History That Doesn't Suck - 4: "Boston Harbor A Tea-Pot This Night:" The Boston Tea Party

Episode Date: October 17, 2017

"We have only been making a little salt-water tea." This is the story of the Boston Tea Party. The East India Company and the needs of the global British Empire are intertwined, and Parliament wants the American colonies to help foot the bill by drinking the company's tea. The East India Company sends its tea to America on seven ships. Four head to Boston. Three will make it. To be clear: the ships make it. The tea won't. This Second Edition episode is a rewritten, rerecorded, and remastered version of the original episode that aired on October 16, 2017. Head to HTDSpodcast.com to find out how to listen to the original. ___ Connect with us on HTDSpodcast.com and go deep into episode bibliographies and book recommendations join discussions in our Facebook community get news and discounts from The HTDS Gazette  come see a live show get HTDS merch or become an HTDS premium member for bonus episodes and other perks. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Red One... We're coming at you. ...is the movie event of the holiday season. Santa Claus has been kidnapped? You're gonna help us find him. You can't trust this guy. He's on the list. Is that Naughty Lister? Naughty Lister?

Dwayne Johnson. We got snowmen! Chris Evans. I might just go back to the car. Let's save Christmas. I'm not gonna say that. Say it. Alright.

Let's save Christmas. There it is. Only in theaters November 15th. A&W is now serving Pret Organic Coffee. And you can get a $1 small coffee, a $2 small latte, or like me, a $1 small coffee and a $2 small latte. Available now until November 24th in Ontario only. Woo-hoo! Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and as in the classroom, my goal here is to make rigorously researched history come to life as your storyteller.

Each episode is the result of laborious research with no agenda other than making the past come to life as you learn. If you'd like to help support this work, receive ad-free episodes, bonus content, and other exclusive perks, I invite you to join the HTDS membership program. Sign up for a seven-day free trial today at htdspodcast.com slash membership, or click the link in the episode notes. It's a cold winter's night, December 16th, 1773. We're at Boston's southeast coast. And no, I'm not talking about the neighborhood of Southie. It doesn't exist yet.

Right now, the water's edge reaches but a few blocks east of the Boston Common and the Sons of Liberty's beloved Liberty Tree. And tonight, a massive crowd of up to 2,000 Bostonians are here, tightly packed on the wooden walkways of Griffin's Wharf. Together, they stand in relative silence, watching and supporting as an audacious act of defiance takes place aboard the Wharf's three T-laden ships, the Beaver, the Eleanor, and the Dartmouth. Between 30 and 150 men, some disguised elaborately as Mohawks of the Iroquois Confederacy, others merely covering their faces in charcoal, lamp black, or soot,

board each ship. Lighting their way with lanterns and torches, our unknown armed vigilantes are soon aboard the three vessels, threatening the customs officers until the servants of the crown disembark. And now, to work. On each ship, some men head down into cold. Here, they rig up the block and tackle pulleys needed to lift the tea chests, each of which individually weighs over 400 pounds.

Up into the cold night's air, the square wooden boxes go, then descend and land on deck. Next come the axes. They make short work, smashing and cutting through the lids. Given each chest's weight, the unknown men can't simply lift them and pour the tightly packed, dried leaves overboard. So they shovel 200 pounds or so of tea into the water first. Only then do they lift the box and pour its remaining tea leaves into the harbor below. Finally, with its former contents absolutely and incontestably ruined, the approximately 90-pound empty chest is also heaved into the cold, dark water below. So it goes with every chest.

The incognito supposed Mohawks work efficiently and silently for three hours, all the while knowing that the 64th Regiment resides just across the harbor at Castle Island and that the Royal Navy has warships sitting but a few hundred yards away in these same waters. Do any of our unnamed tea demolitionists think about these forces at this moment? Or are they so drunk on adrenaline and confidence, and maybe rum, that they fear nothing as tea and chests alike crash into the harbor's cold waters? Later that same night, Elizabeth Hunt Palmer, or just Betsy as her friends and family know

her, hears the front gate open. She knows her husband Joseph has been out tonight with his club and figures it's just him coming home. But her heart nearly stops when she walks out to greet him. To her horror, she finds herself face to face with Native Americans right here in her house. In Betsy's own words, there stood three stout looking Indians. I screamed and should have fainted a very fright had I not recognized my husband's voice saying, don't be frightened, Betsy. It is I. Betsy's pulse begins to slow. She looks closer, peering past their clothing and paint, soot, or other chosen methods of concealing their identity. She sees it. The face of her

three intruders are in fact those of her husband, Joseph, and two of his friends, Stephen Bruce and James Foster Condie. And as relief washes over Betsy, Joseph explains, we have only been making a little saltwater tea. Before tonight, the beaver had 112 tea chests in its hold, the Eleanor and the Dartmouth, 114 each. That's 340 full tea chests, plus some smaller chests holding more expensive high-end teas. Altogether, that's 46 tons of tea leaves, valued at 9,659 pounds British sterling,

or over $1 million in the 21st century. Joseph and the other participants just destroyed all of it, and he coolly calls this making a little salt water tea. A retribution is coming. The Crown and Parliament will not be so amused by these Bostonians and their tea party. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story. We've come to call tonight's actions the Boston Tea Party, but the name itself really downplays its seriousness.

Put this in perspective. If today, you and your friends broke into an international airport and destroyed one or two million dollars worth of goods, owned by a company in which several members of Congress held substantial amounts of stock, how do you think that would turn out for you? Yeah, things are not going to go well for Boston after this. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. What would it take to push you to the point of doing something this dramatic, this illegal? And what again would you expect to happen next?

