BOSTON TEA PARTY;

OR,

THE YANKEES OF 1773.

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INTRODUCTION.

Those who have been associated in the performance of any deed of valor or patriotism ever feel attracted to each other by an influence stronger and nobler than that of friendship. The daring patriots who joined in resistance to the tyrannizing might of Britain, were men pledged to die rather than betray each other, and to maintain their rights while they could lift the sword or aim the musket; and that pledge made them look upon each other in after years, when the storm of war was hushed and security dwelt at the fireside, as brothers whom no petty cause could sunder nor ill report make foes. These remarks apply, especially, to those who first threw themselves into the breach, and resolved that, if the British ministry would adopt such measures as the stamp act, their execution should be resisted and become difficult, and if such measures were passed as the act taxing tea, coffee, and the comforts of life, that the tea should never be landed, and thus prove a loss to its owners. The men who threw the tea into Boston harbor were patriots united by a sense that union was necessary for the salvation of liberty; and they were attracted to each other by the same influence during the bloody struggle which succeeded. What wonder, then, that they loved to meet in after years, to wish each other health and happiness, and chat over the stirring events in which they had participated, and to which their first bold deed was as the spark to dry hay, kindling to a fierce blaze the ready seeds of war.

It was the fourth of July in Boston. Throughout the city which cradled the Revolution, the anniversary of the birth of the free and happy United States of America was celebrated with rejoicings unknown to the shackled people of monarchical countries. Meetings were held in various parts of the city, patriotic and democratic speeches made, bells rung, cannons fired, pistols, crackers, and fireworks of all descriptions discharged, toasts drank, and festivities of all kinds indulged. The soldiers paraded the streets with fine bands discoursing most excellent music, and followed by the usual crowd. Bunker Hill was the scene of a large patriotic meeting, and the events of the 'trying time' were again and again recounted with much enthusiasm.

But a more unusual and far more interesting meeting occurred in Boston, about a quarter of a mile from the wharf known ever since the commencement of the Revolution as Griffin's Wharf. In the upper room of an old and somewhat dilapidated tavern were assembled a party of old and young men—the representatives of two generations. Three of the old men were the remaining members of the famous Lebanon Club; the first liberty club formed in the colonies, and the one which designed and executed the project of destroying the tea at Boston. They had come from various parts of the country, upon agreement, to meet once more in the house where the disguised members of the club had met on the evening of the sixteenth of December, 1773. The names of the old patriots were David Kinnison, Adam Colson, and Lendall Pitts. Five other veterans had joined the party by invitation, together with half-a-dozen young men who had arranged the meeting and paid all expenses, with a view of passing the Fourth of July in a novel and interesting manner.

A well-laden table extended the whole length of the room, and flags, banners, and appropriate emblems and devices, were hung on the walls. There was no formal organization, as at public festivals, no president elected, and no list of toasts prepared. It was intended to be a sociable gathering. No band of well-arranged and harmonized instruments appeared, but old Jacob Brown and old Samuel Hanson, a fifer and a drummer of the continental army, occasionally stirred the hearts and fired the eyes of the company with the music which had nerved the patriots of Bunker's Hill and Bennington. Each of the veterans sat in an arm-chair at the table, the young men being distributed among them so as to wait upon them occasionally, and show them every attention.

Mr. Kinnison, though not the oldest man of the company, looked as if he had seen the hardest service, and received the hardest buffets of Time. His features bespoke a strong and energetic mind, and his eye was full of fire and activity. His hair was grey and bushy, partly covering a large scar on his high forehead. He had evidently been a man of powerful frame, but was now bent with the weight of years, and service. The other veterans appeared to be generally of the same age, and to have seen hard toil and service. The fifer was the most remarkable of the party. In spite of his age and white hair, his puffed cheeks and the sly twinkle of his eyes gave him a kind of jolly, frolicsome appearance, which would indicate that age could not chill the humor of his heart.

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THE LEBANON CLUB.

When the company were fairly seated at the table, Mr. Kinnison opened the conversation by asking the young men if they had ever heard any account of the Lebanon Liberty Club. They replied they had heard of the club, but never any definite account.

"Well," said Mr. Kinnison, "I can tell you something about it. Mr. Pitts, Mr. Colson, and myself, were members of a club consisting of seventeen men, living at Lebanon, up here in Maine. Most of us were farmers. We knew what them folks over the river were aiming at, and we knew that there was no use of dallying about matters. Our rights were to be untouched, or there must be a fight. So, you see, we Lebanon men resolved to form a club, to consider what was to be done, and to do accordingly. We hired a room in the tavern of Colonel Gooding, and held regular meetings at night. The colonel was an American of the right color, but we kept our object secret, not even letting him into it."

"If it isn't too much trouble, Mr. Kinnison, we should like you to tell us all about what the club had to do with the tea-party, and how that affair was conducted," said one of the young men, named Hand, filling the veteran's plate.

"He can tell you much better than any one else," remarked Mr. Pitts. "I can vouch for the bold part he took in it, and he has a better memory than the rest of us."

