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DAUGHTERS OF THE
REVOLUTION AND
THEIR TIMES
1769-1776
A Historical Romance
BY
CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1896
Copyright, 1895,
BY CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN.
_All rights reserved._
SIXTH THOUSAND.
_The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A._
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton and Company.
[Illustration: ELIZABETH HOOTON WARREN]
INTRODUCTION.
No period in the history of our country surpasses in interest that
immediately preceding and including the beginning of the Revolutionary
War. Many volumes have been written setting forth the patriotism and
heroism of the fathers of the Republic, but the devotion of the
mothers and daughters has received far less attention. _This_ volume
is designed, therefore, to portray in some degree their influence in
the struggle of the Colonies to attain their independence. The
narration of events takes the form of a story--a slight thread of
romance being employed, rather than didactic narrative, to more
vividly picture the scenes and the parts performed by the actors in
the great historic drama. It will not be difficult for the reader to
discern between the facts of history and the imaginative parts of the
story.
Eminent educators have expressed the opinion that history may be more
successfully taught through the medium of fiction than by any other
form of diction. The novels of Sir Walter Scott, notably "Waverley,"
"Ivanhoe," are cited as presenting pictures of the times more
effectively than any purely historic volume. The same may be said of
"Uncle Tom's Cabin," as illustrating the state of affairs in our own
country preceding the War of the Rebellion. It may be questioned
whether any work of fiction in the world's history has been so
far-reaching in its influence as that portrayal of the institution of
slavery by Mrs. Stowe. Believing that the spirit of the times can be
best pictured by the employment of romance, I have adopted that form
of narrative.
The story opens in the fall of 1769. The Stamp Act had been repealed,
and the irritation produced by that act had been allayed. It was a
period of quiet and rest. The colonists still regarded themselves as
Englishmen and loyal to the crown. Information came that His Majesty
George III. was determined to maintain his right to tax the Colonies
by imposing an export duty on tea, to be paid by the exporter, who, in
turn, would charge it to the consumer. The first resistance to that
claim was the agreement of all but six of the merchants of Boston not
to import tea from England, and the agreement of their wives and
daughters not to drink tea so imported. It was a resistance which had
its outcome in the destruction of three cargoes of tea by the historic
"Tea-Party,"--a resistance which became equally effective in the other
Colonies, if less dramatic than in Boston. The determination of the
mothers and daughters to abstain from its use brought about a change
in social life, and was influential in awakening a public sentiment
which had its legitimate outcome in the events at Lexington, Concord,
and Bunker Hill.
There were causes other than the Stamp Act, Writs of Assistance, and
the Tax on Tea, which brought about the Revolution.
"Whoever would comprehend the causes which led to the struggle of the
Colonies for independence," says John Adams, "must study the Acts of
the Board of Trade."
In this volume I have endeavored to briefly present some of those
acts, in the conversation of Sam Adams with Robert Walden, that the
school children of the country may have a comprehension of the
underlying causes which brought about resistance to the tyranny of the
mother country. The injustice of the laws had its legitimate result in
a disregard of moral obligations, so that smuggling was regarded as a
virtuous act.
In no history have I been able to find an account of the tragic death
and dramatic burial of the schoolboy Christopher Snider, given in
chapter VIII. It was the expression of sympathy by the people in
following the body of the murdered boy from the Liberty Tree to the
burial-place that intensified the antagonism between the citizens and
the soldiers of the Fourteenth and Twenty-ninth regiments of the
king's troops, which led, the following week, to the Massacre of March
5, 1770. Bancroft barely mentions the name of Snider; other historians
make no account of the event.
To explain the motives and the play of forces which brought about the
Revolution, I have endeavored to set forth society as it was not only
in Boston but in Parliament and at the Court of George III. Most
historians of the Revolutionary period regard the debt incurred by
Great Britain in the conquest of Canada as the chief cause of the war,
through the attempt of the mother country, subsequently, to obtain
revenue from the Colonies; but a study of the times gives conclusive
evidence that a large portion of the indebtedness was caused by
mismanagement and the venality and corruption of Parliament.
To set forth the extravagance and frivolity of society surrounding
King George, I have employed Lord Upperton and his companion, Mr.
Dapper, as narrators. The student of history by turning to Jessee's
"Life and Times of George III.," Molloy's "Court Life Below Stairs,"
Waldegrave's "Memoirs," Horace Walpole's writings, and many other
volumes, will find ample corroboration of any statement made in this
volume.
The period was characterized by sublime enthusiasm, self-sacrifice,
and devotion, not only by the patriots but by loyalists who
conscientiously adhered to the crown. In our admiration of those who
secured the independence of the Colonies, we have overlooked the
sacrifices and sufferings of the loyalists;--their distress during the
siege of Boston, the agony of the hour when suddenly confronted with
the appalling fact that they must become aliens, exiles, and
wanderers, leaving behind all their possessions and estates,--an hour
when there was a sundering of tender ties, the breaking of hearts.
I have endeavored to make the recital of events strictly conformable
with historic facts by consulting newspapers, documents, almanacs,
diaries, genealogical records, and family histories.
It was my great privilege in boyhood to hear the story of the
battle of Bunker Hill told by three men who participated in the
fight.--Eliakim Walker, who was in the redoubt under Prescott,
Nathaniel Atkinson and David Flanders, who were under Stark, by the
rail fence. They were near neighbors, pensioners of the government,
and found pleasure in rehearsing the events of the Revolutionary War.
My grandfather, Eliphalet Kilburn, was at Winter Hill at the time of
the battle.
