New York - The Novel

dumped the tea into Boston harbor. The Sons of Liberty were delighted.
    “We’ll do the same when the tea ships get to New York,” they declared.
    But no tea ships appeared. The new year began. Mercy caught a cold, and was confined to her bed for a while. John Master fretted that he had not heard from James, and wrote to him again. Then word came from Philadelphia that the tea ships had arrived there, but had been turned away without violence. By March John told Mercy, “I don’t think the tea ships are coming here, thank God.”

    It was in April that Hudson was sent up to Dutchess County. He had a wagonload of goods that John Master wanted to send his elder daughter, together with some fine old family chairs and a quantity of china that Mercy thought Susan might like to have.
    He had a pleasant journey. The weather was fine. The rutted roads might make for slow going, but it was pleasant to make one’s way northward from the great coastal sweep of New York and the long ridges of Westchester up into the more intimate scenery of hills and dales where Susan and her husband had their farm.
    The house was handsome. Its outside was of rough limestone masonry; it had a gambrel roof, and blue-and-white tiles round the fireplaces. But to these homely Dutch features were added a handsome facade with a double row of five Georgian windows, a center hall, high ceilings and panelled rooms, which proclaimed a certain English sense of propriety and importance. Hudson spent two nights there with Susan and her family, who treated him in a most friendly manner, and he considered once again that this would be a fine place where his son could keep out of trouble.
    He learned about the tea ships as he crossed onto Manhattan.
    “Two came. The first turned back. But the captain of the second said he’d unload his tea and the Liberty Boys be damned. They nearly hanged him.”
    “And then?”
    “They had themselves a tea party. It’s been quite a day.”
    It was dark when he got back to the house. Going to the kitchen door, he found Ruth alone. She embraced him warmly and whispered, “Thankthe Lord you came back.” But when he asked, “Where’s Solomon?” she put her finger to her lips.
    “The Boss was asking for him too. I told him Solomon’s sick, an’ sleeping. But the truth is he went out in the morning and I ain’t seen him since. Oh Hudson, I don’ know where he went.”
    With a curse, Hudson went back into the yard. He could guess where Solomon had gone. He went across to the Bowling Green, then started up Broadway. Like as not Solomon would be in one of the taverns by now.
    But he’d only visited two of these when he caught sight of a figure, dressed as an Indian, flitting down a side street. A figure that he recognized at once. And moments later the Indian found himself held against a wall, in a grip of iron.
    “What you been doin’, son? What kept you so busy all day? Dumpin’ tea, maybe?”
    “Maybe.”
    The next few moments between Hudson and his son were unpleasant. But even when Hudson had done, his son was not abashed. What would Master say, if he knew, Hudson asked.
    “What do you know?” Solomon cried. “Everyone’s with the Liberty Boys now. Even the merchants. I told Sam White that the Boss says we ought to take the tea,” he continued. “And Sam says the Boss is a traitor. The Liberty Boys are going to throw the redcoats and the traitors out of the colony.”
    “And where will that leave you and me?” his father demanded. “You think the Liberty Boys are goin’ to do anything for the black man?” It was true that, together with small craftsmen, sailors, laborers and all kinds of poorer folk, the ranks of the Sons of Liberty contained a number of freed-men. But what did that signify? Besides, there was another consideration. “You better remember,” he told his son ominously, “that you’re a slave, Solomon. If the Boss wants to sell you, ain’t nobody goin’ to stop him. So you be careful.”

    During that summer of ’74, the conflict seemed to take on a life of its own. When news of the Boston Tea Party had reached London, the reaction had been predictable. “Such insolence and disobedience must be crushed,” the British Parliament declared. General Gage was sent from New York up to Boston to govern the place, firmly. By May, the port ofBoston was virtually shut down. The Coercive Acts, Parliament called this tough legislation. “The Intolerable Acts,” the colonies called