CHAPTER I
THE COMING OF DISCONTENT
The close of the struggle with the French for the possession of the continent may be fairly said to mark the beginning of that series of aggressions on the part of England which ended in the revolt of her colonies. True there had been before that arbitrary and tyrannical royal governors, and absurdly perverse enactments on the part of the Lords of Trade; but not until the French troubles had been disposed of did the British government bend its energies seriously to regulating the affairs of a people which it considered fractious and turbulent. In the Virginia Gazette for May 2, 1766, appeared one of the first of those songs, afterwards so numerous, which expressed the discontent of the colonies under this régime.
[May 2, 1766]
Sure never was picture drawn more to the life,
Or affectionate husband more fond of his wife,
Than America copies and loves Britain's sons,
Who, conscious of Freedom, are bold as great guns,
"Hearts of Oak are we still, for we're sons of those men
Who always are ready, steady, boys, steady,
To fight for their freedom again and again."
Tho' we feast and grow fat on America's soil,
Yet we own ourselves subjects of Britain's fair isle;
And who's so absurd to deny us the name,
Since true British blood flows in every vein?
"Hearts of Oak," etc.
Then cheer up, my lads, to your country be firm,
Like kings of the ocean, we'll weather each storm;
Integrity calls out, fair liberty, see,
Waves her Flag o'er our heads and her words are be free!
"Hearts of Oak," etc.
To King George, as true subjects, we loyal bow down,
But hope we may call Magna Charta our own.
Let the rest of the world slavish worship decree,
Great Britain has ordered her sons to be free.
"Hearts of Oak," etc.
Poor Esau his birthright gave up for a bribe,
Americans scorn th' mean soul-selling tribe;
Beyond life our freedom we chuse to possess,
Which thro' life we'll defend, and abjure a broad S.
"Hearts of Oak are we still, and we're sons of those men
Who fear not the ocean, brave roarings of cannon,
To stop all oppression, again and again."
On our brow while we laurel-crown'd Liberty wear,
What Englishmen ought we Americans dare;
Though tempests and terrors around us we see,
Bribes nor fears can prevail o'er the hearts that are free.
"Hearts of Oak," etc.
With Loyalty, Liberty let us entwine,
Our blood shall for both flow as free as our wine;
Let us set an example, what all men should be,
And a Toast give the World, "Here's to those dare be free."
"Hearts of Oak," etc.
In 1766 William Pitt, perhaps the most enlightened friend America had in England, became Prime Minister, and adopted toward the colonies a policy so conciliatory that it occasioned much disgust in England—as is evident from the following verses which appeared originally in the Gentleman's Magazine.
THE WORLD TURNED UPSIDE DOWN
OR, THE OLD WOMAN TAUGHT WISDOM
[1767]
Goody Bull and her daughter together fell out,
Both squabbled, and wrangled, and made a —— rout,
But the cause of the quarrel remains to be told,
Then lend both your ears, and a tale I'll unfold.
The old lady, it seems, took a freak in her head,
That her daughter, grown woman, might earn her own bread:
Self-applauding her scheme, she was ready to dance;
But we're often too sanguine in what we advance.
For mark the event; thus by fortune we're crossed,
Nor should people reckon without their good host;
The daughter was sulky, and wouldn't come to,
And pray, what in this case could the old woman do?
In vain did the matron hold forth in the cause,
That the young one was able; her duty, the laws;
Ingratitude vile, disobedience far worse;
But she might e'en as well sung psalms to a horse.
Young, froward, and sullen, and vain of her beauty,
She tartly replied, that she knew well her duty,
That other folks' children were kept by their friends,
And that some folks loved people but for their own ends.
"Zounds, neighbor!" quoth Pitt, "what the devil's the matter?
A man cannot rest in his house for your clatter;"
"Alas!" cries the daughter, "here's dainty fine work,
The old woman grown harder than Jew or than Turk."
"She be ——," says the farmer, and to her he goes,
First roars in her ears, then tweaks her old nose,
"Hallo, Goody, what ails you? Wake! woman, I say;
I am come to make peace, in this desperate fray.
"Adzooks, ope thine eyes, what a pother is here!
You've no right to compel her, you have not, I swear;
Be ruled by your friends, kneel down and ask pardon,
You'd be sorry, I'm sure, should she walk Covent Garden."
"Alas!" cries the old woman, "and must I comply?
But I'd rather submit than the huzzy should die;"
"Pooh, prithee be quiet, be friends and agree,
You must surely be right, if you're guided by me."
Unwillingly awkward, the mother knelt down,
While the absolute farmer went on with a frown,
"Come, kiss the poor child, there come, kiss and be friends!
There, kiss your poor daughter, and make her amends."
"No thanks to you, mother," the daughter replied:
"But thanks to my friend here, I've humbled your pride."
But Pitt was soon incapacitated by illness from taking any active part in the government, and Charles Townshend, chancellor of the exchequer, was able to pass his "port bills," and other oppressive measures. Many prominent Americans, among them Samuel Adams, decided that the colonies must be independent.
A SONG
[January 26, 1769]
Come, cheer up, my lads, like a true British band,
In the cause of our country who join heart and hand;
Fair Freedom invites—she cries out, "Agree!
And be steadfast for those that are steadfast for me."
Hearts of oak are we all, hearts of oak we'll remain:
We always are ready—
Steady, boys, steady—
To give them our voices again and again.
With the brave sons of Freedom, of every degree,
Unite all the good—and united are we:
But still be the lot of the villains disgrace,
Whose foul, rotten hearts give the lie to their face.
Hearts of oak, etc.
See! their unblushing chieftain! perverter of laws!
His teeth are the shark's, and a vulture's his claws—
As soon would I venture, howe'er he may talk,
My lambs with a wolf, or my fowls with a hawk.
