A True Patriot: The Journal of William Thomas Emerson

A True Patriot: The Journal of William Thomas Emerson


176 Pages


The Revolutionary War JOURNAL OF WILLIAM THOMAS EMERSON is now in paperback with an exciting repackaging!
On an early summer morning in 1774, William Emerson, on the run from his abusive foster parents, awakens to a dusty-faced stranger who has discovered his roadside bed. After hearing the boy's story, Mr. John Wilson--a writer for and organizer of the revolutionary cause--invites Will to accompany him into Boston. From that day forward, Will lives and works at the Seven Stars Tavern, gradually earning the trust of the colonial patriots who spend their time there. Through listening to tavern talk and closely observing Mr. Wilson, Will begins to grasp the importance of the colonial cause. But when conflicts between the citizens of colonial Boston and the British lobsterbacks escalate, Will is confronted with an impossible question--how much is he willing to sacrifice for the revolution and the freedom of his fellow citizens? In the pages of his diary, Will captures the patriotic spirit of the revolutionary period and the camaraderie that comes with fighting for a common cause.



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Published 01 December 2012
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EAN13 9780545470063
License: All rights reserved
Language English

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Cover Title Page Dedication
Boston, Massachusetts, Summer 1774 The Lord’s Mysterious Ways Mr. Wilson’s Proposal The Seven Stars Tavern Meeting Henry Moody The True Story of Mrs. Dill Queen George The Burglar The Fitch Sisters and the Committee Down at the Docks Keeping Accounts The Goal of Every Patriot Henry’s Studious Countenance Mr. Davis and the Loud Man My Time Will Come Mrs. Paddock Orders a Flip Mr. Davis Brings a Salmon They Look Big to Me Fall 1774 Bringing Books to Armstrong’s The Difference Between Dogs and Men My Conversation with Mr. Wilson The Sands of Time are Running Out Mr. Monk Plays with Mrs. Thompson Telling People What’s Right and What’s Wrong Red Ants and Walnuts A True Patriot Winter 1774–75 Mrs. Thompson’s Idle Hands Mr. Wilson Has a Close Shave
Welcome to the World What Molly Davis Is Reading Time False Friend Chips for Kindling Dr. Endicott’s Son No One Has Seen Henry’s Spectacles Spring 1775 In Cold Blood Three Little Girls Fire Bells War Is Just Around the Corner Sending a Boy to Do a Man’s Job Chaos Reigns Epilogue Life in America in 1774 Historical Note
About the Author Acknowledgments Copyright
The Lord’s Mysterious Ways My name is Will. William Thomas Emerson is my full name, in honor of my papa, only he’s dead now. So is everyone else. We used to have a farm in Menotomy, a village not f ar from Boston. My sister, Mama, and Papa, and me had just sat down to supper when it happened. The storm had been brewing all day. The thunder was rolling i n and rattling the roof and the lightning crackled so loud and hard I thought the s ky would shatter into a thousand pieces and come down all over the house. They were gone — all of them — just like that. Peop le say I was lucky because I was just stunned when the lightning hit and because I didn’t open my eyes until the next morning.
They say all the plates just melted right onto the table. I can’t tell you if that’s true because I don’t remember much. I was ten. My birthday was just the week before. Mr . Heath took me for a while till they decided what to do with me now that I had no f amily. Mr. Heath said that the ways of the Lord are mysterious and that I should never fear throwing myself on His mercy, which didn’t make any sense to me then and doesn’t make much sense to me now. Then he told me I would be bound out to the Marshes . They would take care of me and see to it that I was brought up right and in return I would help Mr. Marsh with the farm work. They didn’t have any children of their own, the Mar shes, that’s why they decided to take me in. At least that’s what Mr. Heath told me. What Mr. Heath didn’t tell me was that Mr. Marsh was a drinking man or that he would beat me till I was black and blue. I guess he didn’t tell me that, Mr. Heath, because he was so busy telling me about the Lord’s mysterious ways. And Mrs. Marsh wasn’t much of a help. She spent mos t of her day looking to see if Mr. Marsh was coming and, once he was home, shaking like a leaf. It was not a happy circumstance. I took it for as long as I could. Two years. Then I couldn’t take it anymore and ran away. I waited till I could hear Mr. Marsh’s heavy breath ing. That meant he was asleep and nothing could wake him. Nothing. I could have m arched out of there with a band playing and he wouldn’t have stirred. I took my kni fe with me, just in case. The one Papa gave me for my birthday.
Mr. Wilson’s Proposal I walked the trodden path till daybreak, heading, I hoped, for Boston. I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew I was being sh aken by a serious-looking fellow who was puffing furiously at a red clay pipe that h e held tightly clenched in his teeth. He said his name was Wilson. His voice was strong and sharp — it made you take notice. He said he wanted to know why I was sleeping by the side of the road and not home where I belonged. His face was covered with a light coating of dust from the road and for a time I thought maybe I was dreaming. I told him I didn’t have a home and was going to Bo ston to find work. He seemed to be giving this a great deal of thought. Finally, he spoke, saying, “That is a miraculous coincidence.” I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but fortunately he explained — he, too, was on his way to Boston and would be pleased to have me accompany him in his one-horse carriage and, if I were willing, hear a p roposal he had. During the journey Mr. Wilson asked me why I didn’t have a home. I told him what had happened to me up till then, talking as fast as I could because Mr. Wilson kept saying, “Get to the point, get to the point.” Just as we were about to enter through the town gat es we were stopped by two British soldiers who looked inside the carriage and wanted to know who we were and where we came from. Mr. Wilson answered them polite ly, although the soldiers were rude.
The Seven Stars Tavern It was thanks to him that I met Mrs. Thompson, who owns the Seven Stars Tavern, which is where I am now. It’s located on the corner of King Street and Pudding Lane. Mr. Wilson is one of Mrs. Thompson’s boarders. Well , actually, right now he’s her only boarder. His room is the only one on the top f loor and the devil help you if you go in without knocking. Mr. Wilson doesn’t like to be disturbed, especially when he’s working on one of his pamphlets or writing an artic le for the newspaper.