My journey from Warren’s home on Hanover Street to my own on Back Street was a silent, joyless trip. I had not guessed how hard Joseph would take the news of the port closing. It was apparently a heavy blow to the cause he so firmly believed in. I had been wrong to say that he did not care what his cause did to the people of Boston. He had politely sent me on my way and departed his home while I was still in sight. No doubt he had rushed off to tell his radical friends the news.
Any eagerness I might have had at returning home seemed to drain out of me. My conversation with Warren made me realize that I was returning to a Boston more deeply divided than the one I had left. Everyone seemed to have taken sides in this struggle between Great Britain and her unruly American colonies. Now, the insolence of one side would punish all the inhabitants of Boston. The harbor was the livelihood of nearly all the inhabitants. Without the constant comings and goings of ships in the harbor, Boston might cease to exist.
Win a Digital copy of A Different Kind of Courage