Hearts of oak, etc.
First—the worth of good Cruger let's crown with applause,
Who has join'd us again in fair Liberty's cause—
Sour Envy, herself, is afraid of his name,
And weeps that she finds not a blot in his fame.
Hearts of oak, etc.
To Jauncey, my souls, let your praises resound!
With health and success may his goodness be crown'd:
May the cup of his joy never cease to run o'er—
For he gave to us all when he gave to the poor!
Hearts of oak, etc.
What Briton, undaunted, that pants to be free,
But warms at the mention of brave De Launcey?
"Happy Freedom!" said Fame, "what a son have you here!
Whose head is approved, and whose heart is sincere."
Hearts of oak, etc.
For worth and for truth, and good nature renown'd,
Let the name and applauses of Walton go round:
His prudence attracts—but his free, honest soul
Gives a grace to the rest, and enlivens the whole.
Hearts of oak, etc.
Huzza! for the patriots whose virtue is tried—
Unbiass'd by faction, untainted by pride:
Who Liberty's welfare undaunted pursue,
With heads ever clear, and hearts ever true.
Hearts of oak, etc.
New York Journal, January 26, 1769.
Associations known as Sons of Liberty were organized in the larger cities, and in February, 1770, the first Liberty Pole in America was raised at New York city, in what is now City Hall Park. A struggle ensued with the British troops, during which the pole was twice cut down, but it was hooped with iron and set up a third time. A Tory versifier celebrated the event in a burlesque cantata, from which the following description of the pole is taken.
[February, 1770]
Come listen, good neighbors of every degree,
Whose hearts, like your purses, are open and free,
Let this pole a monument ever remain,
Of the folly and arts of the time-serving train.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Its bottom, so artfully fix'd under ground,
Resembles their scheming, so low and profound;
The dark underminings, and base dirty ends,
On which the success of the faction depends.
Derry down, etc.
The vane, mark'd with freedom, may put us in mind,
As it varies, and flutters, and turns, with the wind,
That no faith can be plac'd in the words of our foes,
Who change as the wind of their interest blows.
Derry down, etc.
The iron clasp'd around it, so firm and so neat,
Resembles too closely their fraud and deceit,
If the outside's but guarded, they care not a pin
How rotten and hollow the heart is within.
Derry down, etc.
Then away, ye pretenders to freedom, away,
Who strive to cajole us in hopes to betray;
Leave the pole for the stroke of the lightning to sever,
And, huzzah for King George and our country forever!
Derry down, etc.
Two regiments of British troops arrived at Boston on March 5, 1768, and annoyed the people in many ways. Brawls were frequent, and by the beginning of 1770 the tension of feeling had reached the snapping point. The "Massachusetts Liberty Song" and "The British Grenadier" did not go well together.
THE BRITISH GRENADIER
Come, come fill up your glasses,
And drink a health to those
[Who carry caps and pouches],
And wear their looped clothes.
For be you Whig or Tory,
Or any mortal thing,
Be sure that you give glory
To George, our gracious King.
For if you prove rebellious,
He'll thunder in your ears
Huzza! Huzza! Huzza! Huzza!
For the British Grenadiers!
And when the wars are over,
We'll march by beat of drum,
The ladies cry "So, Ho girls,
The Grenadiers have come!
The Grenadiers who always
With love our hearts do cheer.
Then Huzza! Huzza! Huzza! Huzza!
For the British Grenadier!"
On the evening of March 5 a crowd collected near the barracks and some blows were exchanged; a sentinel in King Street knocked down a boy, and was about to be mobbed, when Captain Preston and seven privates came to his assistance. The crowd pressed upon their levelled pieces, which were suddenly discharged, killing four men and wounding seven. Crispus Attucks, a mulatto slave, was the first to fall.
[March 5, 1770]
Where shall we seek for a hero, and where shall we find a story?
Our laurels are wreathed for conquest, our songs for completed glory.
But we honor a shrine unfinished, a column uncapped with pride,
If we sing the deed that was sown like seed when Crispus Attucks died.
Shall we take for a sign this Negro slave with unfamiliar name—
With his poor companions, nameless too, till their lives leaped forth in flame?
Yea, surely, the verdict is not for us, to render or deny;
We can only interpret the symbol; God chose these men to die—
As teachers and types, that to humble lives may chief award be made;
That from lowly ones, and rejected stones, the temple's base is laid!
When the bullets leaped from the British guns, no chance decreed their aim;
Men see what the royal hirelings saw—a multitude and a flame;
But beyond the flame, a mystery; five dying men in the street,
While the streams of severed races in the well of a nation meet!
O blood of the people! changeless tide, through century, creed, and race!
Still one as the sweet salt air is one, though tempered by sun and place;
The same in the ocean currents, and the same in the sheltered seas;
Forever the fountain of common hopes and kindly sympathies;
Indian and Negro, Saxon and Celt, Teuton and Latin and Gaul—
Mere surface shadow and sunshine; while the sounding unifies all!
One love, one hope, one duty theirs! No matter the time or ken,
There never was separate heart-beat in all the races of men!
But alien is one—of class, not race—he has drawn the line for himself;
His roots drink life from inhuman soil, from garbage of pomp and pelf;
His heart beats not with the common beat, he has changed his life-stream's hue;
He deems his flesh to be finer flesh, he boasts that his blood is blue:
Patrician, aristocrat, Tory—whatever his age or name,
To the people's rights and liberties, a traitor ever the same.
The natural crowd is a mob to him, their prayer a vulgar rhyme;
The freeman's speech is sedition, and the patriot's deed a crime.
Wherever the race, the law, the land,—whatever the time or throne,
The Tory is always a traitor to every class but his own.