It was also my privilege to walk over Bunker Hill with Richard
Frothingham, author of the "Siege of Boston," whose home was on the
spot where Pigot's brigade was cut down by the withering fire from the
redoubt. Mr. Frothingham had conversed with many old pensioners who
were in the redoubt at the time of the battle. In my account of the
engagement I have endeavored to picture it in accordance with the
various narratives.
I hardly need say that Ruth Newville, Berinthia Brandon, and Mary
Shrimpton are typical characters, representing the young women of the
period,--a period in which families were divided, parents adhering to
King George, sons and daughters giving their allegiance to Liberty.
I am under obligations to the proprietors of the "Memorial History of
Boston" for the portrait of Mrs. Joseph Warren. The portrait of
Dorothy Quincy is from that in possession of the Bostonian Society;
that of Mrs. John Adams from her "Life and Letters."
The historic houses are from recent photographs.
I trust the reader will not regard this volume wholly as a romance,
but rather as a presentation of the events, scenes, incidents, and
spirit of the people at the beginning of the Revolution.
CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION iii
I. ROBERT WALDEN GOES TO MARKET 1
II. FIRST DAY IN BOSTON 20
III. THE SONS OF LIBERTY 38
IV. AN EVENING WITH SAM ADAMS 49
V. A GARDEN TEA-PARTY 69
VI. CHRIST CHURCH CHIMES 93
VII. LAUNCHING OF THE BERINTHIA BRANDON 104
VIII. CHRISTOPHER SNIDER 119
IX. THE LOBSTERS AND ROPEMAKERS 130
X. MRS. NEWVILLE'S DINNER-PARTY 149
XI. SOCIETY LIFE IN LONDON 174
XII. A NEW ENGLAND GIRL 188
XIII. THE MOHAWKS AND THEIR TEA-PARTY 203
XIV. BENEVOLENCE AND BROTHERHOOD 221
XV. THE MIDNIGHT RIDE 241
XVI. THE MORNING DRUMBEAT 259
XVII. BEGINNING OF A NEW ERA 266
XVIII. BESIEGED 280
XIX. BUNKER HILL 291
XX. WHEN THE TIDE WAS GOING OUT 305
XXI. THE ESCAPE 320
XXII. BRAVE OF HEART 337
XXIII. SUNDERING OF HEARTSTRINGS 356
XXIV. IN THE OLD HOME 374
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
ELIZABETH HOOTON WARREN _Frontispiece_
OLD BRICK MEETINGHOUSE 16
LATIN SCHOOL 17
GREEN DRAGON TAVERN 18
FANEUIL HALL AND MARKET-PLACE 21
MAP OF BOSTON 23
SAMUEL ADAMS 26
DOCTOR JOSEPH WARREN 40
COPP'S HILL BURIAL GROUND 49
IN THE SHIPYARD 53
MASTER LOVELL 73
ABIGAIL SMITH ADAMS 82
MR. HANCOCK'S HOUSE 83
DOROTHY QUINCY 84
CHRIST CHURCH 94
LAUNCHING THE SHIP 110
LORD NORTH 129
KING'S CHAPEL 135
TOWN HOUSE 143
GEORGE III. 161
QUEEN SOPHIA CHARLOTTE 166
LORD PERCY 232
PAUL REVERE'S HOUSE 253
REVEREND JONAS CLARK'S HOUSE 258
BUCKMAN'S TAVERN 260
JONATHAN HARRINGTON'S HOUSE 264
ROBERT MUNROE'S HOUSE 266
MAP, ROUTE TO LEXINGTON AND CONCORD 267
REVEREND WILLIAM EMERSON'S HOUSE 268
WRIGHT'S TAVERN 270
NORTH BRIDGE 272
MERRIAM'S CORNER 274
MUNROE TAVERN 276
PROVINCE HOUSE 281
WHERE WASHINGTON ASSUMED COMMAND 308
PLANNING THE ESCAPE 324
WASHINGTON'S HEADQUARTERS 334
THE DINNER-PARTY 381
HOME OF THE EXILES 384
DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION.
I.
ROBERT WALDEN GOES TO MARKET.
Joshua Walden, of Rumford, Province of New Hampshire, was receiving
letters from Samuel Adams and Doctor Joseph Warren in relation to the
course pursued by King George III. and his ministers in collecting
revenue from the Colonies. Mr. Walden had fought the French and
Indians at Ticonderoga and Crown Point in the war with France. The gun
and powder-horn which he carried under Captain John Stark were hanging
over the door in his kitchen. His farm was on the banks of the
Merrimac. The stately forest trees had fallen beneath the sturdy blows
of his axe, and the sun was shining on intervale and upland, meadow
and pasture which he had cleared. His neighbors said he was getting
forehanded. Several times during the year he made a journey to Boston
with his cheeses, beef, pigs, turkeys, geese, chickens, a barrel
of apple-sauce, bags filled with wool, together with webs of
linsey-woolsey spun and woven by his wife and daughter. He never
failed to have a talk with Mr. Adams and Doctor Warren, John Hancock,
and others foremost in resisting the aggressions of the mother
country upon the rights and liberties of the Colonies. When at home he
was up early in the morning, building the fire, feeding the cattle,
and milking the cows. Mrs. Walden, the while, was stirring the corn
meal for a johnny-cake, putting the potatoes in the ashes, placing the
Dutch oven on the coals, hanging the pots and kettles on the hooks and
trammels.
Robert, their only son, twenty years old, would be glad to take
another nap after being called by his father, but felt it would not be
manly for one who had mowed all the hired men out of their swaths in
the hayfield, and who had put the best wrestler in Rumford on his
back, to lie in bed and let his father do all the chores, with the
cows lowing to get to the pasture. With a spring he was on his feet
and slipping on his clothes. He was soon on his way to the barn,
drumming on the tin pail and whistling as he walked to the milking.