Today, I want to answer all these questions in relation to the Boston Tea Party. Now, to do so, we need to understand the global factors that led to it. That means revisiting the Seven Years' War, where we'll meet the East India Company at war in South Asia. We'll then follow this massive company's course through the 1760s and revisit the Townsend Acts that caused the Second American Tax Crisis so we can add a few more applicable details. Then we'll get to the third and final tax crisis in America with the introduction of the 1773 Tea Act. After this, we'll follow the tea sent to the Americas under this new Tea Act and witness the tense 20 days leading up to the Boston Tea Party on December 16, 1773. Finally, once the party has happened,

we can talk about Parliament's intolerable response. So get yourself a cup of tea or a cup of joe if you're a patriot and let's get to it. We start by going back to 1757 and getting to know one of the most powerful companies slash governments slash militaries the world has ever known, the East India Company. Rewind. It's about 6 a.m., June 23rd, 1757,

just outside the village of Plassey in Bengal. It's been roughly a year since Britain and France's North American-based French and Indian War spread here to South Asia as part of the now global Seven Years' War. And today, Lieutenant Colonel Robert Clive intends to battle the French-allied Nawab, that is, ruler of Bengal, Siraj-u-Duvla. At this moment, Robert stands on the roof of a hunting lodge just north of a mango grove at the edge of the Bagheera-Tihugli River, looking out across a lush green plain to the Nawab's camp beyond.

In it are 35,000 infantry, 15,000 cavalry, elephants, heavy Bengali and French artillery. Robert's army of 3,000 men and 12 artillery pieces is no match for that. But as some of these forces come forward to meet him in battle, this round-faced Englishman isn't banking on his firepower. He has a different weapon in mind. Subterfuge. The battle begins two hours later.

French cannons open fire first. Allied Bengali guns soon follow, as does the British response. Robert Clive is at a clear disadvantage in this artillery duel, but everything changes when a massive storm strikes at noon. The downpour soaks the Bengali guns, ruining their gunpowder. But the British are better prepared. Using coverings called tarpaulins,

Robert's men keep their artillery operable, and they soon deliver a mortal wound to Bengali commander Mir Mad. According to some accounts, Siraj-ud-Duval begs his general, Mir Jafar, to engage the British. But the Bengali commander refuses. It's an act of betrayal. Robert Clive's promised to support Mir Jafar as the new ruler of Bengal if he throws the battle, and that's just what he's done by refusing to fight. Thus, a 50,000 strong Bengali army that suffered but a few hundred deaths loses to a force of 3,000 in a single day.

Amir Jafar will become Bengali's new ruler in name, but he won't rule independently. He'll be a puppet of the same military and world power that gave him the throne. No, not the British crown. The East India Company. Many of us might know the East India Company. Many of us might know the East India Company simply as the antagonist in some of the films from the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. But as we can see from that 1757 battle, the Battle of Plassey, Disney's made a good choice. The East India Company, or EIC for short,

is a power to be reckoned with. Queen Elizabeth gave her blessing to the EIC all the way back in 1600, and in doing so, handed it the monopoly of Her Majesty's growing trade with the Indian Ocean. This included spices, cotton, gold, and eventually, tea. As time went on, the EIC created its own protective forces, mere trading post guards, more or less. But by the 1740s, conflict with the French East India Company led the EIC to make those forces increasingly legitimate armies. Then, in 1754, French and British competition exploded into a battle on the other side of the world. That's right, George Washington at Fort Necessity in episode one. That battle proved the start of

the French and Indian War, which, in 1756, became a mere theater in our favorite global French and British war, the Seven Years' War. And that's how, in 1757, we have this crazy situation in which East India Company employee, Lieutenant Colonel Robert Clive, leads the company's army to victory at the Battle of Plassey. The only thing crazier than this EIC military, though, might be EIC governance. After this battle, the East India Company will flat-out control Bengal for roughly a century until the British crown takes over in 1858. I can't overemphasize this. In our mid-1700s world, a company with its own military

has taken over Bengal and its 20 million inhabitants. In the years to come, Robert Clive and others will serve as the EIC governors here and even tax the people. Can you imagine such a thing? It'd be like filing your taxes next April with Coca-Cola. Or maybe hearing a friend say, I'm joining the military. Enlisting in Starbucks Frappuccino paratrooper unit. But seriously, the East India Company's new rule and ability to tax in Bengal makes it

even more valuable back in Britain. Every Brit with the means starts overbuying and speculating on East India Company stock faster than mortgage officers will hand out predatory loans in 2007. And the British government wants a bigger slice of the EIC pie too. One third of all customs revenue already comes out of the East India Company, but now parliament will take a deeper cut. So it's clear, the East India Company is massive, powerful,

an obvious choice for a pirates movie antagonist. It's crucial for the British government, whose coffers are hurting after the Seven Years' War and literally needs the East India Company's revenue to keep it going. And that crucial revenue is what takes today's tale back to the American colonies. Because neither the East India Company nor Parliament are making the money they want and feel entitled to with all the tea smuggling going on over there. We've discussed America's love for smuggling in past episodes, but that was mostly for molasses.

Now, we come to what you might call a smuggler's dream, tea. Let's start by recalling that the EIC has a legal monopoly on British trade coming from the Indian Ocean. It alone can legally sell tea in Britain, which may then be sold at auction to merchants wanting to sell tea in the colonies. All of this is crucial to the company's well-being. Tea makes up just under 50% of the EIC's total income. But this process also makes East India Company tea expensive in America. There's a tariff when the EIC tea gets to Britain and further markups as it passes to wholesalers and finally, retail agents.