Thank God for a land where pride is clipped, where arrogance stalks apart;
Where law and song and loathing of wrong are words of the common heart;
Where the masses honor straightforward strength, and know, when veins are bled,
That the bluest blood is putrid blood—that the people's blood is red!
And honor to Crispus Attucks, who was leader and voice that day;
The first to defy and the first to die, with Maverick, Carr, and Gray.
Call it riot or revolution, his hand first clenched at the crown;
His feet were the first in perilous place to pull the king's flag down;
His breast was the first one rent apart that liberty's stream might flow;
For our freedom now and forever, his head was the first laid low.
Call it riot or revolution, or mob or crowd, as you may,
Such deaths have been seed of nations, such lives shall be honored for aye.
They were lawless hinds to the lackeys—but martyrs to Paul Revere;
And Otis and Hancock and Warren read spirit and meaning clear.
Ye teachers, answer: what shall be done when just men stand in the dock;
When the caitiff is robed in ermine, and his sworders keep the lock;
When torture is robbed of clemency, and guilt is without remorse;
When tiger and panther are gentler than the Christian slaver's curse;
When law is a satrap's menace, and order the drill of a horde—
Shall the people kneel to be trampled, and bare their neck to the sword?
Not so! by this Stone of Resistance that Boston raises here!
By the old North Church's lantern, and the watching of Paul Revere!
Not so! by Paris of 'Ninety-Three, and Ulster of 'Ninety-Eight!
By Toussaint in St. Domingo! by the horror of Delhi's gate!
By Adams's word to Hutchinson! by the tea that is brewing still!
By the farmers that met the soldiers at Concord and Bunker Hill!
Not so! not so! Till the world is done, the shadow of wrong is dread;
The crowd that bends to a lord to-day, to-morrow shall strike him dead.
There is only one thing changeless: the earth steals from under our feet,
The times and manners are passing moods, and the laws are incomplete;
There is only one thing changes not, one word that still survives—
The slave is the wretch who wields the lash, and not the man in gyves!
There is only one test of contract: is it willing, is it good?
There is only one guard of equal right: the unity of blood;
There is never a mind unchained and true that class or race allows;
There is never a law to be obeyed that reason disavows;
There is never a legal sin but grows to the law's disaster,
The master shall drop the whip, and the slave shall enslave the master!
Oh, Planter of seed in thought and deed has the year of right revolved,
And brought the Negro patriot's cause with its problem to be solved?
His blood streamed first for the building, and through all the century's years,
Our growth of story and fame of glory are mixed with his blood and tears.
He lived with men like a soul condemned—derided, defamed, and mute;
Debased to the brutal level, and instructed to be a brute.
His virtue was shorn of benefit, his industry of reward;
His love!—O men, it were mercy to have cut affection's cord;
Through the night of his woe, no pity save that of his fellow-slave;
For the wage of his priceless labor, the scourging block and the grave!
And now, is the tree to blossom? Is the bowl of agony filled?
Shall the price be paid and the honor said, and the word of outrage stilled?
And we who have toiled for freedom's law, have we sought for freedom's soul?
Have we learned at last that human right is not a part but the whole?
That nothing is told while the clinging sin remains part unconfessed?
That the health of the nation is perilled if one man be oppressed?
Has he learned—the slave from the rice-swamps, whose children were sold—has he,
With broken chains on his limbs, and the cry in his blood, "I am free!"
Has he learned through affliction's teaching what our Crispus Attucks knew—
When Right is stricken, the white and black are counted as one, not two?
Has he learned that his century of grief was worth a thousand years
In blending his life and blood with ours, and that all his toils and tears
Were heaped and poured on him suddenly, to give him a right to stand
From the gloom of African forests, in the blaze of the freest land?
That his hundred years have earned for him a place in the human van
Which others have fought for and thought for since the world of wrong began?
For this, shall his vengeance change to love, and his retribution burn,
Defending the right, the weak, and the poor, when each shall have his turn;
For this, shall he set his woeful past afloat on the stream of night;
For this, he forgets as we all forget when darkness turns to light;
For this, he forgives as we all forgive when wrong has changed to right.
And so, must we come to the learning of Boston's lesson to-day;
The moral that Crispus Attucks taught in the old heroic way;
God made mankind to be one in blood, as one in spirit and thought;
And so great a boon, by a brave man's death, is never dearly bought!
John Boyle O'Reilly.
This insignificant street riot was the famous "Boston Massacre." It created a great stir, and the victims were buried with military honors on March 8, the bodies being deposited in a single vault. A few days later, Paul Revere engraved and printed a large hand-bill giving a picture of the scene, accompanied by the following lines:
UNHAPPY BOSTON
[March 8, 1770]
Unhappy Boston! see thy sons deplore
Thy hallowed walks besmear'd with guiltless gore.
While faithless Preston and his savage bands,
With murderous rancor stretch their bloody hands;
Like fierce barbarians grinning o'er their prey,
Approve the carnage and enjoy the day.
If scalding drops, from rage, from anguish wrung,
If speechless sorrows lab'ring for a tongue,
Or if a weeping world can aught appease
The plaintive ghosts of victims such as these;
The patriot's copious tears for each are shed,
A glorious tribute which embalms the dead.
But know, Fate summons to that awful goal,
Where justice strips the murderer of his soul:
Should venal C——ts, the scandal of the land,
Snatch the relentless villain from her hand,
Keen execrations on this plate inscrib'd
Shall reach a judge who never can be bribed.
Paul Revere.
A conflict of a much more serious nature took place at Alamance, N. C., on May 7, 1771, between a body of colonists, goaded to rebellion by repeated acts of extortion, and a force of British regulars under Governor Tryon. The colonists were totally defeated and left two hundred dead and wounded on the field.
