Read an Excerpt

We Were There At the Bostan Tea Party

Dover Publications, Inc.

A Ship Is Sighted

Jeremy Winthrop was lying flat on his back, half asleep, half awake, all comfortable. His sister Deliverance was seated about two feet back of his sandy-haired head. She plucked a dried milkweed stalk, leaned over, and brushed it across his nose.

"Stop that, Del!"

"Fine ship watcher you are," she scoffed. "Where do you expect the ship to come from—out of the sky? That's the only place you've been looking."

Jeremy grunted. "Don't bother me."

"Maybe it will come from behind that little cloud over there," she joked.

Jeremy remained silent.

"Jeremy ... Jeremy! I think I see a ship coming!"

"Ungh," was the only answer from the dreaming Jeremy.

"Hand me Grandpa's spyglass, Jeremy."

"Get it yourself." The glass was almost touching Jeremy's hand.

"Well! Of all the lazy boys!"

There was a moment's silence as Del adjusted the long spyglass. Then she pointed it out over Boston Harbor.

"Jeremy!"

From the tone of Del's voice, Jeremy knew instantly that this time his sister was not teasing.

"Jeremy! The ship! I'm sure I see it!"

Jeremy sprang to his feet. He raced to the edge of the bluff overlooking the harbor. Del was right behind him.

"Give me the glass, Del!" He held out his hand.

Quickly adjusting the long glass to his own eyesight, Jeremy closed his left eye and aimed the glass at the oncoming ship. She was a real beauty, her great white sails bellying out from her three tall masts. The ship was rounding the harbor off Dorchester Heights, making her last tack for the portward run.

"Can you see her name yet, Jeremy?" Del asked.

Jeremy shook his head. "Not yet. Not quite. Be able to in a few minutes, though."

The boy and girl were on Wind Mill Point. From where they stood, some thirty feet above sea level, they commanded a perfect view of both the wide, sweeping harbor, and the town of Boston as well. The tall steeple of North Church could be seen sticking up like a needle above the three-story brick houses with their flat roofs and balustrades. Earlier, the children had picked out Faneuil Hall, Old South Meeting House, and other taller structures as they looked over the town. Here and there could be seen the few two-story, cement-plastered houses with their peaked roofs, which had survived the great fire of 1679.

On three sides of the town, the masts of ships at anchor swayed gently in the wind. There were so many of them, they seemed to form a long, curving line of pickets fencing the town in.

But little traffic stirred through the crooked, narrow streets. Here and there a horse-drawn cart moved slowly along.

It was a beautiful, crisp, clear morning, late in autumn, Sunday, November 28,1773. The sky was as blue as the eyes of a china doll. A few tiny white clouds, ever so high, moved lazily across the sky.

Jeremy, standing straight and strong, was nearly six feet tall, although only fourteen years old. He seemed to be leaning forward, he was so intent. Every muscle in his young body strained as he tried to make out the ship's name. The slight breeze barely stirred the lock of sandy hair that was forever dangling over his forehead. He was not what people would call a handsome boy. But his blue eyes, set wide apart, were clear, steady, alertly ready to take in the wide world about him. A few freckles, hardly noticeable, were sprayed across his nose. His mouth was large. It turned up at the corners in a shy, warm smile.

His sister Del, just one year younger, stood with a hand resting on Jeremy's shoulder. She, too, gave the impression of straining forward. Tall, though not so tall as her brother, she was his opposite in appearance in every detail. Her hair was dark, waving gently across her smooth forehead. Her eyes were nearly black, and they seemed to be flashing. A nicely shaped little nose led down to a small, flowerlike mouth, raspberry red on this chilly day. Her slender figure, now so taut with excitement, was straight.

Suddenly Jeremy strained forward even farther.

"Del! I think I can make out her name," he exclaimed. "Remember the letters as I read them off."

Del's hand clenched even harder on Jeremy's shoulder.

Her brother spoke. "Here's the first letter. It's ... it's D. Yes ... D. It must be the D ... A ... Yes the next letter's R! D-A-R-T— It is! It is! It's the Dartmouth!"