The cows turned into pasture, he rubbed down the mare Jenny and the
colt Paul, fed the pigs, washed his face and hands, and was ready for
breakfast.
It would not have been like Rachel Walden, the only daughter, eighteen
years old, to lie in bed and let her mother do all the work about the
house. She came from her chamber with tripping steps, as if it were a
pleasure to be wide awake after a good sleep. She fed the chickens,
set the table, raked the potatoes from the ashes, drew a mug of cider
for her father. When breakfast was ready, they stood by their chairs
while Mr. Walden asked a blessing. The meal finished, he read a
chapter in the Bible and offered prayer. When the "Amen" was said,
Mr. Walden and Robert put on their hats and went about their work.
Mrs. Walden passed upstairs to throw the shuttle of the loom. Rachel
washed the dishes, wheyed the curd, and prepared it for the press,
turned the cheeses and rubbed them with fat. That done, she set the
kitchen to rights, made the beds, sprinkled clean sand upon the floor,
wet the web of linen bleaching on the grass in the orchard, then
slipped upstairs and set the spinning-wheel to humming. His neighbors
said that Mr. Walden was thrifty and could afford to wear a broadcloth
blue coat with bright brass buttons on grand occasions, and that Mrs.
Walden was warranted in having a satin gown.
Haying was over. The rye was reaped, the wheat and oats were
harvested, and the flax was pulled. September had come,--the time
when Mr. Walden usually went to Boston with the cheese.
"Father," said Rachel at dinner, "I wish you would take the cheeses to
market. It is hard work to turn so many every day."
Mr. Walden sat in silence awhile. "Robert," he said at length, "how
would you like to try your hand at truck and dicker?"
"If you think I can do it I will try," Robert replied, surprised at
the question, yet gratified.
"Of course you can do it. You can figure up how much a cheese that
tips the steelyard at twenty pounds and three ounces will come to at
three pence ha'penny per pound. You know, or you ought to know, the
difference between a pistareen and a smooth-faced shilling. When you
truck and dicker, you've got to remember that the other feller is
doing it all the time, while you will be as green as a pumpkin in
August. When you are tasting 'lasses, you must run a stick into the
bung-hole of the barrel clear down to the bottom and then lift it up
and see if it is thick or thin. T'other feller will want you to taste
it at the spiggot, where it will be almost sugar. When you are
selecting dried codfish, look sharp and not let him give you all damp
ones from the bottom of the pile, neither the little scrimped ones
from the top. Of course you will get cheated, but you have got to
begin knocking about some time. You're old enough to have your eye
teeth cut. You can put Jenny up at the Green Dragon and visit Cousin
Jedidiah Brandon on Copp's Hill, see the ships he is building, visit
with Tom and Berinthia. Tom, I guess, is going to be a chip of the old
block, and Berinthia is a nice girl. Take your good clothes along in
your trunk, so after you get through handling the cheese you can dress
like a gentleman. I want you to pick out the best cheese of the lot
and give it to Samuel Adams, also another to Doctor Warren, with my
compliments. You can say to Mr. Adams I would like any information he
can give about what is going on in London relative to taxing the
Colonies. He is very kind, and possibly may ask you to call upon him
of an evening, for he is very busy during the day. Doctor Warren is
one of the kindest-hearted men in the world, and chuck full of
patriotism. He will give a hearty shake to your hand.
"You had better mouse round the market awhile before trading. John
Hancock bought my last load. His store is close by Faneuil Hall. He is
rich, inherited his property from his uncle. He lives in style in a
stone house on Beacon Hill. He is liberal with his money, and is one
of the few rich men in Boston who take sides with the people against
the aggressions of King George and his ministers. Mr. Adams begins to
be gray, but Warren and Hancock are both young men. They are doing
grand things in maintaining the rights of the Colonies. I want you to
make their acquaintance. By seeing and talking with such men you will
be worth more to yourself and everybody else. Your going to market and
meeting such gentlemen will be as good as several months of school.
You'll see more people than you ever saw on the muster-field; ships
from foreign lands will be moored in the harbor. You'll see houses by
the thousand, meetinghouses with tall steeples, and will hear the
bells ring at five o'clock in the morning, getting-up time, at noon
for dinner, and at nine in the evening, bed-time. Two regiments of
redcoats are there. The latest news is that they are getting sassy. I
can believe it. At Ticonderoga and Crown Point they used to put on
airs, and call the Provincials "string-beans," "polly-pods," "slam
bangs." They turned up their noses at our buckskin breeches, but when
it came to fighting we showed 'em what stuff we were made of. Don't
let 'em pick a quarrel, but don't take any sass from 'em. Do right by
everybody."
"I will try to do right," Robert replied.
The sun was rising the next morning when Robert gathered up the reins
and stood ready to step into the wagon which had been loaded for the
market.
"You have three dozen new milk cheeses," said Rachel, "and two and one
half dozen of four meal. I have marked the four meals with a cross in
the centre, so you'll know them from the new milk. There are sixteen
greened with sage. They look real pretty. I have put in half a dozen
skims; somebody may want 'em for toasting."
"You will find," said Mrs. Walden, "a web of linsey-woolsey in your
trunk with your best clothes, and a dozen skeins of wool yarn. It is
lamb's wool. I've doubled and twisted it, and I don't believe the
women will find in all Boston anything softer or nicer for stockings."
"I have put up six quarts of caraway seed," said Rachel. "I guess the
bakers will want it to put into gingerbread. And I have packed ten
dozen eggs in oats, in a basket. They are all fresh. You can use the
oats to bait Jenny with on your way home."
