United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction; War stories
"It is Parliament that has been blind all the time," insisted Mary. "If
you had been with us on that side of the sea, you would be among the
first to know things as they are. Let us say no more, sir; I cannot
lend myself to argument. You are so kind and I am so very grateful for
it, in my heart."
"Well, well," exclaimed the old man again, "let us speak, then, of this
instant business that you have in hand! I take it you have a heart in
the matter, too; I see that you cherish Madam Wallingford like her own
child. We must find out if the lad is still alive, and whether it is
possible to free him. I heard lately that they have had the worst sort
of small-pox among them, and a jail fever that is worse than the plague
itself. ’T is not the fault of the jail, I wager you, but some dirty
sailor brought it from his foul ship," he added hastily. "They are all
crowded in together; would they had kept at home where they belong!"
"You speak hard words," said the girl impatiently, and with plain
reproach, but looking so beautiful in her quick anger that the old man
was filled with wonder and delight before his conscience reminded him
that he should be ashamed. He was not used to being so boldly fronted
by his own women folk; though his wife always had her say, she feared
and obeyed him afterward without question.
"I wish that this foolish tea had never been heard of; it has been a
most detestable weed for England," grumbled the old merchant. "They say
that even your Indians drink it now, or would have it if they could."
"Mr. Davis, you have seen something of our young country," said the
girl, speaking in a quiet tone. "You have known how busy our men are at
home, how steadily they go about their business. If you had seen, as I
did, how they stood straight, and dropped whatever they had in hand, and
were hot with rage when the news came from Boston and we knew that we
were attacked at Lexington and Concord, you would have learned how we
felt the bitter wrong. ’T was not the loss of our tea or any trumpery
tax; we have never been wanting in generosity, or hung back when we
should play our part. We remembered all the old wrongs: our own timber
rotting in our woods that we might not cut; our own waterfalls running
to waste by your English law, lest we cripple the home manufacturers.
We were hurt to the heart, and were provoked to fight; we have turned
now against such tyranny. All we New England women sat at home and
grieved. The cannon sounded loud through our peaceful country. They
shut our ports, and we could not stand another insult without boldly
resenting it. We had patience at first, because our hearts were English
hearts; then we turned and fought with all our might, because we were
still Englishmen, and there is plenty of fight left in us yet."
"You are beset by the pride of being independent, and all for
yourselves," Mr. Davis accused her.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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