The Dartmouth! One of the three ships all Boston had been waiting for. The ship whose hated cargo had so stirred up Bostonians that angry words were heard in every inn and meeting place. On the Common, a public park where cattle once grazed, no group of men gathered without discussing the expected arrival of the tea ships.

To the people of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, the tea ships stood for tyranny, the tyranny of King George III of England. The King thought Parliament had the right to tax the colonists as it wished, and to do what it liked with the money. The colonists thought this was unfair, and began to stop buying anything from England on which they had to pay a tax. When Parliament decided to set a tax on tea, the colonists bought the cheaper, smuggled Dutch tea instead, on which, of course, there was no tax.

This made the King very angry, and he and his chief cabinet minister, Lord North, worked out a plan to force the tea tax on the colonists. The East India Company, which supplied England's tea, also had to pay a tax to the King. If the company were allowed to ship tea to the colonies without paying the tax, Lord North suggested, then they could make the price of their tea lower than the Dutch tea. The colonists would buy England's tea again, even though they still would be made to pay a tax of three pence on each pound of tea.

Lord North went before the Parliament and asked for permission to carry out this plan. Parliament granted permission and the Tea Act was passed. No one from America had anything to say as to whether or not it should be passed.

"This is taxation without representation!" thundered the colonists.

This high-handed act of Parliament caused much alarm. It was now that Americans were to determine whether they were to be free men or slaves.

Since word had been received that the tea ships actually had sailed from England, the angrily smoldering temper of Boston burst into flames.

Jeremy and Del had attended crowded meetings of angry citizens at Faneuil Hall and Old South Meeting House. They had heard repeated time and time again the ugly words of Lord North. "Drunken ragamuffins," he had called the colonists. He had gone even further and said, "I am determined to bring America to the King's feet."

Jeremy and Del had listened solemnly as Samuel Adams, a well-known Boston patriot, addressed one of the meetings.

"This unhappy contest will end in rivers of blood," Mr. Adams said, "but America may wash her hands in innocence." He paused and then: "No one can foretell what violence the arrival of the tea ships may bring on. Yet, whatever action is taken, it should not be taken in the heat of anger. Rather we should be steadfastly guided by the knowledge that our cause is a just one and, with God's help, we will reach our goal."

The day after the meeting, Jeremy and Del had gone to Mr. Adams, whose home was right next door to the Winthrop house. They had asked him how they could help in the fight for freedom.

Mr. Adams had smiled at the two eager children. Then he had said, quite seriously, "There is a way in which you can help us greatly. Spend as much time as you can watching for the arrival of the tea ships. When you see one or all of them, let me know immediately."

So even though it was a Sunday, Jeremy and Del had been allowed to watch for the tea ships, because their arrival was of such importance to America's future. Usually, after going to early church services, the two youngsters stayed home, spending the Sabbath quietly.

And now the Dartmouth was here, and tea was the cargo in its hold.

Tea! A word spat from the mouth as if it were a swear word.

"It's the tea ship all right," said Jeremy. "You're sure, Jeremy? Positive?" his sister asked. "Indeed, yes, Del. Here, look for yourself."

Del took the long glass, raised it to her eye, and focused it on the oncoming ship.

"You're right, Jeremy. It's the Dartmouth, all right. How long before she'll enter the port?"

Jeremy cleared his throat. This was man's business, to answer such a question. "Well," he said, his tone almost solemn, "I calculate, with the wind on her lee freshenin' a mite, she ought to drop her hook in about three hours."

Del clapped her hand over her mouth, squealing with laughter at the seriousness of her brother's words.

"Well, now," she mimicked. "You calculate that with the wind— Oh, Jeremy, you're so funny!"

Jeremy was indignant. "Now look here, Sis—"

"You look here," she replied. "Just because Grandpa Winthrop was a sailing captain doesn't mean you know all about ships. Don't be so biggety!"

"What did you ask me for then? Crickety, Del, I was just trying to give you a good answer."

"Oh, you! Don't you know I'm just joking?"

Jeremy's good humor returned. "All right, Sis. I wasn't angry. Come on now, we've got to get the news of the ship to Mr. Adams as quickly as we can."