"There are two bushels of beans," said Mr. Walden, "in that bag,--the
one-hundred-and-one kind,--and a bushel and three pecks of clover seed
in the other bag. You can get a barrel of 'lasses, half a quintal of
codfish, half a barrel of mackerel, and a bag of Turk's Island salt."
"Don't forget," said Mrs. Walden, "that we want some pepper, spice,
cinnamon, nutmegs, cloves, and some of the very best Maccaboy snuff.
Oh, let me see! I want a new foot-stove. Our old one is all banged up,
and I am ashamed to be seen filling it at noon in winter in Deacon
Stonegood's kitchen, with all the women looking on, and theirs spick
and span new."
"Father and mother have told me what they want, and now what shall I
get for you, Rachel?" Robert asked of his sister.
"Anything you please, Rob," Rachel replied with such tender love in
her eyes that he had half a mind to kiss her. But kissing was not
common in Rumford or anywhere else in New England. Never had he seen
his father give his mother such a token of affection. He had a dim
recollection that his mother sometimes kissed him when he was a little
fellow in frock and trousers, sitting in her lap. He never had kissed
Rachel, but he would now, and gave her a hearty smack. He saw an
unusual brightness in her eyes and a richer bloom upon her cheek as he
stepped into the wagon.
"I'll get something nice for her," he said to himself as he rode away.
Besides the other articles in the wagon, there was a bag of wool,
sheared from his own flock. Years before his father had given him a
cosset lamb, and now he was the owner of a dozen sheep. Yes, he would
get something for her.
The morning air was fresh and pure. He whistled a tune and watched the
wild pigeons flying in great flocks here and there, and the red-winged
blackbirds sweeping past him from their roosting in the alders along
the meadow brook to the stubble field where the wheat had been
harvested. Gray squirrels were barking in the woods, and their cousins
the reds, less shy, were scurrying along the fence rails and up the
chestnut-trees to send the prickly burrs to the ground. The first
tinge of autumn was on the elms and maples. Jenny had been to market
so many times she could be trusted to take the right road, and he
could lie upon his sack of wool and enjoy the changing landscape.
Mrs. Stark was blowing the horn for dinner at John Stark's tavern in
Derryfield when Jenny came to a standstill by the stable door.[1]
Robert put her in the stall, washed his face and hands in the basin on
the bench by the bar-room door, and was ready for dinner. Captain
Stark shook hands with him. Robert beheld a tall, broad-shouldered
man, with a high forehead, bright blue eyes, and pleasant countenance,
but with lines in his cheek indicating that he could be very firm and
resolute. This was he under whom his father served at Ticonderoga and
Crown Point.
[Footnote 1: John Stark, tavern-keeper in Derryfield, was the renowned
Indian fighter and captain of the corps of Rifle Rangers in the war
with France. (See Biography by Jared Sparks.) The tavern is still
standing in the suburbs of the city of Manchester, N. H.]
"So you are the son of Josh Walden, eh? Well, you have your father's
eyes, nose, and mouth. If you have got the grit he had at Ti, I'll bet
on you."
Many times Robert had heard his father tell the story of the Rifle
Rangers, the service they performed, the hardships they endured, and
the bravery and coolness of John Stark in battle.
Through the afternoon the mare trotted on, halting at sunset at Jacob
Abbott's stable in Andover.
It was noon the next day when Robert reached Cambridge. He had heard
about Harvard College; now he saw the buildings. The students were
having a game of football after dinner. The houses along the streets
were larger than any he had ever seen before,--stately mansions with
porticoes, pillars, pilasters, carved cornices, and verandas. The
gardens were still bright with the flowers of autumn. Reaching
Roxbury, he came across a man slowly making his way along the road
with a cane.
"Let me give you a lift, sir," Robert said.
"Thank you. I have been down with the rheumatiz, and can't skip round
quite as lively as I could once," said the man as he climbed into the
wagon. "'Spect you are from the country and on your way to market,
eh?"
Robert replied that he was from New Hampshire.
"Ever been this way before?"
"No, this is my first trip."
"Well, then, perhaps I can p'int out some things that may interest
ye."
Robert thanked him.
"This little strip of land we are on is the 'Neck.' This water on our
left is Charles River,--this on our right is Gallows Bay. Ye see that
thing out there, don't ye?"
The man pointed with his cane. "Well, that's the gallows, where
pirates and murderers are hung. Lots of 'em have been swung off there,
with thousands of people looking to see 'em have their necks
stretched. 'Tain't a pretty sight, though."
The man took a chew of tobacco, and renewed the conversation.
"My name is Peter Bushwick, and yours may be--?"
"Robert Walden."
"Thank ye, Mr. Walden. So ye took the road through Cambridge instead
of Charlestown."
"I let Jenny pick the road. That through Charlestown would have been
nearer, but I should have to cross the ferry. My father usually comes
this way."[2]
[Footnote 2: No bridge from Charlestown had been constructed across
Charles Rivers (1769), and the only avenue leading into Boston was
from Roxbury.]
"Mighty fine mare, Mr. Walden; ye can see she's a knowing critter.
She's got the right kind of an ear; she knows what she's about."
They were at the narrowest part of the peninsula, and Mr. Bushwick
told about the barricade built by the first settlers at that point to
protect the town from the Indians, and pointed to a large elm-tree
which they could see quite a distance ahead.
"That is the Liberty Tree,"[3] he said.