ALAMANCE
[May 7, 1771]
No stately column marks the hallowed place
Where silent sleeps, un-urned, their sacred dust:
The first free martyrs of a glorious race,
Their fame a people's wealth, a nation's trust.
The rustic ploughman at the early morn
The yielding furrow turns with heedless tread,
Or tends with frugal care the springing corn,
Where tyrants conquered and where heroes bled.
Above their rest the golden harvest waves,
The glorious stars stand sentinels on high,
While in sad requiem, near their turfless graves,
The winding river murmurs, mourning, by.
No stern ambition moved them to the deed:
In Freedom's cause they nobly dared to die.
The first to conquer, or the first to bleed,
"God and their country's right" their battle cry.
But holier watchers here their vigils keep
Than storied urn or monumental stone;
For Law and Justice guard their dreamless sleep,
And Plenty smiles above their bloody home.
Immortal youth shall crown their deathless fame;
And as their country's glories shall advance,
Shall brighter blaze, o'er all the earth, thy name,
Thou first-fought field of Freedom—Alamance.
Seymour W. Whiting.
The first American "victory" occurred on the night of June 9, 1772, when the British eight-gun schooner Gaspee was captured and burned to the water's edge. For some months the crew of the Gaspee, commissioned to enforce the revenue acts in Narragansett Bay, had been stopping vessels, seizing goods, stealing sheep and hogs, and committing other depredations along the shore. On June 9, while pursuing the Providence Packet, the schooner ran aground, and that night was boarded by a party of Rhode Islanders, the crew overpowered, and the boat burned.
[A NEW SONG CALLED THE GASPEE]
[June 9-10, 1772]
'Twas in the reign of George the Third
The public peace was much disturb'd
By ships of war, that came and laid
Within our ports to stop our trade.
In seventeen hundred seventy-two,
In Newport harbor lay a crew
That play'd the parts of pirates there,
The sons of Freedom could not bear.
Sometimes they'd weigh and give them chase—
Such actions, sure, were very base;
No honest coasters could pass by
But what they would let some shot fly.
Which did provoke to high degree
Those true-born sons of Liberty,
So that they could no longer bear
Those sons of Belial staying there.
But 'twas not long 'fore it fell out,
That William Doddington so stout,
Commander of the Gaspee tender,
Which he had reason to remember—
Because, as people do assert,
He almost had his just desert
Here, on the tenth day of last June,
Between the hours of twelve and one—
Did chase the sloop call'd the Hannah,
Of whom one Linsey was commander;
They dogg'd her up to Providence Sound,
And there the rascal got aground.
The news of it flew, that very day,
That they on Nanquit Point did lay,
That night, about half after ten,
Some Narragansett Indian-men—
Being sixty-four, if I remember,
Soon made this stout coxcomb surrender:
And what was best of all their tricks,
They in his breech a ball did fix.
They set the men upon the land,
And burn'd her up, we understand;
Which thing provoked the king so high,
He said, "those men should surely die."
So, if he can but find them out,
The hangman he'll employ, no doubt:
For he has declared, in his passion,
"He'll have them tried in a new fashion."
Now for to find those people out,
King George has offered, very stout,
One thousand pounds to find out one
That wounded William Doddington.
One thousand more he says he'll spare,
For those who say they sheriffs were:
One thousand more there doth remain
For to find out the leader's name.
Likewise, one hundred pounds per man,
For any one of all the clan.
But let him try his utmost skill,
I'm apt to think he never will
Find out any of those hearts of gold,
Though he should offer fifty fold.
The duty on tea, imposed five years before by Townshend, had been retained by the British government as a matter of principle, and in the autumn of 1773 the King determined to assert the obnoxious principle which the tax involved. Several ships loaded with tea were accordingly started for America. On Sunday, November 28, the first of these arrived at Boston, and two others came in a few days later. The town went wild, meeting after meeting was held, and on the night of Tuesday, December 16, 1773, a band of about twenty, disguised as Indians, boarded the ships, cut open the tea-chests and flung the contents into the water.
A BALLAD OF THE BOSTON TEA-PARTY
[December 16, 1773]
No! never such a draught was poured
Since Hebe served with nectar
The bright Olympians and their Lord,
Her over-kind protector,—
Since Father Noah squeezed the grape
And took to such behaving
As would have shamed our grandsire ape
Before the days of shaving,—
No! ne'er was mingled such a draught
In palace, hall, or arbor,
As freemen brewed and tyrants quaffed
That night in Boston Harbor!
It kept King George so long awake
His brain at last got addled,
It made the nerves of Britain shake,
With sevenscore millions saddled;
Before that bitter cup was drained
Amid the roar of cannon,
The Western war-cloud's crimson stained
The Thames, the Clyde, the Shannon;
Full many a six-foot grenadier
The flattened grass had measured,
And many a mother many a year
Her tearful memories treasured;
Fast spread the tempest's darkening pall,
The mighty realms were troubled,
The storm broke loose, but first of all
The Boston teapot bubbled!
An evening party,—only that,
No formal invitation,
No gold-laced coat, no stiff cravat,
No feast in contemplation,
No silk-robed dames, no fiddling band,
No flowers, no songs, no dancing,—
A tribe of red men, axe in hand,—
Behold the guests advancing!
How fast the stragglers join the throng,
From stall and workshop gathered!
The lively barber skips along
And leaves a chin half-lathered;
The smith has flung his hammer down,—
The horseshoe still is glowing;
The truant tapster at the Crown
Has left a beer-cask flowing;
The cooper's boys have dropped the adze,
And trot behind their master;
Up run the tarry ship-yard lads,—
The crowd is hurrying faster,—
Out from the Millpond's purlieus gush
The streams of white-faced millers,
And down their slippery alleys rush
The lusty young Fort-Hillers;
The ropewalk lends its 'prentice crew,—
The tories seize the omen:
"Ay, boys, you'll soon have work to do
For England's rebel foemen,
'King Hancock,' Adams, and their gang,
That fire the mob with treason,—
When these we shoot and those we hang
The town will come to reason."
