to pick a quarrel with the town’s-people.  No lady can appear on the street unaccompanied by a gentleman without danger of being insulted.  I expect that collisions will occur between the troops and people, and that sooner or later blood will be shed.  You can say to your father that I have just received a letter from Colonel George Washington of Virginia, who took command of the troops after the wounding of General Braddock in the battle near Fort Du Quesne.  He agrees with me that there must be united action on the part of the Colonies, and that we shall be warranted in using arms if we cannot secure our liberties in any other way.  Of course, we shall not bring every one to stand up for the rights and liberties of the Colonies.  Those who in any way are connected with the crown-­the Custom House officials and their friends who are in receipt of salaries and perquisites-­will support whatever measures the ministry may propose.  Then there are many gentlemen who naturally will maintain their allegiance to the king, who think that an existing government, no matter how unjust and tyrannical it may be, stands for law and order, and that to resist it in any way leads to revolution.  Some of my old-time friends are siding with the ministry.  They think we ought not to complain of so small a matter as paying a tax of three pence per pound on tea.  They lose sight of the great principle that taxation in any form without representation in Parliament is tyranny.  We might willingly consent to pay it had we a voice in making it, but we will not consent to be taxed without such a voice.  I am pleased, Mr. Walden, to have had this little conversation with you.  I rely upon the young men of the country to stand resolutely for what is just and right, and I am equally sure,” he said, turning to Berinthia, “that the young women will give all their influence to sustain the young men.  Mrs. Adams is just as ready as I am to quit drinking tea, because by so doing she manifests her fealty to a great principle; if the mothers are ready to make sacrifices, I am sure the daughters will be equally ready.”

The conversation of Mr. Adams was very attractive, he was so earnest, sincere, and truthful.  Gladly would Robert have listened through the evening, but he reflected that such a man must have many letters to write, and he must not trespass upon his time.

“I am glad to have made your acquaintance, Mr. Walden; you must always come and see me when you are in town.  I am sure you will do what you can to stir up the young men of Rumford to resist the aggressions of the king and his ministers.  That there are lively times before us I do not doubt, but we shall maintain our liberties, cost what it may,” he said, accompanying them to the door and bidding them good-by.

“I am invited to a garden tea-party to-morrow afternoon,” said Berinthia, as they walked home.  “Isn’t it curious that while Mr. Adams wants us girls to leave off drinking tea for the sake of a great principle, I want you for my escort to the tea-party.  It will be a grand affair and you will have a chance to see the best people of the town.”

“I am at your service, and will do the best I can,” Robert replied.