"No flattery, Pitts," returned Mr. Kinnison. "My memory 's bad enough, and as for taking such a bold part in that tea-party, it's all nonsense. If there was a leader, you was the man. But I'll tell these young men all I know of the affair, and what the Lebanon Club had to do with it."

"Take some of this beef, Mr. Brown?" interrupted Hand.

"Much obliged, sir, but beef is rather too tough for my gums," replied the old fifer. "I'll try something else." Mr. Kinnison went on with his narrative.

"Well, the seventeen men of our club determined, whether we were aided or not, to destroy the tea which the East India Company had sent to Boston. The plan was soon formed, as it always is when men are determined to do a thing. We wanted no captain—each man could command for himself. We resolved to disguise ourselves in Mohawk dresses, and carry such arms as would enable us to sell our lives pretty dearly; we also pledged ourselves never to reveal the names of any of the party while there was danger in it. We expected to have a fight anyhow, and the first man who faltered was to be thrown overboard with the tea. We came to Boston and found the people ripe for the deed. A great meeting was to be held at the old South Meeting-house, and we concluded to wait and see what would be done there. We lodged at this tavern, and held our councils up in this room. Well, there was a tremendous meeting at the Old South, and most of us were there to help to keep up the excitement, and to push our plan if a chance appeared. Young Quincy made a speech that stirred the people, and made them ready for anything which would show their spirit. The people voted with one voice that the tea should not be landed. We saw how things were going, came back to the tavern, put on our Mohawk dresses, and returned to the meeting. Pitts succeeded in getting into the church just about dusk and raising the war-whoop. We answered outside. Then Pitts cried out, 'Boston harbor a tea-pot to-night!'

"Ay," exclaimed Pitts, brandishing his knife above his head, "and 'hurra for Griffin's Wharf!'"

"The crowd echoed Griffin's Wharf," continued Kinnison, "and hurried towards that place. Our men joined together, returned to the tavern, got our muskets and tomahawks, and collected about seventy men together, armed with axes and hatchets. Then we pushed for the wharf where the East Indiamen, loaded with the tea, were lying. Let me see!—The ships were called the Dartmouth, the—"

"The Eleanor, and the Beaver," prompted Colson.

"Ay, the Dartmouth, the Eleanor, and the Beaver," continued Kinnison. "You see, my memory 's weak. Well, when we reached the wharf, there was a crowd of people near it. It was a clear, moonlight night, and the British squadron was not more than a quarter of a mile distant—so, you see, there was a little risk. We didn't halt long. Pitts led the way on board the Dartmouth, and we followed, musket and tomahawk in hand. Nobody offered any show of fighting for the tea. We cut open the hatches, and some of the men went down and passed up the chests, while others cut 'em open and emptied the green stuff into the water. The crew of the vessel were afeard to stir in stopping us, for we told 'em we'd shoot the first man who interfered. I tell you, there was quick work there. When we had cleared that ship of the tea, we hurried off to the others, Pitts still leading the way, and did the same kind of work for them. The people began to crowd on the wharf, and some of 'em came to help us. I guess there was about a hundred and fifty of us on the third ship, all hard at work passing up the chests, cutting 'em open and spilling the tea. Within two hours, about three hundred and fifty chests of the tea were thus destroyed. The crowd cheered us once in a while, and we knew we'd have friends enough if the red-coats attempted to attack us. When we had emptied the last chest that could be found, we gave three of the loudest cheers and gained the wharf. A drummer and fifer were ready, as Mr. Brown and Mr. Hanson can inform you, and we formed a procession and marched up to this tavern. Here the crowd gave our band of Mohawks cheer after cheer ond then dispersed. But we didn't intend to end the night's work so quietly. We had a supper prepared just where we are now eating, and Josiah Quincy and some other big men came to join us. We made a night of it, I tell you. Pitts, I think, got very drunk, so many wanted to drink with such a bold patriot."

Pitts was rather disposed to deny the assertion that he was actually drunk; but Kinnison and Colson said it was a fact, and he, at length, admitted that he was considerably excited, perhaps beyond the command of his reason. The company laughed at this 'getting around the stump,' and one of the young men proposed that Pitts' health should be drank in a glass of ale. The beverage was ordered and the health of the patriot drank with a hearty relish. The work of demolishing the eatables then went bravely on.

"Mr. Kinnison," said Mr. Colson, "there's one incident concerning that tea-party that has slipped your memory. As our procession moved from the wharf and passed the house of the tory Coffin, Admiral Montague raised the window, and said, 'Ah! boys, you have had a fine evening for your Indian caper; but mind, you've got to pay the fiddler yet!' Pitts here shouted, 'Oh! never mind, never mind, squire! Just come out, if you please, and we'll settle that bill in two minutes!' The people shouted, and the admiral thought he had better put his head in in a hurry."

"That's true," remarked Kinnison. "Well, you see, my memory is poor. Pitts would have mentioned it but for his modesty."

"I recollect it well," said Pitts. "If that tory Coffin had shown his face that night, I wouldn't have given three cents for his life."

"I think I would have had a slash at him," observed Kinnison. "I felt as savage as a Mohawk on a war-path."