On—on to where the tea-ships ride!
And now their ranks are forming,—
A rush, and up the Dartmouth's side
The Mohawk band is swarming!
See the fierce natives! What a glimpse
Of paint and fur and feather,
As all at once the full-grown imps
Light on the deck together!
A scarf the pigtail's secret keeps,
A blanket hides the breeches,—
And out the cursèd cargo leaps,
And overboard it pitches!
O woman, at the evening board
So gracious, sweet, and purring,
So happy while the tea is poured,
So blest while spoons are stirring,
What martyr can compare with thee,
The mother, wife, or daughter,
That night, instead of best Bohea,
Condemned to milk and water!
Ah, little dreams the quiet dame
Who plies with rock and spindle
The patient flax, how great a flame
Yon little spark shall kindle!
The lurid morning shall reveal
A fire no king can smother
Where British flint and Boston steel
Have clashed against each other!
Old charters shrivel in its track,
His Worship's bench has crumbled,
It climbs and clasps the union-jack,
Its blazoned pomp is humbled,
The flags go down on land and sea
Like corn before the reapers;
So burned the fire that brewed the tea
That Boston served her keepers!
The waves that wrought a century's wreck
Have rolled o'er whig and tory;
The Mohawks on the Dartmouth's deck
Still live in song and story;
The waters in the rebel bay
Have kept the tea-leaf savor;
Our old North-Enders in their spray
Still taste a Hyson flavor;
And Freedom's teacup still o'erflows
With ever fresh libations,
To cheat of slumber all her foes
And cheer the wakening nations!
Oliver Wendell Holmes.
Next morning, Paul Revere, booted and spurred, started for Philadelphia with the news that Boston had at last thrown down the gauntlet. The following song appeared in the Pennsylvania Packet a few days after Revere reached Philadelphia.
A NEW SONG
[December 16, 1773]
As near beauteous Boston lying,
On the gently swelling flood,
Without jack or pendant flying,
Three ill-fated tea-ships rode.
Just as glorious Sol was setting,
On the wharf, a numerous crew,
Sons of freedom, fear forgetting,
Suddenly appeared in view.
Armed with hammers, axe, and chisels,
Weapons new for warlike deed,
Towards the herbage-freighted vessels,
They approached with dreadful speed.
O'er their heads aloft in mid-sky,
Three bright angel forms were seen;
This was Hampden, that was Sidney,
With fair Liberty between.
"Soon," they cried, "your foes you'll banish,
Soon the triumph shall be won;
Scarce shall setting Phœbus vanish,
Ere the deathless deed be done."
Quick as thought the ships were boarded,
Hatches burst and chests displayed;
Axes, hammers help afforded;
What a glorious crash they made.
Squash into the deep descended,
Cursed weed of China's coast;
Thus at once our fears were ended;
British rights shall ne'er be lost.
Captains! once more hoist your streamers,
Spread your sails, and plough the wave;
Tell your masters they were dreamers,
When they thought to cheat the brave.
News of the insurrection was received in England with the greatest indignation, and measures of reprisal were at once undertaken. No ships were to be allowed to enter the port of Boston until the rebellious town should have repaid the East India Company for the loss of its tea; the charter of Massachusetts was annulled and her free government destroyed; and General Gage was sent over with four regiments to take possession of the town.
HOW WE BECAME A NATION
[April 15, 1774]
When George the King would punish folk
Who dared resist his angry will—
Resist him with their hearts of oak
That neither King nor Council broke—
He told Lord North to mend his quill,
And sent his Parliament a Bill.
The Boston Port Bill was the thing
He flourished in his royal hand;
A subtle lash with scorpion sting,
Across the seas he made it swing,
And with its cruel thong he planned
To quell the disobedient land.
His minions heard it sing, and bare
The port of Boston felt his wrath;
They let no ship cast anchor there,
They summoned Hunger and Despair,—
And curses in an aftermath
Followed their desolating path.
No coal might enter there, nor wood,
Nor Holland flax, nor silk from France;
No drugs for dying pangs, no food
For any mother's little brood.
"Now," said the King, "we have our chance,
We'll lead the haughty knaves a dance."
No other flags lit up the bay,
Like full-blown blossoms in the air,
Than where the British war-ships lay;
The wharves were idle; all the day
The idle men, grown gaunt and spare,
Saw trouble, pall-like, everywhere.
Then in across the meadow land,
From lonely farm and hunter's tent,
From fertile field and fallow strand,
Pouring it out with lavish hand,
The neighboring burghs their bounty sent,
And laughed at King and Parliament.
To bring them succor, Marblehead
Joyous her deep-sea fishing sought.
Her trees, with ringing stroke and tread,
Old many-rivered Newbury sped,
And Groton in her granaries wrought,
And generous flocks old Windham brought.
Rice from the Carolinas came,
Iron from Pennsylvania's forge,
And, with a spirit all aflame,
Tobacco-leaf and corn and game
The Midlands sent; and in his gorge
The Colonies defied King George!
And Hartford hung, in black array,
Her town-house, and at half-mast there
The flags flowed, and the bells all day
Tolled heavily; and far away
In great Virginia's solemn air
The House of Burgesses held prayer.
Down long glades of the forest floor
The same thrill ran through every vein,
And down the long Atlantic's shore;
Its heat the tyrant's fetters tore
And welded them through stress and strain
Of long years to a mightier chain.