This all makes smuggled tea in America about half the legal stuff's price. So what do you think the colonials buy? Yep, not endorsing this illegal behavior, but just like their descendants who might blow off an FBI warning and download pirated movies, colonial Americans buy up that smuggled tea.

In fact, most tea in America is smuggled at this point. Back in 1757, Mr. John Kidd estimated that 400 chests of tea had come to Philadelphia in the past two years. Of those 400, only 16 had come legally. By 1771, Massachusetts Governor Thomas Hutchinson will speculate that over 80% of the tea consumed in Boston is smuggled.

He'll suggest it's even worse in New York and Philly, probably closer to 90%. By the way, some of that smuggled tea in years past made its way to America courtesy of Thomas Hancock, John Hancock's uncle and father figure. Apple doesn't fall far from the tree, eh? Well, never proved in court. Okay, so smugglers can easily undercut the East India Company in America, but that's not the only reason they love importing this drink. It's also easy to make tea legit. Unlike the fake Louis Vuitton handbag your cousin picked up on her last vacation, this isn't a faux product, a knockoff. It's all coming

from the same place, Canton, China. The only difference is whether it comes on an East India Company ship or not. And since falsified papers are easy enough to get, smuggled tea, commonly supplied by the Dutch, and thus known as Dutch tea, even when it comes from the French or others, can become indistinguishable from legal shipments quickly. So what's the East India Company to do? How does it compete with all this Dutch tea? Perhaps more importantly, what can Parliament do to make sure the ever-important revenue source for the empire, that is the EIC, sells more tea?

That's where the 1767 Indemnity Act comes in. This lowers the duty on black and cheap green teas sold in England and refunds the duties paid there if the tea continues on to America. These changes are designed to make the East India Company far more competitive with smugglers. And it works. Legal tea imports rise by 42% in New York and 100% in Philadelphia within the first 18 months of the Indemnity Act going into effect. The initial lower duty in Britain also gets His Majesty's subjects there to drink increasingly legal tea as well. Ah, yes, because Americans aren't the only ones breaking the law

to get that cheap, quote-unquote, Dutch tea. The people of Great Britain are no more moral than Americans on this point. But as successful as that might sound, the Indemnity Act isn't getting colonials to drink as much EICT as it could. That's because of another act passed only days before it that same June 1767, the Townsend Revenue Act. We remember this act from episode three, but here's a quick refresher. This is Charles Champagne Charlie Townsend's doing. His Townsend Revenue Act imposes duties on lead, different types of glass, paper, and yes, tea, like the Dead and Gone Stamp Act, and external taxes assessed as

port duties. His Townsend Revenue Act is the latter. Of course, we know from Episodes 2 and 3 that Charlie's wrong. Americans don't actually make this distinction, contending, rather, that only their own elected colonial legislatures may constitutionally tax them. In other words, no taxation without representation. So these colonials respond to Champagne Charlie's tax by organizing a non-importation movement. They refuse to buy British goods taxed by the Townshend Revenue Act, like tea. And we got a taste of that in episode 3 as well, when I told

you about Ebenezer Richardson attempting to break up a group protesting a Boston retailer for not complying with non-importation. That happens on February 22nd, 1770, and as we know, that day tragically ends with Ebenezer shooting and killing an 11 or 12-year-old non-importation protester, Little Christopher Sider. This, in turn, sets up the March 5th, 1770 Boston Massacre. Okay, we're all refreshed. Now, how does the Townsend Revenue Act relate to the Indemnity Act and the East India Company? First, the Indemnity Act's rebate on EICT costs Parliament, and it would prefer to make up that revenue.

While not expressly said, passing this act and the Tea Taxing Townsend Revenue Act only days apart back in 1767 led many to see that Parliament was basically giving people in Britain a tea tax break by passing the buck, or should we say British pound, to the Americas. So let's add that law to the colony's already burning unconstitutional taxation fire. And this tax will stick. When our new leader in Parliament, Lord Frederick North, introduces a partial repeal of the Townsend Revenue Act to Parliament on March 5th, 1770, the only tax that august body keeps in place is the tea tax. And yes, that is the same day as the Boston Massacre. It's too bad news travels so slowly in this world.

Now, relations are hardly perfect between America and the crown between 1770 and 1773, but even with this remaining tea duty to show the colonials who's boss, things are relatively calm. The colonials even end non-importation and start buying British goods again. So where is the trouble brewing that will make Boston a kettle of anger boiling over into the harbor in 1773? It's with the East India Company, which is making some terrible decisions. See, the East India Company isn't doing so hot by 1770. The year prior, 1769, the threat of a French attack in Madras, which we'll later

know as Chennai, India, brings the EIC increased military costs, which in turn burst its stock speculation bubble. 1769 also brought a severe drought to Bengal, which, I'll remind you, the East India Company rules over. This all left the East India Company simultaneously facing a financial and humanitarian crisis. Yet, the EIC proves to be neither a responsible government nor enterprise. It continues to tax the starving Bengali people, allowing over 1 million of them to die. Nor does it enact needed financial reforms. Instead, it keeps paying insanely large salaries to its top agents and shelling out handsome dividends to its stockholders.