As the two turned to go, they stopped short. In their excitement, they hadn't seen the redcoated figure of a British soldier slip quietly up behind them. Now he was only a few feet away.

"Stay where you are," he ordered. His musket was in his hands, his thumb on the cocking piece. "What ship is that out there, making into port?"

Jeremy looked at Del. Both realized instantly that the British soldier had been sent out, as they had been, to spot the arrival of the Dartmouth. But without a glass, and the soldier had none, he was not able to make out the ship's name.

"Ship?" said Jeremy stupidly. "What ship is he talking 'bout, Del?"

Del shook her head. "There are lots of ships."

"Now see here, you two. You know what ship I mean. I've been watching you, both of you. I saw you jumping fit to fall off the bluff, so excited were you."

Jeremy and Del were slowly sidling away.. Jeremy whispered, "Let's make a run for it."

Del nodded her head.

"Oh, no, you don't!" the Redcoat exclaimed. "You stand right there, unless you want to feel some hot lead. Now, I'll just take that glass and see for myself, I will. Hand it over."

Jeremy took a step forward, carefully extending; the glass.

Oh, no! thought Del. Don't, Jeremy! Don't! He mustn't get the ship's name. Mr. Sam Adams has to know first!

Now only about three feet separated Jeremy from the Redcoat. "Lobsterback," that was what Jeremy was calling him in his mind. The name the colonists had for the soldiers of the British Army stationed in the colony was an apt one. The red swallow-tailed coat of their uniform suggested the back of a boiled lobster.

As the soldier extended his hand for the glass, Jeremy suddenly charged forward, knocking the gun to the ground, and sending the redcoat sprawling.

"Run, Del! Run!"

The boy and girl dashed down the slope. Quickly they dodged behind some trees and continued running. They twisted their way through the trees, making an impossible target, even if the Lobsterback should try to fire. Jeremy felt fairly certain he wouldn't.

In a few minutes, they stopped and looked back. They could see the soldier brushing sand off his red uniform. Then he bent to retrieve his gun. He was turning back to the harbor as Del and Jeremy burst into laughter.

"Think he'll report that to King George?" Jeremy asked.

Del laughed. "If Mr. Adams' dog Queue had been with us, King George would have heard that soldier's howls clear over in London!"

It took the two youngsters, racing through the woods into the narrow, winding streets of Boston, just under half an hour to reach the home of Sam Adams on Purchase Street. As they passed their own house, they waved to their mother, who was standing on the steps. Then, instead of boiling into the Adams home, they slowed their pace to a sedate walk. One didn't burst in on Mr. Sam Adams.

Mistress Adams answered their knock.

"Do come in, Deliverance and Jeremy."

The boy and girl bowed politely, acknowledging the friendly invitation.

"We should like to see Mr. Adams, Mistress Adams, if we may," Jeremy said.

"We wouldn't disturb him," Del cut in, "but he told us—"

"Not at all. Not at all, children. I believe Mr. Adams is expecting you. He's in his study. Come in."

She led them through the sparsely, even poorly, furnished living room. Sam Adams, though a leader in the town of Boston, indeed, a leader throughout Massachusetts, was not a wealthy man. Only Mistress Adams' careful shopping, her stretching of every penny, kept the Adams family going. In the ways of business, Mr. Adams never could seem to make a success. But as a leader of men, as a man dedicated to the service of his country, no man was greater, not even John Hancock or Josiah Quincy or Paul Revere.

Mistress Adams knocked gently on the door of the study.

"Yes? Please enter."

The door swung open. Mr. Adams was seated, writing. He lifted a quill pen from a page of foolscap, sanded his writing carefully to dry the ink, and placed his pen precisely in a narrow tray.

"Ah. The Winthrop children, Deliverance and Jeremy. Please find chairs, and seat yourselves."

Mr. Adams rose slowly from his Windsor writing chair with its one large, flat-surfaced arm, and placed the foolscap on his desk. His body was frail. He was slightly stooped. His hands shook endlessly. He was not an old man, just fifty-one, yet a sickness years before had left his body little more than a shell. But if his body was frail, his mind was strong and his heart big. There was greatness in the calm serenity of his face. His eyes were clear and challenging.