[Footnote 3: The elm-tree stood at the junction of Orange and Essex
streets and Frog Lane, now Washington, Essex and Boylston streets. In
1766, upon the repeal of the Stamp Act, a large copper plate was
nailed upon the tree with the following inscription: "This tree was
planted in the year 1646 and pruned by the Order of the Sons of
Liberty February 14, 1766." Other trees stood near it, furnishing a
grateful shade. The locality before 1767 was known as Hanover Square,
but after the repeal of the Stamp Act, as Liberty Hall. In August,
1767, a flagstaff was raised above its branches; the hoisting of a
flag upon the staff was a signal for the assembling of the Sons of
Liberty.]
"Why do you call it the Liberty Tree?"
"Because it is where the Sons of Liberty meet. It is a mighty fine
tree, and, as near as we can make out, is more than one hundred years
old. We hang the Pope there on Guy Fawkes' day, and traitors to
liberty on other days."
"I have heard you have jolly good times on Gunpowder Plot days."
"You may believe we do. You would have laughed if you'd been here
Gunpowder day seven years ago this coming November, when the Pope,
Admiral Byng, Nancy Dawson,[4] and the Devil, all were found hanging
on the old elm."
[Footnote 4: Nancy Dawson, when a little girl, was employed in setting
up skittles for players in High Street, Mary-le-bone, London. She was
agile, graceful, and had an attractive figure. She first appeared as a
dancer at Sadler's Wells theatre, where she soon attracted much
attention, and in a short time became a great favorite. A rhymster
wrote a song for her which was introduced (1764) into the play, "Love
in a Valley." It was also arranged as a hornpipe for the harpsichord
and sung by young ladies throughout England. Children sang it in the
play, "Here we go round the Mulberry bush." The popularity of Nancy
Dawson was at its height in 1769.]
"I don't think I ever heard about Admiral Byng and Nancy Dawson."
"Well, then, I must tell ye. Byng didn't fight the French and
Spaniards at Minorca, but sailed away and sort o' showed the white
feather, and so was court-martialed and shot on his own ship."
"What did Nancy do?"
"Oh, Nancy never did anything except kick up her heels; she's the best
dancer in London, so they say. We haven't any theatre in this 'ere
town, and don't have much dancing. We have the Thursday lecture
instead."
Robert wondered whether the allusion to the lecture was said soberly
or in sarcasm.
"In London they go wild over dancing. Maybe I might sing a song about
her if ye would like to hear it."
"I would like very much to hear it."
Mr. Bushwick took the quid of tobacco from his mouth, cleared his
throat, and sang,--
"'Of all the girls in our town,
The black, the fair, the red, the brown,
That dance and prance it up and down,
There's none like Nancy Dawson.
"'Her easy mien, her shape, so neat,
She foots, she trips, she looks so sweet,
Her every motion so complete,--
There's none like Nancy Dawson.
"'See how she comes to give surprise,
With joy and pleasure in her eyes;
To give delight she always tries,--
There's none like Nancy Dawson.'"
"That's a good song," said Robert. Mr. Bushwick put the quid once more
in his mouth, and went on with the story.
"On that night a great crowd gathered around the tree; the boys who go
to Master Lovell's school came with an old knocked-kneed horse and a
rickety wagon with a platform in it. They fixed the effigies on the
platform with cords and pulleys, so that the arms and legs would be
lifted when the boys under it pulled the strings. We lighted our
torches and formed in procession. The fifers played the Rogue's March,
and the bellman went ahead singing a song.
"'Don't you remember
The fifth of November--
The gunpowder treason plot?
I see no reason
Why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.
"'From the city of Rome
The Pope has come
Amid ten thousand fears,
With fiery serpents to be seen
At eyes, nose, mouth, and ears.
"'Don't you hear my little bell
Go chinking, chinking, chink?
Please give me a little money
To buy my Pope a drink.'
"The streets were filled with people, who tossed pennies into the
bellman's hat. Everybody laughed to see the Pope lifting his hands and
working his under jaw as if preaching, Byng rolling his goggle eyes,
Nancy kicking with both legs, and the Devil wriggling his tail. We
marched awhile, then put the Pope and the devil into the stocks, Nancy
in the pillory, tied Byng to the whipping-post and gave him a
flogging, then kindled a bonfire in King Street, pitched the effigies
into it, and went into the Tun and Bacchus, Bunch of Grapes, and
Admiral Vernon, and drank flip, egg-nogg, punch, and black strap."[5]
[Footnote 5: Black strap was composed of rum and molasses, and was
often drunk by those who could not afford more expensive beverages.]
Mr. Bushwick chuckled merrily, and took a fresh quid of tobacco.
Robert also laughed at the vivacious description.
"But I don't quite see why it should be called the Liberty Tree,"
Robert said.
"I was coming to that. You know that Lord Bute brought forward the
Stamp Act a few years ago: well, this old elm being so near the White
Lamb and the White Horse, it was a convenient place for the citizens
to meet to talk about the proposition to tax us. One evening Ben Edes,
who publishes the 'Gazette and News-Letter,' read what Ike Barre said
in Parliament in opposition to the Stamp Act, in which he called us
Americans Sons of Liberty, and as that was our meeting-place, we
christened the place Liberty Hall and the old elm Liberty Tree. That
was in July, 1765, just after Parliament passed the Stamp Act. The
king had appointed Andrew Oliver stamp-master, and one morning his
effigy was dangling from the tree, and a paper pinned to it writ
large:--
"'Fair Freedom's glorious Cause I've meanly quitted
For the sake of pelf;
But ah, the Devil has me outwitted;
Instead of hanging others,
I've hanged myself.'