Their dividend rate gets as high as 12.5%. Yes, 12.5. Maybe I just don't run in rich enough circles, but that kind of easy and consistent return is unheard of to me. Neither parliament, EIC stockholders, or the many powerful men who are both, pay much attention to the growing crisis. Then it all hits the fan in 1772. The East India Company has so much debt, one of the nation's other heavy hitters, the Bank of England, puts its foot down. It refuses to give the EIC a loan, and that means no massive dividend payments this year. Well now, suddenly, Parliament and stockholders are really concerned about the East India Company's vitality. Amazing how that coincides with the dividends ending. Parliament passes a few regulating acts. It's also giving the massive tax-paying,

too-big-to-fail East India Company a £1.4 million loan and passing a new law to get the company back in the black with all the advantages needed to decimate its competition in British North America. This is the Tea Act of 1773. Thus begins the third American tax crisis in less than 10 years. The Tea Act really pisses off Americans, or patriots rather, as we're increasingly getting to where we need to remember that some will stay loyal to the crown. The Tea Act pisses off patriots. Let's see what it does. First, its goal, to make East India Company tea cheaper than any competitor, smuggler or not, in the British Empire. It'll do this by repealing

the duties on tea coming to England, needed since the Indemnity Act's reduction on this expired last year, and by providing a rebate on EIC tea shipped on to America. The Tea Act will also let the EIC sell tea to agents directly. This means no London tea auction, no wholesalers. The East India Company will select consignees, and they alone will sell legal cheap tea in America. This will all make EIC tea so cheap that, even with the Townsend Revenue Act's three pence per pound duty staying in place, the company's tea will be cheaper than smuggled tea. Wow, what a bargain, right? Well, not so fast. Patriots have a few problems with this thing. First, the Tea Act

might mean cheaper tea, but in keeping the town's same duty, as Lord North insisted, this law also reaffirms Parliament can indeed tax the colonies in a very real, very scary, tyrannical sort of way. Second, those funds are designated toward paying for officers in the Americas, and if colonial legislative bodies aren't raising those funds, that takes the loyalty and the leverage in that relationship out of colonial hands and places them in parliaments. Third, the EIC already has a monopoly in the Indian Ocean, but the Tea Act gives it a monopoly on the tea trade in the Americas too. It does so by allowing the East India Company to pick its own consignees or agents.

Remember, Americans don't just drink tea, some ship and sell it. This new law will endanger the livelihood of some American merchants then. Okay, the stage is set. We've seen the East India Company rise through the Seven Years' War to become a governing entity in South Asia.

We know that the British government's solvency is largely reliant on the East India Company's solvency, and finally, we've seen everything come full circle as Parliament, still seeking to assert its claimed power to tax the colonies in the post-Seven Years' War era, decides to do so for the third time with a measure designed to save the too-big-to-fail EIC, the Tea Act of 1773. That same summer, the East India Company quickly selects its consignees and prepares to export nearly 600,000 pounds of tea to British North America. It's ready to put its new America monopoly to use. This includes four ships heading to Boston.

But not every ship will make it. ice talc, and baking soda. It's made with pH-balancing minerals and crafted with skin-conditioning oils. So whether you're going for a run or just running late, do what life throws your way and smell like you didn't. Find Secret at your nearest Walmart or Shoppers Drug Mart today. Amazon's holiday deals are here so you can celebrate the season early. With low prices on decor, electronics, and beauty. Perfect for stocking stuffers.

And my stockings looking good. Shop holiday deals early on Amazon now. It's early morning, December 10, 1773, and a brigantine ship called the William is caught in a violent storm off the Massachusetts coast. Captain Joseph Loring peers through the grim sky at Cape Ann's Jewel Lighthouse. It's a horrific sight. Rather than marking a safe harbor, these lights warn ships of this dangerous place of wreckage, and at this moment, they're far too close for comfort.

Joseph heaves to under the foresail, but will this technique sufficiently slow and thus protect his Boston-bound and miles-off course ship from this powerful, vicious gale? The captain decides on another tactic. He sets a course away from Cape Ann to the southeast. Hopefully, this storm will end and Joseph will find himself better situated within Massachusetts Bay to enter Boston Harbor. No such luck though. The storm continues pounding the two-masted vessel, making it impossible for her to enter

the harbor. Our captain sees but one choice, heading back out to the open sea. December 11, 1773. After braving the storm for a full day, the William is now farther south and in danger of wrecking anew, this time near the northern tip of Cape Cod's Hooked Peninsula. Unable to guide his ship away from the coast, Joseph orders the anchors dropped. But the massive waves keep crashing. There's four feet of water in the ship's hold, and the pumps can't keep up. If they don't do something, the William will go down. Joseph has the anchor cables cut, and within minutes, the vessel runs aground.

Finally, the storm is over. The ship won't sail again. But more importantly, Captain Joseph Loring has kept his crew alive. He's also preserved his cargo. Down in the Williams waterlogged hold are 300 new street lamps for Boston, as well as something of far more political interest, 58 large chests of East India Company tea. It was just a few months ago, between late September and early October, that seven ships carrying East India Company tea departed from London for the Americas. Three ships sailed for the ports of New York, Philadelphia, and Charleston, respectively. Both Philadelphia and New York were refused the tea,

forcing the vessels to sail back across the Atlantic without even unloading this cargo. In Charleston, the tea will be unloaded but left in a damp customs house to spoil. The other four ships sailed for Boston. Now, we know the small, two-masted William won't survive the voyage, wrecking on Cape Cod instead. The remaining three, however, the Beaver, the Eleanor, and the Dartmouth, do arrive, starting with the Dartmouth on November 28, 1773. These ships will become the obsession of Boston for the next twenty days. Why twenty days?