The boy and girl still stood. It was not for them to be seated when Mr. Sam Adams stood. Even though their hearts were beating quickly with the excitement of their escape from the Lobsterback and the importance of their news, they curbed themselves. Mr. Sam Adams was a man who commanded respect without ever demanding it. People were anxious to hear his spoken words. People waited for Mr. Sam Adams to speak first.

"And now, I believe, no doubt, you have brought me some word?"

Del looked at Jeremy. She wanted him to be the spokesman.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Adams," Jeremy said.

"Please be seated."

Jeremy and Del watched the man lower himself into his chair, then seated themselves.

"Yes?" There was a slight, questioning smile on Mr. Adams' strong face.

"The ship, sir. The Dartmouth. We spotted her rounding Dorchester Heights. She should stand off Griffin's Wharf within three hours."

Mr. Adams nodded his head. He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes momentarily, in deep thought.

"So, the Dartmouth is here. Come at last. Only the Dartmouth? There were no other ships?"

"Not within our sight, sir. They may be right behind the Dartmouth. But we thought you would want to know immediately."

"True. True. Please accept my thanks, my most sincere thanks ... The time for action is now upon us."

Again he closed his eyes. The boy and girl waited quietly for their dismissal.

Mr. Adams spoke again. "The Dartmouth is here, bearing in her hold the brew that may steep us in a war of revolution."

"Sir?"

Del and Jeremy looked at one another. What did he mean?

But they were not to learn just then. Quickly Mr. Adams straightened up. He had said it was now the time for action, and he was prepared to take steps at once.

"There are messages that must be sent out. If you two will now excuse me, I must to work."

The boy and girl stood.

"Yes, sir. And sir ...?" Jeremy said.

Mr. Adams looked up. "Yes?"

"Mr. Adams," Jeremy asked, "is there any news of Queue?"

A quick frown passed over Mr. Adams' face.

"No, I fear not. And how I miss him! An ugly dog, perhaps. But a thinking one, as many a Lobsterback can tell you."

"We hope he's found soon."

"Found?" Mr. Adams repeated. "He's found, all right. He's been found by the British soldiers, and they're keeping him prisoner, just to rile up 'the rebel Adams,' as they call me."

Jeremy looked at Del, and at once they both knew what they were going to do next. Even if it meant risking their necks to slip into the British encampment, they were going to do just that, and get Queue back.

Queue Goes to Dinner

It was just about noon when Jeremy and Del left Sam Adams' house. They had calmed down considerably from the excitement of their morning adventure. Both were thinking of the great New-foundland dog, held captive by the British soldiers. It was one thing to decide to enter the British soldiers' camp and free Queue. It was quite another, though, to carry out the deed. It would be a dangerous mission. And while neither Jeremy nor Del was afraid, both were sensible enough to know the risk they would be taking.

"Jeremy," Del spoke softly as the two walked slowly toward their own house, "shall we go over to the British camp right away?"

"I don't know, Del. I haven't made any plans. Have you any ideas?" he inquired.

"Well, we'd better go home first. There may be something Mother wants us to do. We've been gone all morning."

"It's dinnertime, too. Are you hungry?"

"Not very. But we'd better eat, or Mother and Father will suspect we're up to something."

"Yes. But let's hurry. I think this will be a good time to get into the camp. The soldiers will be eating soon. My guess is they'll never think anyone would try to take Queue in broad daylight."

The children's dinner that noon was roast venison, from a deer that Jeremy himself had shot only two weeks before. He had gone hunting with Mr. Sam Adams' son, with Queue along, of course. The bright red cranberries, now steaming hot and smelling so good, had been gathered by Del. Jeremy and Del had thought they weren't hungry, but they quickly demolished a whole loaf of their mother's homemade bread.

---

Excerpted from We Were There At the Bostan Tea Party by Robert N. Webb, E. F. Ward. Copyright © 1956 Robert N. Webb. Excerpted by permission of Dover Publications, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

---