That mighty chain with links of steel
Bound all the Old Thirteen at last,
Through one electric pulse to feel
The common woe, the common weal.
And that great day the Port Bill passed
Made us a nation hard and fast.
Harriet Prescott Spofford.
Gage arrived at Boston in May, 1774, and at once issued a proclamation calling upon the inhabitants to be loyal, and warning them of his intention to maintain the authority of the King at any cost.
A PROCLAMATION
[May, 1774]
America! thou fractious nation,
Attend thy master's proclamation!
[Tremble! for know, I, Thomas Gage],
Determin'd come the war to wage.
With the united powers sent forth,
Of Bute, of Mansfield, and of North;
To scourge your insolence, my choice,
While England mourns and Scots rejoice!
Bostonia first shall feel my power,
And gasping midst the dreadful shower
Of ministerial rage, shall cry,
Oh, save me, Bute! I yield! and die.
Then shall my thundering cannons rattle,
My hardy veterans march to battle,
[Against Virginia's hostile land],
To humble that rebellious band.
At my approach her trembling swains
Shall quit well-cultivated plains,
To seek the inhospitable wood;
Or try, like swine of old, the flood.
Rejoice! ye happy Scots rejoice!
Your voice lift up, a mighty voice,
The voice of gladness on each tongue,
The mighty praise of Bute be sung.
The praise of Mansfield, and of North,
Let next your hymns of joy set forth,
Nor shall the rapturous strain assuage,
Till sung's your own proclaiming Gage.
Whistle ye pipes! ye drones drone on.
Ye bellows blow! Virginia's won!
Your Gage has won Virginia's shore,
And Scotia's sons shall mourn no more.
[Hail, Middlesex!] oh happy county!
Thou too shalt share thy master's bounty,
Thy sons obedient, naught shall fear,
Thy wives and widows drop no tear.
Thrice happy people, ne'er shall feel
The force of unrelenting steel;
What brute would give the ox a stroke
Who bends his neck to meet the yoke?
[To Murray bend the humble knee];
He shall protect you under me;
His generous pen shall not be mute,
But sound your praise thro' Fox to Bute.
By Scotchmen lov'd, by Scotchmen taught,
By all your country Scotchmen thought;
Fear Bute, fear Mansfield, North and me,
And be as blest as slaves can be.
The Virginia Gazette, 1774.
The colonies rallied nobly to Boston's support; provisions of all sorts were sent over-land to the devoted city; the 1st of June, the day on which the Port Bill went into effect, was observed as a day of fasting and prayer throughout the country, and it became a point of honor with all good patriots to refrain from indulgence in "the blasted herb."
THE BLASTED HERB
[1774]
Rouse every generous, thoughtful mind,
The rising danger flee,
If you would lasting freedom find,
Now then abandon tea.
Scorn to be bound with golden chains,
Though they allure the sight;
Bid them defiance, if they claim
Our freedom and birthright.
Shall we our freedom give away,
And all our comfort place,
In drinking of outlandish tea,
Only to please our taste?
Forbid it Heaven, let us be wise,
And seek our country's good;
Nor ever let a thought arise
That tea should be our food.
Since we so great a plenty have,
Of all that's for our health,
Shall we that blasted herb receive,
Impoverishing our wealth?
When we survey the breathless corpse,
With putrid matter filled,
For crawling worms a sweet resort,
By us reputed ill.
Noxious effluvia sending out
From its pernicious store,
Not only from the foaming mouth,
But every lifeless pore.
To view the same enrolled in tea,
Besmeared with such perfumes,
And then the herb sent o'er the sea,
To us it tainted comes—
Some of it tinctured with a filth
Of carcasses embalmed;
Taste of this herb, then, if thou wilt!
Sure me it cannot charm.
Adieu! away, oh tea! begone!
Salute our taste no more;
Though thou art coveted by some,
Who're destined to be poor.
Fowle's Gazette, July 22, 1774.
EPIGRAM
ON THE POOR OF BOSTON BEING EMPLOYED IN PAVING THE STREETS, 1774
[In spite of Rice], in spite of Wheat,
Sent for the Boston Poor—to eat:
In spite of Brandy, one would think,
Sent for the Boston Poor—to drink:
Poor are the Boston Poor, indeed,
And needy, tho' there is no Need:
They cry for Bread; the mighty Ones
Instead of Bread, give only Stones.
[Rivington's New York Gazetteer], September 2, 1774.
It was plain that, in this crisis, the colonies must stick together, and the proposal for a Continental Congress, first made by the Sons of Liberty in New York, was approved by colony after colony, and the Congress was finally called to meet at Philadelphia, September 1.
THE DAUGHTER'S REBELLION
When fair Columbia was a child,
And mother Britain on her smil'd
With kind regard, and strok'd her head,
And gave her dolls and gingerbread,
And sugar plumbs, and many a toy,
Which prompted gratitude and joy—
Then a more duteous maid, I ween,
Ne'er frisked it o'er the playful green;
Whate'er the mother said, approv'd,
And with sincere affection lov'd—
With reverence listen'd to her dreams,
And bowed obsequious to her schemes—
Barter'd the products of her garden,
For trinkets, worth more than a farthing—
And whensoe'er the mother sigh'd,
She, sympathetic daughter, cri'd,
Fearing the heavy, long-drawn breath,
Betoken'd her approaching death.
But when at puberty arriv'd,
Forgot the power in whom she liv'd,
And 'gan to make preposterous splutter,
'Bout spreading her own bread and butter,
And stubbornly refus'd t' agree,
In form, to drink her bohea-tea,
And like a base, ungrateful daughter,
Hurl'd a whole tea box in the water—
'Bout writing paper made a pother,
And dared to argue with her mother—
Contended pertly, that the nurse,
Should not be keeper of the purse;
But that herself, now older grown,
Would have a pocket of her own,
In which the purse she would deposit,
As safely as in nurse's closet.