Because an act of Parliament from 1662, extended to the colonies in 1696, states that a ship's cargo cannot be unloaded or cleared to leave for export, even if it stays on the same ship, until all duties are paid. Further, customs officers may seize that cargo if these duties remain unpaid after 20 days. This means that, here in Boston, where officials are quite intent on enforcing the law

on these rebellious colonials, the Sons of Liberty and like-minded patriots have 20 days to find an answer. Otherwise, the tea gets unloaded, duties paid, people buy it, and the patriots lose. Parliament and the East India Company win. Thus, the arrival of the Dartmouth and Boston Harbor on the morning of November 28, 1773, starts a 20-day deadline. Patriots can stall things for now, but if they don't get this damnable tea out of Boston before the clock strikes 12 a.m. December 17th, customs officers will seize it, demonstrating Parliament's

taxing power. Let the countdown begin. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. Sunday, November 28th, 11 a.m. 20 days until customs seizure. Captain Hall anchors the Dartmouth and Boston Harbor. A 64-gun ship of the line, the Captain, is only a few hundred yards away. Two other warships, frigates, the active and the kingfisher, join this flagship. Not even waiting for the Dartmouth to reach the wharf, two customs agents board the Dartmouth. They make this unusual move specifically to note

the merchant vessel's East India Company tea. Boston's selectmen seek out the EIC's consignees, that is, the agents contracted to sell this monopolistic company's tea, which, it's worth noting, includes Massachusetts Governor Thomas Hutchinson's own sons. The selectmen hope to convince the consignees to send the tea back in order to avoid violence and trouble. No dice. They won't. November 29th, 19 days until customs seizure. Church bells beckon Bostonians to gather

for a discussion of this tea crisis at Faneuil Hall. Both 5,000 to 6,000 participants, that is one-third of the town's total inhabitants, they soon move to a venue near 21st century Boston's downtown crossing, the higher occupancy Old South Meeting House. The meeting in this red brick church has some big hitter patriots in attendance. John Hancock, Dr. Joseph Warren, Dr. Thomas Young, William Molyneux, Josiah Quincy, and Samuel Adams, who speaks at length, offering resolutions, among which is that no one should pay any duties and the tea should be returned to England. The crowd approves.

The afternoon session includes an uncomfortable guest, a Mr. Francis Roach. Only 23 years old and a peacekeeping Quaker, Francis is stuck between a rock and a hard place. He's one of the owners of the Dartmouth. He's contracted to deliver this tea to the EIC's consignees. Failure to do so could result in his ship getting seized by authorities. But now, roughly 5,000 Bostonians are threatening him if he does. Leading patriot Sam Adams tells Francis to return the tea and frame it as having to do so because of a storm.

Not a storm at sea. A political storm, which threatens his well-being as much as any deadly tempest. Francis is warned. If he and his captain do otherwise, quote, it would be at their peril, close quote. Good God. The meeting ends, but the day doesn't without some action. Patriots send an armed guard of 25 men to watch the Dartmouth

and prevent anyone from trying to take the cargo of tea. December 1st, 16 days until customs seizure. The Dartmouth is relocated within Boston Harbor to Griffin's Wharf. December 2nd, 15 days until customs seizure. The second tea ship, the Eleanor, arrives in Boston. This same day, a poster goes up notifying the public that any who help unload this tea will be treated, quote, as wretches, unworthy to live, and will be made the first victims of our just resentment. Signed, The People.

December 3rd, 14 days until customs seizure. Boston's Committee of Correspondence, a patriot group created to organize resistance against Parliament's taxation years ago, orders the ship's captain, James Bruce, to anchor at Griffin's Wharf. This way, one patriot guard can watch both tea-laden ships. December 7th, 10 days until custom seizure. A third ship, the Beaver, is seen approaching Boston. Deadly smallpox is broken out on the ship, so it spends a week at nearby Rainsford Island being smoked and cleansed.

In the days to come, the Boston Gazette will report that the Beaver's captain, Hezekiah Coffin, arrives, quote, not only with the plague tea on board, but also with the smallpox, close quote. Witty writers there at the Gazette. Meanwhile, the Essex Gazette publishes a warning that if opposed on this tea business, Bostonians will fight. They, quote,

are determined upon hazarding a brush, close quote. December 7th also sees a distraught Francis Roach take action. He and Dartmouth captain James Hall go out to the fort on Castle Island. Francis confronts the East India Company consignees, who are more or less hiding out here with the British military until this all blows over. Francis tells them he is ready to deliver the tea, so if it stays on his ship, it's their fault for not taking it. They refuse to give Francis the proper documentation to release him from his responsibility. Which, of course, makes sense.

They know there is no way to get that tea off Francis' ship with those Patriot guards protecting it. So why would they want to take the fall when they can leave Francis to do so? When Captain James Bruce of the Eleanor tries the same thing a few days later, he gets the same response. December 10th, seven days until customs seizure. The fourth Boston-bound ship, the William, is caught in a terrible storm off the Massachusetts coast.

The vessel crashes the following morning. December 13th. Four days until customs seizure. Things are getting tense. Boston's patriots have heard that the East India Company's consignees in New York have agreed not to sell the tea, and instead will send it back to England. Philadelphia's have flat out resigned. The pressure is on for Boston's to follow suit. Boston's Committee of Correspondence holds another meeting. Our poor Dartmouth owner, Francis Roach, has to face the committee. Its members remind him he previously promised to send back the tea. Will Francis stick to his word? No, he won't. Francis has talked it over with his lawyers, including John Adams,

and is quite certain his ship will be seized if he does. And he won't risk that. Meanwhile, the Boston Gazette publishes the same warning the Essex Gazette did a week ago. December 14th, three days until customs seizure. It's a Tuesday morning and thousands of Bostonians are once again packed inside Old South Meeting House, or just Old South, as the church is sometimes called. Captain James Bruce concedes

to take the Eleanor back to England with the tea, provided he can unload all other cargo first. Pressed to depart even without clearance, this loyal subject of the king notes his concern for the cannon on Castle Island. The crowd again pressures Francis Roach to request clearance for the Dartmouth. After the meeting, Sam Adams and nine other men accompany Francis to see the one individual who could grant it, the port's collector, Richard Harrison.

