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.
[Illustration: Copp's Hill Burial Ground.]
"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.
[Illustration: In the Shipyard.]
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 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.[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.
"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."[22]
[Footnote 22: The leaching of ashes and manufacture of potash was a
large industry during the Colonial period. In some sections of the
country the article was known as "black salts." There was one or more
potashery in every town.]
"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,[23] near the Common--a large brick building with the
figure of a woman holding a distaff."
[Footnote 23: Long Acre extended from School Street to the Common, and
was sometimes called Common Street, now a section of Tremont Street.]
"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.