"Then there was a figure of a great boot, with the Devil peeping out
of it, to represent the king's minister, Lord Bute. When night came,
all hands of us formed in procession, laid the effigies on a bier,
marched to the Province House so that the villain, Governor Bernard,
could see us, went to Mackerel Lane, tore down the building Oliver was
intending to use for the sale of the stamps, went to Fort Hill, ripped
the boards from his barn, smashed in his front door, and burned the
effigies to let him know we never would consent to be taxed in that
way. A few days later Oliver came to the tree, held up his hand, and
swore a solemn oath that he never would sell any stamps, so help him
God! And he never did, for ye see King George had to back down and
repeal the bill. It was the next May when Shubael Coffin, master of
the brigantine Harrison, brought the news. We set all the bells to
ringing, fired cannon, and tossed up our hats. The rich people opened
their purses and paid the debts of everybody in jail. We hung
lanterns on the tree in the evening, set off rockets, and kindled
bonfires. John Hancock kept open house, with ladies and gentlemen
feasting in his parlors, and pipes of wine on tap in the front yard
for everybody."
"It must have been a joyful day," said Robert.
"That's what it was. Everybody was generous. Last year when the day
came round a lot of us gathered under the old tree to celebrate it.
Sam Adams was there, James Otis, Doctor Warren, John Hancock, and ever
so many more. We fired salutes, sang songs, and drank fourteen toasts.
That was at ten o'clock. Just before noon we rode out to the Greyhound
Tavern in Roxbury in carriages and chaises, and had a dinner of fish,
roast pig, sirloin, goose, chickens and all the trimmings, topping off
with plum-pudding and apple-pie, sang Dickenson's Liberty Song, drank
thirty more toasts, forty-four in all, filling our glasses with port,
madeira, egg-nogg, flip, punch, and brandy. Some of us, of course,
were rather jolly, but we got home all right," said Mr. Bushwick,
laughing.
"You mean that some of you were a little weak in the legs," said
Robert.
"Yes, and that the streets were rather crooked," Mr. Bushwick replied,
laughing once more.
They were abreast of the tree, and Robert reined in Jenny while he
admired its beautiful proportions.
"I think I must leave you at this point; my house is down here, on Cow
Lane,[6] not far from the house of Sam Adams. I'm ever so much obliged
to you for the lift ye've given me," said Mr. Bushwick as he shook
hands with Robert.
[Footnote 6: Cow Lane is the present High Street.]
"I thank you for the information you have given me," Robert replied.
[Illustration: OLD BRICK MEETINGHOUSE]
Jenny walked on, past the White Horse Inn and the Lamb Tavern. A
little farther, and he beheld the Province House, a building with a
cupola surmounted by a spire. The weather-vane was an Indian with bow
and arrow. The king's arms, carved and gilded, were upon the balcony
above the doorway. Chestnut trees shaded the green plot of ground
between the building and the street. A soldier with his musket on his
shoulder was standing guard. Upon the other side of the way, a few
steps farther, was a meetinghouse; he thought it must be the Old
South. His father had informed him he would see a brick building with
an apothecary's sign on the corner just beyond the Old South, and
there it was.[7] Also, the Cromwell's Head Tavern on a cross street,
and a schoolhouse, which he concluded must be Master Lovell's Latin
School. He suddenly found Jenny quickening her pace, and understood
the meaning when she plunged her nose into a watering trough by the
town pump. While she was drinking Robert was startled by a bell
tolling almost over his head; upon looking up he beheld the dial of a
clock and remembered his father had said it was on the Old Brick
Meetinghouse; that the building nearly opposite was the Town House.[8]
He saw two cannon in the street and a soldier keeping guard before
the door. Negro servants were filling their pails at the pump, and
kindly pumped water for the mare. Looking down King Street toward the
water, he saw the stocks and pillory, the Custom House, and in the
distance the masts and yard-arms of ships. Up Queen Street he could
see the jail.
[Footnote 7: The building known as the Old Corner Bookstore, at the
junction of School and Washington streets. The Cromwell's Head Tavern
was No. 19 School Street.]
[Footnote 8: The old brick meetinghouse of the First Church occupied
the site of the present Rogers Building, nearly opposite the Old State
House.]
[Illustration: Latin School.]
The mare, having finished drinking, jogged on. He saw on the left-hand
side of the street the shop of Paul Revere, goldsmith.[9] The thought
came that possibly he might find something there that would be nice
and pretty for Rachel.
[Footnote 9: The shop of Paul Revere stood on Cornhill, now No. 169
Washington Street.]
Jenny, knowing she was nearing the end of her journey, trotted through
Union Street, stopping at last in front of a building where an iron
rod projected from the wall, supporting a green dragon with wings,
open jaws, teeth, and a tongue shaped like a dart.[10] The red-faced
landlord was standing in the doorway.
[Footnote 10: The Green Dragon Tavern stood in Green Dragon Lane, now
Union street. The lane in 1769 terminated at the mill-pond, a few rods
from the tavern. In front it showed two stories, but had three stories
and a basement in the rear. The hall was in the second story. The sign
was of sheet copper, hanging from an iron rod projecting from the
building. The rooms were named Devonshire, Somerset, Norfolk,
respectively, for the shires of Old England. The building was about
one hundred years old, and was occupied, 1695, by Alexander Smith as a
tavern. The estate at one time was owned by Lieut.-Governor William
Stoughton, who was acting governor and took a prominent part in
persecuting those accused of witchcraft. He was a man of large wealth,
and devised a portion of his property to Harvard College, Stoughton
Hall being named for him.]
[Illustration: Green Dragon Tavern.]
"Well Jenny, old girl, how do you do?" he said, addressing the mare.
"So it is the son and not the father? I hope you are well. And how's
your dad?"
Robert replied that his father was well.
"Here, Joe; put this mare in the stable, and give her a good rubbing
down. She's as nice a piece as ever went on four legs."
The hostler took the reins and Robert stepped from the wagon.