Do you remember Richard? We met him in episode three. His father Joseph Harrison was the customs collector who, in June 1768, helped see to the seizing of John Hancock's ship, the Liberty. Only 18 years old at the time, a mob threw stones at Richard and his father, beat them, pillaged their home, and burnt their sailing ship to ash. Well, it's been five years. Now he's in this position of power to help or hurt the Patriots' cause.

What do you think his answer will be? We'll soon see, but for now, he says he needs to think about it and talk it over with his colleague, the Comptroller. December 15th, two days until Customs seizure. That morning, Francis, still accompanied by Patriots, goes back to see port collector Richard Harrison and hear his answer. Francis admits his request for the Dartmouth's clearance is made under duress, to which Richard answers, it is impossible for me to grant you

any clearance for her whatever, it being utterly inconsistent with my duty. Francis then goes to Massachusetts Naval officer, who likewise denies the request. Meanwhile, the beaver has finally been declared smallpox-free. She now joins the two other EICT-laden ships at Griffin's Wharf. But as patriots stand guard over these three vessels, they know their time is short. They have only one day left before customs agents can legally seize the Dartmouth's East India Company tea.

Until this stalemate becomes their loss in Parliament's victory, proving that it can and will impose tyrannical taxes on the colonies. The Sons of Liberty must get this tea out of Boston Harbor before the end of tomorrow. And desperate times call for desperate measures. This NFL season, get in on all the hard-hitting action with FanDuel, desperate measures. settlement and instant withdrawals, FanDuel makes betting on the NFL easier than ever before. So make the most of this football season and download FanDuel today. 19 plus and physically located in Ontario. Gambling problem? Call 1-866-531-2600

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Dairy Farmers of Ontario. From our families to your table, everybody milk. Visit milk.org to learn more. It's about 10 a.m., December 16th, 1773. A custom seizure of the Dartmouth's East India Company tea becomes legal at midnight. That's only 14 hours. Small wonder that the cold rain is having zero impact on attendance at this morning's meeting

here at Boston's Old South Meeting House. 5,000 souls pack its pews and balconies. 2,000 have traveled here from the country surrounding Boston. Things are soon underway with Francis Roach in the hot seat once more. The crowd again tries to get Francis to send the Dartmouth out, even without clearance. Francis again answers that his ship will be seized.

There is only one hope then at this point. Maybe Francis can get permission from Governor Thomas Hutchinson. A long shot. Let me briefly introduce you to our governor. Thomas Hutchinson hails from a respectable, old-blood colonial family that's been in New England since 1634. Born in 1711, Thomas lives up to his family's long-established, respectable reputation. The slim-built, born-and-bred Bostonian with a fair complexion studied at Harvard then became a successful merchant and public servant.

He loved his wife dearly in life and never remarried after her death. He also has a reputation for intelligence and rational judgment. These are admirable traits, but Thomas is also a bit like Javert and Victor Hugo's Les Miserables. No sense of humor, a strict law abider. So Thomas isn't a hit at parties assuming you could get him to one. And being a law-loving loyalist doesn't exactly make him a hit in Boston these days. Basically, Bostonians dislike him about as much as they love John Hancock.

Yeah, these aren't the traits of a man ready to compromise over this tea business as leaders in New York, Philly, and Charleston have done. But with only half a day left before customs seizure, what other course do Patriots have? And so, the 5,000-strong meeting at Old South breaks for Francis Roach to go talk with the governor seven miles away in the town of Milton.

They'll reconvene at 3 p.m. to hear what he says. Sitting down with the governor, Francis Roach proposes they put on a show of cooperation. The Dartmouth could start to leave the harbor, then Cannon on Castle Island could fire a shot across the ship's bow. Surely the Patriots couldn't ask anything more of him then. Thomas likes the idea, but it falls apart as they discuss logistics. Thomas wants the Royal Navy to protect Francis' ship while preparing to sail,

but Francis isn't willing to allow that. He fears a bad reaction from the Sons of Liberty guarding his ship. And so, the logical, law-abiding governor concludes there is nothing to be done. He will not break the law by giving his permission without the Custom House's blessing. 3 p.m. Custom seizure becomes legal in nine hours. The Patriots reconvene at the Old South Meeting House. But Francis isn't back from meeting with the governor.

5 p.m. Customs seizure becomes legal in seven hours. Still no Francis. Thousands inside Old South are losing their minds. 5.45 p.m. Customs seizure becomes legal in six hours and 15 minutes. It's getting dark. Candles and torches provide the large church some dim lighting. And it's at this moment that hearts stop as Francis Roach finally walks in. Francis

breaks the news he knows this crowd doesn't want to hear. The governor has denied him clearance to remove the Dartmouth. The group's angry exclamations are deafening. Francis must be terrified. A prominent patriot, Dr. Thomas Young, defends Francis, reminding all here he's made good faith efforts. The blame lies with the consignees and the governor. They ask Francis again, though, if he won't send the ship back. Once more, he says no. It would destroy him financially to lose his ship. Well then, will he unload the tea?

