leaders of the Sons of Liberty.
There was Sam Adams' young cousin John from Braintree, plump, boyish-looking, and quick to speak. Hunter pointed out Dr. Joseph Warren and Dr. Benjamin Church; William Molineaux, the hardware merchant; Bill Campbell, the owner of the tavern; John Pulling, whose fame was to be eclipsed by Paul Revere's., though it was he who would hang the lanterns in the Christ's Church steeple to give Revere the signal that the British troops were coming; the gargantuan silversmith.
Benjamin Burt, who weighed almost four hundred pounds and required the room of two men at the table; James “Jemmy" Otis. the flamboyant orator whose reason was slowly slipping away, rendering him unpredictable and temperamental, given to frequent emotional outbursts that often made no sense at all; young Josiah Quincy; the Cooper brothers, Samuel, the pastor of the Brattle Street Church, and William, the town clerk; Thomas Dawes: John Winslow and Thomas Melville, still only in his teens and fresh from Harvard, whose grandson Herman would one day write the immortal epic Moby Dick. The silversmith, Paul Revere, was also in attendance, stocky, square-faced, with his brown hair unpowdered, and his simple homespun looking shabby next to the slender Hancock's tailored finery. And. of course, there was Sam Adams, portly and rumpled, looking like someone's absentminded uncle, yet the real power behind the coming revolution. He called the meeting to order.
“Gentlemen, your indulgence, please," he said, rapping on the table with his knuckles. The room grew silent. Adams looked around. "I see that most of us are here. However, I note a few unfamiliar faces."
"These are Reese Hunter's friends, recently arrived from New York," said Edes. "Mr. Lucas Priest. Mr. Finn Delaney, and young Andrew Cross. They've come to observe events in Boston for themselves and report back to our friends in the New York colony. Reese vouches for them."
"Very well.” said Adams, nodding. In that case welcome, gentlemen. You have arrived upon a dark day, indeed. Four of our number have been foully slain and we are met to discuss how to proceed.”
He looked around to make sure he had everyone's attention.
"There have been times." he said. “when we have not acted nobly. Yet, hard times demand hard actions. And the mobs cannot always be controlled. Things have been done in the name of our cause that I regret, despite the fact that our cause has been advanced by them. Men have been set upon and beaten, and yet I cannot truly say that they did not well deserve a beating. There are those whose homes have been invaded and torn down, yet they were men who, by their actions, sought to invade our rights and to tear down our liberties. Men have been pressured to resign their offices, and yet it can be said that tyrants have no business holding office."
"Hear, hear," said someone. We must, of necessity,” said Adams. “use whatever means are open to us in order to achieve our ends, and sometimes those means are hard, indeed . . . but, gentlemen, we have never yet committed murder."
"Not yet," said Quincy, grimly, and several of the men grumbled their assent.
"Not
ever
." Adams said. "Not ever." He looked around at all of them. His hands began to tremble, so he clasped them. “We are patriots, my friends, not murderers. And if the time should ever come when blood is to be spilled, then let it be in honorable warfare, and not foul murder in the night!"
At the mention at the word “warfare," the men began to mumble among themselves. “Yes, gentlemen, war." said Adams. “It is the first time we have used that word among us, though I have known for some time now that war must inevitably come. It is not yet time for us to speak of war in public, but those of us present in this room must give due consideration to that eventuality. For I am certain that it must come to that. We in the colonies are not, as they call us in Parliament 'rebellious children.' We are
There was Sam Adams' young cousin John from Braintree, plump, boyish-looking, and quick to speak. Hunter pointed out Dr. Joseph Warren and Dr. Benjamin Church; William Molineaux, the hardware merchant; Bill Campbell, the owner of the tavern; John Pulling, whose fame was to be eclipsed by Paul Revere's., though it was he who would hang the lanterns in the Christ's Church steeple to give Revere the signal that the British troops were coming; the gargantuan silversmith.
Benjamin Burt, who weighed almost four hundred pounds and required the room of two men at the table; James “Jemmy" Otis. the flamboyant orator whose reason was slowly slipping away, rendering him unpredictable and temperamental, given to frequent emotional outbursts that often made no sense at all; young Josiah Quincy; the Cooper brothers, Samuel, the pastor of the Brattle Street Church, and William, the town clerk; Thomas Dawes: John Winslow and Thomas Melville, still only in his teens and fresh from Harvard, whose grandson Herman would one day write the immortal epic Moby Dick. The silversmith, Paul Revere, was also in attendance, stocky, square-faced, with his brown hair unpowdered, and his simple homespun looking shabby next to the slender Hancock's tailored finery. And. of course, there was Sam Adams, portly and rumpled, looking like someone's absentminded uncle, yet the real power behind the coming revolution. He called the meeting to order.
“Gentlemen, your indulgence, please," he said, rapping on the table with his knuckles. The room grew silent. Adams looked around. "I see that most of us are here. However, I note a few unfamiliar faces."
"These are Reese Hunter's friends, recently arrived from New York," said Edes. "Mr. Lucas Priest. Mr. Finn Delaney, and young Andrew Cross. They've come to observe events in Boston for themselves and report back to our friends in the New York colony. Reese vouches for them."
"Very well.” said Adams, nodding. In that case welcome, gentlemen. You have arrived upon a dark day, indeed. Four of our number have been foully slain and we are met to discuss how to proceed.”
He looked around to make sure he had everyone's attention.
"There have been times." he said. “when we have not acted nobly. Yet, hard times demand hard actions. And the mobs cannot always be controlled. Things have been done in the name of our cause that I regret, despite the fact that our cause has been advanced by them. Men have been set upon and beaten, and yet I cannot truly say that they did not well deserve a beating. There are those whose homes have been invaded and torn down, yet they were men who, by their actions, sought to invade our rights and to tear down our liberties. Men have been pressured to resign their offices, and yet it can be said that tyrants have no business holding office."
"Hear, hear," said someone. We must, of necessity,” said Adams. “use whatever means are open to us in order to achieve our ends, and sometimes those means are hard, indeed . . . but, gentlemen, we have never yet committed murder."
"Not yet," said Quincy, grimly, and several of the men grumbled their assent.
"Not
ever
." Adams said. "Not ever." He looked around at all of them. His hands began to tremble, so he clasped them. “We are patriots, my friends, not murderers. And if the time should ever come when blood is to be spilled, then let it be in honorable warfare, and not foul murder in the night!"
At the mention at the word “warfare," the men began to mumble among themselves. “Yes, gentlemen, war." said Adams. “It is the first time we have used that word among us, though I have known for some time now that war must inevitably come. It is not yet time for us to speak of war in public, but those of us present in this room must give due consideration to that eventuality. For I am certain that it must come to that. We in the colonies are not, as they call us in Parliament 'rebellious children.' We are
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