Francis Hopkinson.
The Whig papers generally at this time adopted for a headpiece a snake broken into parts representing the several colonies, with the motto, "Unite or Die."
ON THE SNAKE
DEPICTED AT THE HEAD OF SOME AMERICAN NEWSPAPERS
Ye sons of Sedition, how comes it to pass
That America's typ'd by a Snake—in the grass?
Don't you think 'tis a scandalous, saucy reflection,
That merits the soundest, severest correction?
New-England's the Head, too;—New-England's abus'd,
For the Head of the Serpent we know should be bruis'd.
From Rivington's New York Gazetteer, August 25, 1774.
The feeling of the entire country was aptly voiced in "Free America," which appeared at that time, and which was ascribed to Dr. Joseph Warren.
FREE AMERICA
[1774]
That seat of Science, Athens,
And earth's proud mistress, Rome;
Where now are all their glories?
We scarce can find a tomb.
Then guard your rights, Americans,
Nor stoop to lawless sway;
Oppose, oppose, oppose, oppose,
For North America.
We led fair Freedom hither,
And lo, the desert smiled!
A paradise of pleasure
Was opened in the wild!
Your harvest, bold Americans,
No power shall snatch away!
Huzza, huzza, huzza, huzza,
For free America.
Torn from a world of tyrants,
Beneath this western sky,
We formed a new dominion,
A land of liberty:
The world shall own we're masters here;
Then hasten on the day:
Huzza, huzza, huzza, huzza,
For free America.
Proud Albion bowed to Cæsar,
And numerous lords before;
To Picts, to Danes, to Normans,
And many masters more:
But we can boast, Americans,
We've never fallen a prey;
Huzza, huzza, huzza, huzza,
For free America.
God bless this maiden climate,
And through its vast domain
May hosts of heroes cluster,
Who scorn to wear a chain:
And blast the venal sycophant
That dares our rights betray;
Huzza, huzza, huzza, huzza,
For free America.
Lift up your hands, ye heroes,
And swear with proud disdain,
The wretch that would ensnare you,
Shall lay his snares in vain:
Should Europe empty all her force,
We'll meet her in array,
And fight and shout, and shout and fight
For North America.
Some future day shall crown us,
The masters of the main,
Our fleets shall speak in thunder
To England, France, and Spain;
And the nations over the ocean spread
Shall tremble and obey
The sons, the sons, the sons, the sons
Of brave America.
Joseph Warren.
The Continental Congress assembled at Philadelphia, September 5, 1774, and, after four weeks' deliberation, agreed upon a declaration of rights, claiming for the American people the right of free legislation and calling for the repeal of eleven acts of Parliament.
In a chariot of light from the regions of day,
The Goddess of Liberty came;
Ten thousand celestials directed the way
And hither conducted the dame.
A fair budding branch from the gardens above,
Where millions with millions agree,
She brought in her hand as a pledge of her love,
And the plant she named Liberty Tree.
The celestial exotic struck deep in the ground,
Like a native it flourished and bore;
The fame of its fruit drew the nations around,
To seek out this peaceable shore.
Unmindful of names or distinction they came,
For freemen like brothers agree;
With one spirit endued, they one friendship pursued,
And their temple was Liberty Tree.
Beneath this fair tree, like the patriarchs of old,
Their bread in contentment they ate,
Unvexed with the troubles of silver and gold,
The cares of the grand and the great.
With timber and tar they Old England supplied,
And supported her power on the sea;
Her battles they fought, without getting a groat,
For the honor of Liberty Tree.
But hear, O ye swains, 'tis a tale most profane,
How all the tyrannical powers,
Kings, Commons, and Lords, are uniting amain,
To cut down this guardian of ours;
From the east to the west blow the trumpet to arms
Through the land let the sound of it flee,
Let the far and the near, all unite with a cheer,
In defence of our Liberty Tree.
Thomas Paine.
Pennsylvania Magazine, 1775.
The duty of presenting to the British government the Declaration of Rights prepared by the Congress devolved upon Benjamin Franklin, who was in England at the time. Lord Dartmouth received the document, but permission was refused Franklin to present the case for the Continental Congress, and to defend it, before the House of Commons.
THE MOTHER COUNTRY
[1775]
We have an old mother that peevish is grown;
She snubs us like children that scarce walk alone;
She forgets we're grown up and have sense of our own;
Which nobody can deny, deny,
Which nobody can deny.
If we don't obey orders, whatever the case,
She frowns, and she chides, and she loses all pati-
Ence, and sometimes she hits us a slap in the face;
Which nobody, etc.
Her orders so odd are, we often suspect
That age has impaired her sound intellect;
But still an old mother should have due respect;
Which nobody, etc.
Let's bear with her humors as well as we can;
But why should we bear the abuse of her man?
When servants make mischief, they earn the rattan;
Which nobody, etc.
Know, too, ye bad neighbors, who aim to divide
The sons from the mother, that still she's our pride;
And if ye attack her, we're all of her side;
Which nobody, etc.
We'll join in her lawsuits, to baffle all those
Who, to get what she has, will be often her foes;
For we know it must all be our own, when she goes;
Which nobody can deny, deny,
Which nobody can deny.
Benjamin Franklin.
Very few Englishmen believed that the Americans would fight. Lord Sandwich said that they were a lot of undisciplined cowards, who would take to their heels at the first sound of a cannon, and that it would be easy to frighten them into submission. The "Pennsylvania Song" was evidently written to answer this assertion.