Francis says he will only do so if ordered by government officials. Otherwise, no way. It may be winter in New England, but poor Francis, he must be sweating buckets. Samuel Adams now addresses the large hall. He sounds resigned as he declares, I can think of nothing further to be done. We have now done all we can for the salvation of our country. But as the assembled thousands hear Sam's words and vote to affirm that Francis has done his due diligence and to affirm that they, as a group, have been nothing but patient and cautious, war cries fill the air. The cries are coming from a group of 18 to 20 men who appear to be Native Americans

standing at the meeting house's door. Let's pause for a second and process. Sam has just stated publicly that there is nothing more to be done. That all the 5,000 patriots present at this meeting will do nothing more. Meanwhile, supposed Mohawks of the Iroquois Confederacy, and therefore not associated with this group or this meeting, just happen to show up? Now, I'm not the first to offer this analysis, but I sure do agree with it. This seems pretty staged. Here we have a very public show of the meeting's civility, of the group giving up its cause while another separate group from outside the European colonial American community, the Mohawks, suddenly arrive to

carry out the destruction of the tea. All of this points to providing plausible deniability, an alibi, if you will, for the whole town and patriot leaders like Sam Adams and John Hancock, while also concealing the identities of the Mohawk disguised culprits. So yes, this feels staged, obviously so, and yet, kind of genius. Okay, back to the story. A mob, a mob, some cry. The Mohawks are come, call others.

Yet, as this group of supposed Mohawks arrives, they don't only emit battle cries. They whistle like bosuns. Huh. Now, bosuns use their high-pitched bosun pipes to communicate audible signals that can be heard on ships over the sounds of a raging sea. This sound would be pretty familiar

to a seafaring town like Boston, but that's an interesting noise for quote-unquote Mohawks to make, no? More cries are heard. Every man to his tent. Hurrah for Griffin's Wharf. And my personal favorite, Boston Harbor, a teapot this night. The thousands of New Englanders at the old South Meeting House are so ruckus, so loud, that a merchant named John Andrews hears them from his home three blocks away. The noise disturbs his evening tea. Yes, he's drinking tea right then.

He can't make this stuff up. As the crowd leaves the Meeting House, Sons of Liberty leaders stay behind. Once again, think about this being staged, or likely staged, as that can't be proved. Staying here, no one will later be able to claim these leaders are participating in tonight's tea party. Well, no one will be able to prove they're participating. It has since been claimed that William Molyneux, Dr. Thomas Young, and Paul Revere all participated. But again, we will never really know. These quote-unquote Mohawks, as they call themselves, and so we will call them, whose exact number we will never know, descend south

through the town to Griffin's Wharf. It is said that while passing over Fort Hill, they come across a British officer. Now, this story is doubtful, but it's really good. Seeing them, the officer draws his sword. At this, one of the supposed Mohawks pulls out a pistol and says to the officer, the path is wide enough for us all. We have nothing to do with you and intend you no harm. If you keep to your own way peaceably, we shall keep ours. The officer lets them pass, and although the record doesn't say it, I imagine that Mohawk had impeccable English with a solid New England, if not Bostonian, accent. The Mohawks arrive at Griffin's Wharf. While they aren't particularly loud at this point,

the Navy and soldiers out at Castle Island can still hear the sounds of their destructive work. They won't intervene, though, and it's for the best. Both sides remember the Boston Massacre that happened only a bit farther north of this wharf three years ago. No need to repeat that. Meanwhile, onlookers, people from the meeting at Old South, who followed the alleged Mohawks but of course won't participate in their doings, throng the wharf. Lanterns and torches light the work. By some accounts, they start with the Dartmouth. By others, the destruction occurs on all three ships at once. On each ship, the Mohawks remove the customs officers and ask the crew to stay out of the way. At times, these interactions

are almost laughable. For instance, as the 21-year-old participant and future Revolutionary War General Ebenezer Stevens boards the Dartmouth, he sees the ship's mate, Alexander Hodgdon. Ebenezer knows Alexander. He's going to be his brother-in-law in the near future. What can I say? Boston's a small town in 1773, hence the need for disguises. Still, best not to take chances. Ebenezer quickly disembarks and makes his way to another ship. On the Beaver, the captain begs that the rest of his cargo be spared. After all, his ship only arrived at Griffin's Wharf yesterday. In reply, our fake Mohawks ask for more candles so they can better see in the hold and be careful with all non-tea goods. The mate hands over the keys to help prevent damage to the ship.

And so, the work is carried out. Block and tackle hoist the chests. Men break them open with axes. Hundreds of pounds of tea are shoveled and carried out. Block and tackle hoist the chests. Men break them open with axes. Hundreds of pounds of tea are shoveled and poured out. The chests, which weigh nearly 100 pounds each, are then thrown overboard as well. All of the tea chests, the Beavers' 112, the Eleanors' 114, and the Dartmouth's 114, or 340 chests in total, are heaved into the cold waters over the course of some three hours.

Total weight of tea destroyed, 92,600 pounds, otherwise noted as just over 46 tons. Total cost of the East India Company, 9,659 British pounds sterling. All the work is done by 9pm, three hours before customs can seize it. Once the tea is destroyed, the Mohawks, from the elaborately

disguised to those just wrapped in blankets or disguised with mere soot on the face, head home, as do the spectators. For many, if not most, home is no more than a few blocks away, and a number of them will also give up drinking tea. Returning home that night, William Russell carefully removes his boots,

then empties all the tea stuck inside of them into the fire. He then dumps his family's tea into the fire. The following day, William makes a new label for their tea container. Coffee. Coffee. Yeah. The popularity of tea will never recover from tonight's event. Coffee will rise in its stead, a fact perhaps still attested to

by Boston's love affair with Dunkin' Donuts' Cup of Joe, not tea. This night of tea destruction, or the Boston Tea Party, as it will later come to be called, is such a fascinating paradox. For one thing, it was both local and global. Local in that most participants likely lived within a few blocks of each other right there in Boston.