"I don't want to interrupt your eating, Brown and Hanson," said Colson, "but couldn't you stir us up a little with the drum and fife?"

"Ay," added young Hand, who seemed to be the general mouth-piece of the younger portion of the company, "give us the air you played when you marched up from Griffin's Wharf."

"No objection," replied Hanson. "Come, Brown, get out your whistle. There's a little music left in it yet, I know."

The old fife was soon produced, and the drum also; and moving their chairs a short distance from the table, the veteran musicians struck up the stirring air of the old Massachusetts Song of Liberty, once so popular throughout the colonies, and supposed to have been written by Mrs. Warren.

"Hurra!" exclaimed Hand, when the musicians had concluded. "Three cheers for the music and the musicians!" and three cheers were given quite lustily by the young men, and some of the old ones.

"I have a copy of that Song of Liberty," said Hand. "Here it is, with the music. I'll sing it and you must all join in the chorus."

"Good!" said Kinnison, and the others echoed him. Hand then sang the following words, the young men joining in the chorus, and, occasionally, some of the veterans attempting to do likewise.

The song was much applauded for its spirit, and some of the young men wanted to give three more cheers, but Hand said they were already making too much noise, and their enthusiasm cooled.

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THE SKIRMISH AT LEXINGTON.

"Now," observed Hand, "I should like to hear some account of how things went on during the war. We are all in the right mood for it."

"I could talk enough to fill whole books about the war," replied Kinnison; "but I want to hear Mr. Pitts and Mr. Colson, and the rest of the old men, spend a little breath for our amusement."

"Mr. Kinnison was in the fight at Lexington, and all the principal battles in the Northern States during the war. I think he could interest you more than I," said Colson.

"I'll make an agreement with you," remarked Kinnison. "If I tell you all I know of that skrimmage at Lexington, one of you must follow me." The agreement was settled, and Kinnison commenced his narrative of how the first blow of the Revolution was given.

"You see, after that tea scape, and the quarrels with the red-coat troops in Boston, the people of Massachusetts, and, in fact, of nearly all New England, began to see that there was no way of upholding their rights but by war, and they accordingly began to arm and practise military tactics. The fife and drum were to be heard every day all around the country. In our village we collected a company of about thirty men. My father, and two brothers, Samuel and James, and myself, joined the company, and we used to parade and drill every day. A bold and knowing fellow, named Jonathan Williams, was our captain. Well, early in the fall of 1774, we heard the news that Gage had fortified Charlestown Neck, and sent some troops to seize the gunpowder at Cambridge. This roused our mettle, and we set into drilling and learning manoeuvres with more zeal. At one time a rumor reached us that the British fleet had bombarded Boston, and, I tell you, the men did turn out. Some of them wanted to march right down to Boston. Everywhere the people were crying 'to arms! to arms!' and we thought the war had commenced, sure enough; but it didn't just then. However, there was about thirty thousand men on the march to Boston, and they wouldn't turn back until they found the report was a hoax. Soon after, the Provincial Congress met, and they ordered that a large body of minute-men should be enrolled, so as to be prepared for any attack. The people of our province took the matter into their own hands, and organized a body of minute-men without orders. Our company was included. We were all ready for fight, but were determined that the red-coats should strike the first blow; so we waited through the winter. In March, Gage saw that great quantities of powder and balls were taken out of Boston into the country, in spite of his guard on the Neck. Every market wagon, and every kind of baggage, was stowed with ammunition. He then sent a party of troops to Salem to seize some cannon and stores our men had placed there; but Colonel Pickering, with a few men, made such a show, that the red-coats marched back again, without accomplishing their object. Our chief deposit of stores was at Concord, up here about twenty miles from Boston; and when our militia-general found that Gage was sending out parties to sketch the roads, with the aim of getting our stores into his hands, he sent word to our company to be on hand, and, if we could, to come up near Concord. John Hancock, Samuel Adams, and all of our other big men, left Boston and went to Lexington, to keep the people moving and ready for an attack."

"Dr. Warren stayed in Boston," interrupted Pitts, "to keep the others informed of the movements of the red-coats."

"Yes," continued Kinnison; "the royals, as Deacon Slocum used to call 'em, didn't hate Warren as much as they did John Hancock and the Adamses. Well, when Captain Williams heard of what General Gage was after, he told us we had better be prepared to march at a minute's warning. Gage sent eight hundred troops, under Colonel Smith and Major Pitcorn, on his rascally errand. They started from Boston about nine o'clock on the night of the eighteenth of April, never thinking that our men knew anything about it—but we were awake."

"Wait a bit," said John Warner, one of the veterans who had not yet spoken. "I'll tell you something. I was in Boston when the red-coats started, and knew that the country militia were ready to protect the stores. I was standing on the Common, talking to a few of my friends of my own politics, when I said rather loud, 'the British troops will miss their aim.' 'What aim?' inquired a person behind me. 'The cannon at Concord,' replied I as I turned to see who asked the question. The man was dressed in British uniform, and he walked away as I turned to look at him. One of my friends whispered to me that it was Lord Percy. Soon after, guards were set at every avenue, and nobody was allowed to leave the city."