Marblehead, and July, in the year of our Lord 1774.

In the harbor (now known as Great Bay) the water lay, a smooth,
glistening floor of amethystine hue, shut in protectively by the
“Neck,” thrust out like a strong arm between it and the rougher sea
beyond, stretching, purple and endless, to the rim of the cloudless
horizon.

To the north and northwest lay the islands, the nearer ones sharply
outlined in trees and verdure, but showing here and there a grayness of
beach or boulder, like the bald spot among some good man’s otherwise
plentiful locks.

Looking eastward, Cat Island was closest of all to the mainland, the
charred ruins upon it showing sharply in the brilliant afternoon
sunshine; and here, amid the desolation, a few of the blackened timbers
still remained upright, like arms lifted in protest against the
vengeance visited upon the hospital a short time before by the
well-meant zeal of the infuriated townsfolk.

In August of the previous year, during an epidemic of smallpox, a
meeting was called in the townhouse, and Elbridge Gerry, John Glover,
Azor Orne, and Jonathan Glover petitioned that a hospital be built on
Cat Island, for the treatment of smallpox patients, or else that the
town permit certain individuals to do this at their own expense.

The town refused to build the hospital, but gave permission to the
individuals to construct one, provided the adjoining town of Salem gave
its consent; it being also stipulated that the hospital should be so
regulated as to shield the inhabitants of Marblehead from any “danger
of infection” therefrom.

The necessary approval having been obtained from Salem, preparations
were made in September for erecting the hospital.

By this time some of the people of Marblehead had become impressed with
the fear that by the establishing of the hospital the dread disease
would become a prevailing pest amongst them. Their terror made them
unreasonable, and they now fiercely opposed the scheme to which they
had once given their consent, and demanded that the work be abandoned;
but the proprietors, filled with indignation at what they considered
rank injustice, persisted in carrying out their worthy project to
completion.

In October the hospital was finished, and placed in charge of an
eminent physician from Portsmouth, who had attained a wide reputation
for his success in the treatment of smallpox. Several hundred patients
came under his care, with gratifying results. But a few had died, and
this fact brought about bitter and active hostility from the
malcontents. They demanded that the place be abandoned at once; and
threats of violence began to be made.

The feeling gained in strength and intensity, until at length the
proprietors gave up the contest. And then, to assure themselves that
the hospital should not be reopened, a party of the townspeople,
closely disguised, crossed to Cat Island one night in the following
January, and left the buildings in flames.

But now these summer weeks found the town excited and tumultuous over
still graver matters. The British government had found it
impracticable to enforce the duty upon tea, and resorting to
subterfuge, adopted a compromise whereby the East India Company,
hitherto the greatest losers by the diminution of its exports from
Great Britain, was authorized to send its goods to all places free of
duty.

Although the tea would now become cheaper for the colonists, they were
not deceived by this new ministerial plan. And when the news was
received that the East India Company had freighted ships with tea
consigned to its colonial agents, meetings were held to devise measures
to prevent the sale or unloading of the tea within the province.

The agents, when waited upon by the committee chosen for that purpose
in Boston, refused flatly to promise that the tea should not be
unloaded or sold by them; and they were forthwith publicly stigmatized
as enemies to their country, and resolutions were adopted providing
that they, and all such, should be dealt with accordingly.

In December, 1773, the historical “Tea Party” took place in Boston
harbor; and in the following spring Governor Hutchinson resigned, and
General Thomas Gage was appointed in his stead.

Bill after bill was passed in Parliament and sanctioned by the King,
having in view but the single object of bringing the people of
Massachusetts to terms. The quartering of English troops in Boston was
made legal. Town meetings were prohibited except by special permission
from the Governor. And finally the infamous “Port Bill” was passed,
which removed the seat of government to Salem, and closed the port of
Boston to commerce.

In July subscriptions were being solicited by order of the town of
Marblehead for the relief of the poor of Boston, who were suffering
from the operation of the “Port Bill,” and all the buildings which
could be utilized, even to the town-house, were placed at the disposal
of the merchants, for the storage of their goods.

In defiance of Parliament, whose act had practically suppressed all
town meetings, the people of Marblehead continued to assemble and
express their views, and discuss the grave questions then agitating the
entire country. The very air of the sea seemed to murmur of war and
the rumors of war; and the hearts of thinking men and women were heavy
with forebodings of the struggle they felt to be imminent.

But the little town was lying brooding and peaceful this July
afternoon. Its wooded hills to the west sent shadows across the grassy
meadows and slopes, rising and falling to meet the sand-beaches, or
ending in the headlands of granite that made sightly outlooks from
which to scan the sea for threatening ships.

Under the pines that made shadows along the way, a horseman was going
leisurely along the road leading to the Fountain Inn.

To his left lay level meadow lands, rising into hills as they neared
the inn, the old Burial Hill–the town’s God’s Acre–being highest of
all. To his right, the green fields and marshes stretched unbroken to
the sea, save for here and there a clump of bushes and tangled vines,
or a thicket of wild roses. The road before him ended in two branches,
one leading to the rising ground on the right, where stood the Fountain
Inn, while to the left it terminated in a sandy beach, before which
stretched the peaceful waters of Little Harbor, now whitened with the
sails of East Indian commerce, and the craft belonging to the fishing
fleets that plied their yearly trade to the “Banks” and to Boston.

No large ship could come nigh the shore in Little Harbor; whereas in
the deep bay lying between the Neck and the town, the enemy’s vessels
might anchor by the land itself. And here the townsfolk kept a most
active lookout, which left the hills and beaches of Little Harbor
almost deserted.