Yet, let's consider that these Bostonians, dressed as Mohawks, were protesting against a London-based government's tax, intended to prop up the Bengal-governing East India Company with a product it procured from China. And we can go on. The EIC's tea competitors included Swedish, French, and Dutch merchants, while the drink itself was sweetened with sugar grown on plantations worked by enslaved Africans in the Caribbean. You know, we talk about globalization today like it's new. There's nothing new about it.

The Boston Tea Party's legacy is likewise a curious blend. On the one hand, it is the epitome of America's best self. Nonviolent civil disobedience and protest, particularly in standing up against government overreach and taxation without representation. Yet the Boston Tea Party is also destructive, law-breaking, and if not violent against people, violent against private property. And just to be clear on the topic of violence, no one was killed and few were injured.

The biggest accidental injury happened to John Crane. A tea chest swung out and struck him while he was working in the hold, knocking him out. Initially thought to be dead, his friends were relieved to find him still breathing. The only other injuries and intentional violence came to those who tried to steal tea. For instance, tea party participant Charles Connor got a good beating after getting caught trying to stuff tea in his pockets. Yeah, the Patriots weren't having any of that. They wouldn't let this become a night of looting. But Charles aside, I still consider the Tea Party an example of non-violent civil

disobedience. The Patriots did not attack any government officials or crews. Of course, one question lingers. What happened to the Williams EICT? Ah, well, the shipwrecked vessel wasn't salvageable, but 54 of its 58 chests plus one barrel of tea were. On the same day that the Boston Tea Party would take place, December 16th, EIC consignee and shipowner Jonathan Clark left the safety of Castle William and made the voyage to Provincetown. Much to Sam Adams' frustration, Jonathan salvages the tea, uses it to pay some on the cape, and brings the rest back to the castle. That said, the Clarks can see the writing on the wall at this point. They, like the others, resign as consignees, and even though some will later buy and drink this salvaged EIC tea, we have no indication that duties will ever get paid. But enough about the Knights' long-term legacy and the shipwrecked tea.

We have the immediate aftermath to consider. Bostonians grasp that this is a big deal. Future U.S. President John Adams writes this about the Boston Tea Party in his journal the following day. This is the most magnificent movement of all. There is a dignity, a majesty, a sublimity in this last effort of the patriots that I greatly admire. The destruction of tea is so bold, so daring, so firm, intrepid, and inflexible, and it must have so important consequences and so lasting that I cannot but consider it an epocha in history. But in truth, John has no idea.

And I want you to listen closely. Are you ready for this? The bombshell. Parliament's reaction is what's going to really push the colonies into revolution. Of all the actions taken against the crown because of the three tax crises since 1763, the rioting, beating of officials, and non-importation, the Boston Tea Party is arguably the worst offender of them all.

This massive destruction of property that indirectly but significantly hurts parliaments already poorly managed and empty coffers, carried out by unnamed assailants no less, requires a response. That response is the Coercive Acts of 1774. And if that sounds nasty, it's because it is. The point is to hurt Boston

and to hurt the whole colony of Massachusetts. There are four acts. One, the Boston Port Act. Starting June 1st, 1774, the Port of Boston is closed, period. Closed until the entire cost of the destroyed tea is repaid to the East India Company. Just imagine how that will hurt this seaport town. Its economy depends on the port. Two, the Administration of Justice Act.

The governor of Massachusetts can now transfer any government official or soldier accused of a capital crime to any colony or to Britain for trial. Beyond the philosophical issues, this stings for a city that just acquitted and dealt so justly with Captain Thomas Preston and his men charged in the Boston Massacre only a few years ago. Three, the Massachusetts Government Act. It changes the Massachusetts Charter. The council's no longer elected. It is crown appointed.

Also, all town meetings other than annual elections now require the governor's written permission. Four, the Quartering Act. If a colonial town did not provide barracks to British troops within 24 hours, all colonial governors now had the power to quarter troops in, quote, uninhabited houses, outhouses, barns, or other buildings, as he shall think necessary to be taken, close quote.

And any act that makes quartering soldiers easier likewise makes colonials equally uneasy. Collectively, these four acts are known as the coercive acts. Colonials have another name for them, though, one that reflects how they feel about them, Collectively, these four acts are known as the Coercive Acts. Colonials have another name for them, though, one that reflects how they feel about them – the Intolerable Acts. And they're intolerable because these acts show not just Massachusetts, but all of the American colonies, that Parliament will lash out at the many for the sins of the few.

And this, this is going to turn the tide. There will still be talk of reconciliation and genuine efforts to right the relationship between the crown and the colonies, but all of it will fail. War is coming. The revolution is coming. HTDS is supported by premium membership fans. You can join by clicking the link in the episode description. My gratitude to Kind Souls providing additional funding to help us keep going. And a special thanks to our members whose monthly gift puts them at producer status. Andy Thompson, Anthony Pizzulo, Art Lane, Beth Chris Jansen, Bob Drazovich, Brian Goodson, Bronwyn Cohen, Carrie Begel, Charles and Shirley Clendenden, Charlie Magis, Chloe Tripp, Christopher Merchant, Christopher Pullman,

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