"Pete Augustus, take this gentleman's trunk up to Devonshire. It will
be your room, Mr. Walden."
Robert followed the negro upstairs, and discovered that each room had
its distinctive name. He could have carried the trunk, but as he was
to be a gentleman, it would not be dignified were he to shoulder it.
He knew he must be in the market early in the morning, and went to bed
soon after supper. He might have gone at once to Copp's Hill, assured
of a hearty welcome in the Brandon home, but preferred to make the
Green Dragon his abiding-place till through with the business that
brought him to Boston.
II.
FIRST DAY IN BOSTON.
Farmers from the towns around Boston were already in the market-place
around Faneuil Hall the next morning when Robert drove down from the
Green Dragon.[11] Those who had quarters of beef and lamb for sale
were cutting the meat upon heavy oaken tables. Fishermen were bringing
baskets filled with mackerel and cod from their boats moored in the
dock. An old man was pushing a wheelbarrow before him filled with
lobsters. Housewives followed by negro servants were purchasing meats
and vegetables, holding eggs to the light to see if they were fresh,
tasting pats of butter, handling chickens, and haggling with the
farmers about the prices of what they had to sell.
[Footnote 11: The market was held in the open space around Faneuil
Hall, in which were rails where the farmers from the surrounding towns
hitched their horses. It was bounded on one side by the dock where the
fishermen moored their boats.]
The town-crier was jingling his bell and shouting that Thomas Russell
at the auction room on Queen Street would sell a great variety of
plain and spotted, lilac, scarlet, strawberry-colored, and yellow
paduasoys, bellandine silks, sateens, galloons, ferrets, grograms, and
harratines at half past ten o'clock.
Robert tied Jenny to the hitching-rail, and walked amid the hucksters
to see what they had to sell; by observation he could ascertain the
state of the market, and govern himself accordingly. After
interviewing the hucksters he entered a store.
"No, I don't want any cheese," said the first on whom he called.
[Illustration: Faneuil Hall.]
"The market is glutted," replied the second.
"If it were a little later in the season I would talk with you," was
the answer of the third.
"I've got more on hand now than I know what to do with," said the
fourth.
Robert began to think he might have to take them back to Rumford. He
saw a sign, "John Hancock, Successor to Thomas Hancock," and
remembered that his father had traded there, and that John Hancock
was associated with Sam Adams and Doctor Warren in resisting the
aggressions of the king's ministers. Mr. Hancock was not in the store,
but would soon be there. The clerk said he would look at what Robert
had to sell, put on his hat, stepped to the wagon, stood upon the
thills, held a cheese to his nose, pressed it with his thumb, tapped
it with a gimlet, tasted it, and smacked his lips.
"Your mother makes good cheese," he said.
"My sister made them."
"Your sister, eh. Older than yourself?"
"No, younger; only seventeen."
"Indeed! Well, you may tell her she is a dabster at cheese-making. Do
you want cash? If you do I'm afeard we shall not be able to trade,
because cash is cash these days; but if you are willing to barter I
guess we can dicker, for Mr. Hancock is going to freight a ship to the
West Indias and wants something to send in her, and it strikes me the
sugar planters at Porto Rico might like a bit of cheese," the clerk
said.
"I shall want some sugar, coffee, molasses, codfish, and other
things."
"I'll give you the market price for all your cheeses, and make fair
rates on what you want from us."
"I can't let you have all. I must reserve two of the best."
"May I ask why you withhold two?"
"Because my father wishes to present one to Mr. Samuel Adams and the
other to Doctor Joseph Warren, who are doing so much to preserve the
rights of the Colonies."
[Illustration: BONNER'S Map of Boston for 1722.]
"Your father's name is"--
"Joshua Walden," said Robert.
"Oh yes, I remember him well. He was down here last winter and I
bought his load. He had a barrel of apple-sauce, and Mr. Hancock
liked it so well he took it for his own table. There is Mr. Hancock,
now," said the clerk, as a chaise drove up and halted before the door.
Robert saw a tall young man, wearing a saffron colored velvet coat,
ruffled shirt, buff satin breeches, black silk stockings, and shining
shoe-buckles, step in a dignified manner from the chaise and hand the
reins to a gray-headed negro, who lifted his hat as he took them.
"Good-morning, Mr. Ledger," he said to the clerk.
"Good-morning," the clerk replied, lifting his hat.
"Well, how is the Mary Jane getting on? Have you found anything in the
market on which we can turn a penny? I want to get her off as soon as
possible."
"I was just having a talk with this young gentleman about his cheeses.
This is Mr. Walden from Rumford. You perhaps may remember his father,
with whom we traded last year."
"Oh yes, I remember Mr. Joshua Walden. I hope your father is well. I
have not forgotten his earnestness in all matters relating to the
welfare of the Colonies. Nor have I forgotten that barrel of
apple-sauce he brought to market, and I want to make a bargain for
another barrel just like it. All my guests pronounced it superb. Step
into the store, Mr. Walden, and, Mr. Ledger, a bottle of madeira, if
you please."
The clerk stepped down cellar and returned with a bottle of wine, took
from a cupboard a salver and glasses and filled them.
"Shall we have the pleasure of drinking the health of your father?"
said Mr. Hancock, courteously touching his glass to Robert's. "Please
give him my compliments and say to him that we expect New Hampshire to
stand shoulder to shoulder with Massachusetts in the cause of
liberty."
Mr. Hancock drank his wine slowly. Robert saw that he stood erect, and
remembered he was captain of a military company--the Cadets.
"Will you allow me to take a glass with you for your own health?" he
said, refilling the glasses and bowing with dignity and again slowly
drinking.