PENNSYLVANIA SONG
We are the troop that ne'er will stoop
To wretched slavery,
Nor shall our seed, by our base deed,
Despisèd vassals be;
Freedom we will bequeath to them,
Or we will bravely die;
Our greatest foe, ere long shall know,
How much did Sandwich lie.
And all the world shall know,
Americans are free;
Nor slaves nor cowards we will prove,
Great Britain soon shall see.
We'll not give up our birthright,
Our foes shall find us men;
As good as they, in any shape,
The British troops shall ken.
Huzza! brave boys, we'll beat them
On any hostile plain;
For Freedom, wives, and children dear,
The battle we'll maintain.
And all the world, etc.
What! can those British tyrants think,
Our fathers cross'd the main,
And savage foes, and dangers met,
To be enslav'd by them?
If so, they are mistaken,
For we will rather die;
And since they have become our foes,
Their forces we defy.
And all the world, etc.
Dunlap's Packet, 1775.
About the middle of December, 1774, deputies appointed by the freemen of Maryland met at Annapolis, and unanimously resolved to resist the attempts of Parliament to tax the colonies and to support the acts of the Continental Congress. They also recommended that every man should provide himself with "a good firelock, with bayonet attached, powder and ball," to be in readiness to act in any emergency.
MARYLAND RESOLVES
[December, 1774]
On Calvert's plains new faction reigns,
Great Britain we defy, sir,
True Liberty lies gagg'd in chains,
Though freedom is the cry, sir.
The Congress, and their factious tools,
Most wantonly oppress us,
Hypocrisy triumphant rules,
And sorely does distress us.
The British bands with glory crown'd,
No longer shall withstand us;
Our martial deeds loud fame shall sound
[Since mad Lee now commands us].
Triumphant soon a blow he'll strike,
That all the world shall awe, sir,
And General Gage, Sir Perseus like,
Behind his wheels he'll draw, sir.
When Gallic hosts, ungrateful men,
Our race meant to extermine,
Pray did committees save us then,
Or Hancock, or such vermin?
Then faction spurn! think for yourselves!
Your parent state, believe me,
From real griefs, from factious elves,
Will speedily relieve ye.
Rivington's Gazetteer.
Such effusions as the "Massachusetts Liberty Song" became immensely popular, and bands of liberty-loving souls met nightly to sing them.
[MASSACHUSETTS SONG OF LIBERTY]
Come swallow your bumpers, ye Tories, and roar
That the Sons of fair Freedom are hamper'd once more;
But know that no Cut-throats our spirits can tame,
Nor a host of Oppressors shall smother the flame.
In Freedom we're born, and, like Sons of the brave,
Will never surrender,
But swear to defend her,
And scorn to survive, if unable to save.
Our grandsires, bless'd heroes, we'll give them a tear,
Nor sully their honors by stooping to fear;
Through deaths and through dangers their Trophies they won,
We dare be their Rivals, nor will be outdone.
In Freedom we're born, etc.
Let tyrants and minions presume to despise,
Encroach on our Rights, and make Freedom their prize;
The fruits of their rapine they never shall keep,
Though Vengeance may nod, yet how short is her sleep.
In Freedom we're born, etc.
The tree which proud Haman for Mordecai rear'd
Stands recorded, that virtue endanger'd is spared;
That rogues, whom no bounds and no laws can restrain,
Must be stripp'd of their honors and humbled again.
In Freedom we're born, etc.
Our wives and our babes, still protected, shall know
Those who dare to be free shall forever be so;
On these arms and these hearts they may safely rely
For in freedom we'll live, or like Heroes we'll die.
In Freedom we're born, etc.
Ye insolent Tyrants! who wish to enthrall;
Ye Minions, ye Placemen, Pimps, Pensioners, all;
How short is your triumph, how feeble your trust,
Your honor must wither and nod to the dust.
In Freedom we're born, etc.
When oppress'd and approach'd, our King we implore,
Still firmly persuaded our Rights he'll restore;
When our hearts beat to arms to defend a just right,
Our monarch rules there, and forbids us to fight.
In Freedom we're born, etc.
Not the glitter of arms nor the dread of a fray
Could make us submit to their chains for a day;
Withheld by affection, on Britons we call,
Prevent the fierce conflict which threatens your fall.
In Freedom we're born, etc.
All ages should speak with amaze and applause
Of the prudence we show in support of our cause:
Assured of our safety, a Brunswick still reigns,
Whose free loyal subjects are strangers to chains.
In Freedom we're born, etc.
Then join hand in hand, brave Americans all,
To be free is to live, to be slaves is to fall;
Has the land such a dastard as scorns not a Lord,
Who dreads not a fetter much more than a sword?
In Freedom we're born, etc.
Attributed to Mrs. Mercy Warren.
EPIGRAM
Rudely forced to drink tea, Massachusetts, in anger,
Spills the tea on John Bull. John falls on to bang her.
Massachusetts, enraged, calls her neighbors to aid
And give Master John a severe bastinade.
Now, good men of the law, who is at fault,
The one who begins or resists the assault?
Anderson's Constitutional Gazette, 1775.
O Boston wives and maids, draw near and see
Our delicate Souchong and Hyson tea,
Buy it, my charming girls, fair, black, or brown,
If not, we'll cut your throats, and burn your town.
St. James Chronicle.
It was evident that, in the excited state of the country, a single incident might turn the balance between peace and war and produce a general explosion. That incident was not long in coming.
"PROPHECY"
[1774]
Hail, happy Britain, Freedom's blest retreat,
Great is thy power, thy wealth, thy glory great,
But wealth and power have no immortal day,
For all things ripen only to decay.
And when that time arrives, the lot of all,
When Britain's glory, power and wealth shall fall;
Then shall thy sons by Fate's unchanged decree
In other worlds another Britain see,
And what thou art, America shall be.
Gulian Verplanck.