"Mr. Ledger, you will please do what you can to accommodate Mr. Walden
in the way of trade. You are right in thinking the planters of Jamaica
will like some cheese from our New England dairies, and you may as
well unload them at the dock; it will save rehandling them. We must
have Mary Jane scudding away as soon as possible."
Mr. Hancock bowed once more and sat down to his writing-desk.
Robert drove his wagon alongside the ship and unloaded the cheeses,
then called at the stores around Faneuil Hall to find a market for the
yarn and cloth and his wool. Few were ready to pay him money, but at
last all was sold.
"Can you direct me to the house of Mr. Samuel Adams?" he asked of the
town crier.
"Oh yes, you go through Mackerel Lane[12] to Cow Lane and through that
to Purchase Street, and you will see an orchard with apple and pear
trees and a big house with stairs outside leading up to a platform on
the roof; that's the house. Do you know Sam?"
[Footnote 12: Mackerel Lane is the present Kilby Street.]
"No, I never have seen Mr. Adams."
[Illustration: Samuel Adams.]
"Well, if you run across a tall, good-looking man between forty-five
and fifty, with blue eyes, who wears a red cloak and cocked hat, and
who looks as if he wasn't afeard of the king, the devil, or any of his
imps, that is Maltster Sam. We call him Maltster Sam because he once
made malt for a living, but didn't live by it because it didn't pay.
He's a master hand in town meetings. He made it red-hot for Bernard,
and he'll make it hotter for Sammy Hutchinson if he don't mind his
p's and q's. Sam is a buster, now, I tell you."
Robert drove through Cow Lane and came to the house. He rapped at the
front door, which was opened by a tall man, with a pleasant but
resolute countenance, whose clothes were plain and getting threadbare.
His hair was beginning to be gray about the temples, and he wore a
gray tie wig.
"This is Mr. Adams, is it not?" Robert asked.
"That is my name; what can I do for you?"
"I am Robert Walden from Rumford. I think you know my father."
"Yes, indeed. Please walk in. Son of my friend Joshua Walden? I am
glad to see you," said Mr. Adams with a hearty shake of the hand.
"I have brought you a cheese which my father wishes you to accept with
his compliments."
"That is just like him; he always brings us something. Please say to
him that Mrs. Adams and myself greatly appreciate his kind remembrance
of us."
A tall lady with a comely countenance was descending the hall stairs.
"Wife, this is Mr. Walden, son of our old friend; just see what he has
brought us."
Robert lifted his hat and was recognized by a gracious courtesy.
"How good everybody is to us. The ravens fed Elijah, but I don't
believe they brought cheese to him. We shall be reminded of your
kindness every time we sit down to a meal," said Mrs. Adams.
Robert thought he never had seen a smile more gracious than that upon
her pale, careworn countenance.[13] He noticed that everything about
the room was plain, but neat and tidy. Upon a shelf were the Bible,
Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, and a volume of Reverend Mr. South's
sermons. Robert remembered his father said Mrs. Adams was the daughter
of Reverend Mr. Checkley, minister of the New South Meetinghouse, and
that Mr. Adams went to meeting there. Upon the table were law books,
pamphlets, papers, letters, and newspapers. He saw that some of the
letters bore the London postmark. He remembered his father said Mr.
Adams had not much money; that he was so dead in earnest in
maintaining the rights of the people he had little time to attend to
his own affairs.
[Footnote 13: Mrs. Adams was the daughter of Reverend Samuel Checkley,
pastor of the New South Church, which stood on Church Green at the
junction of Summer and Bedford streets. She was a woman of much
refinement and intelligence, and greatly beloved.]
"Will you be in town through the week and over the Sabbath?" Mr. Adams
asked.
Robert replied that he intended to visit his relatives, Mr. and Mrs.
Brandon, on Copp's Hill.
"Oh yes, my friend the shipbuilder--a very worthy gentleman, and his
wife an estimable lady. They have an energetic and noble daughter and
a promising son. I have an engagement to-night, another to-morrow, but
shall be at home to-morrow evening, and I would like to have you and
your young friends take supper with us. I will tell you something that
your father would like to know."
Robert thanked him, and took his departure. Thinking that Doctor
Warren probably would be visiting his patients at that hour of the
day, he drove to the Green Dragon, and put Jenny in her stall, and
after dinner made his way to the goldsmith's shop to find a present
for Rachel.
Mr. Paul Revere, who had gold beads, brooches, silver spoons, shoe and
knee buckles, clocks, and a great variety of articles for sale, was
sitting on a bench engraving a copper plate. He laid down his
graving-tool and came to the counter. Robert saw he had a benevolent
face; that he was hale and hearty.
"I would like to look at what you have that is pretty for a girl of
eighteen," said Robert.
Mr. Revere smiled as if he understood that the young man before him
wanted something that would delight his sweetheart.
"I want it for my sister," Robert added.
Mr. Revere smiled again as he took a bag filled with gold beads from
the showcase.
"I think you cannot find anything prettier for your sister than a
string of beads," he said. "Women and girls like them better than
anything else. They are always in fashion. You will not make any
mistake, I am sure, in selecting them."
He held up several strings to the light, that Robert might see how
beautiful they were.
"I would like to look at your brooches."
While the goldsmith was taking them from the showcase, he glanced at
the pictures on the walls, printed from plates which Mr. Revere had
engraved.
The brooches were beautiful--ruby, onyx, sapphire, emerald, but after
examining them he turned once more to the beads.
"They are eighteen carats fine, and will not grow dim with use. I
think your sister will be delighted with them."
Robert thought so too, and felt a glow of pleasure when they were
packed in soft paper and transferred from the case to his pocket.