July 26th, 1760 – Boston, Massachusetts – The Repercussions.
The three of us were in the Green Dragon, reminiscing about yesterday.
I was in the middle drinking water. Sam was sitting to the right, and Paul opposite.
We sat mostly in silence. The only time anyone spoke was when someone asked the tavern keeper for refills. Last night was a blur. I tried remembering but my brain screeched for sympathy. All I remembered Sam was angry and left. Paul vanished.
“Doctor Warren if you please, or you may address me as Joseph,” I interrupted.
“The title, ‘Doctor Warren,’ is too pompous and Joseph, too formal in a public establishment.”
“Fine. I will not debate.”
“There is not a reason to debate,” Sam objected.
"Sam," Paul started. “What happened last night?"
He huffed and ignored Paul completely by sipping more water.
"Yes, what happened?" I pressed.
"Paul, ye lucky we have been corresponding for a while or I would have killed ye last night with my own two fists."
Paul and I exchanged troubled glances, completely confused.
"A riot broke loose?" Paul asked.
"In a matter of speaking," Sam said.
"What type of riot? Was anyone seriously injured?" I inquired.
"Almost," Sam mumbled, sipping more water.
"I'm dumbfounded. Your demeanor this afternoon is peculiar. Where is the brilliant politician today?" I asked.
"He was terribly hurt last night.”
Paul and I exchanged glances again. I leaned across the table and peered into his face for answers. He ignored me completely. Sam's stubbornness was getting irritating. "A friend is special, the ladder is precious, Sam Adams,” I said.
Paul clasped my left shoulder and inquired what I meant. I told him a friend is supposed to be trusting and unafraid to converse freely with one and another. "Hence, a friend is special," I said. “And Sam should speak up, tell what is on his mind.”
Sam huffed and he pushed his mug away.
"Paul, ye, ye, incompetent, self-centered ass!"
"What did I do?"
"Ye kissed me! In the Green Dragon! In front of everyone!"
It was the first time I saw Paul's cheeks flush. He was a jolly, fun-loving man, but occasionally his sense of humor was unpleasant. Paul enjoyed mocking a person's worst traits and their personal problems, but sometimes he goes too far.
"Sorry," I heard him mumble. "Anything else I did?”
"Yes!" Sam roared and slammed a fist against the table. "Ye verbally attacked, mocked, never mind. I wish to not leak personal information to be used against me in future correspondences or otherwise. Master Warren will know what I am speaking about."
"I do?" I asked bewildered.
"Betsey, Master Warren."
"Betsey?" Who’s Betsey?” Paul asked.
"I cannot say. It is very personal and only Sam can rightfully express himself.”
Sam sighed unhappily.
"I am confused. What else did I do? And who is this Betsey?”
I joined my friend sipping water and waited for the outcome.
"Ye will have to prove yourself worthy for me to confide in anything, Paul," Sam remarked.
"How?" he asked.
"How long have we known each other?” Sam asked, finally facing the silversmith.
"A few years,” Paul said.
"A few years should suffice," he said. "As one of my colleagues, I ask a vow, the very same I asked of Master Warren when Betsey died. My request is what I share, it remains in secrecy. Ye have the habit of exposing personal facts, whereas Joseph is courteous and does not condone to that level."
"You have my vow. I promise," Paul said firmly.
"There is no one in the tavern I recognize, a grand a place to speak I suppose.
I smiled a little.
“Throughout my life, I suffered ordeals. I was born into a family of twelve and I, the fourth born, twelve of the clock at noon in my native Boston. I studied at the Boston Latin School for eight years, learning Latin and Greek. Although, my own father expected me to pursue ministry in his footsteps, I had little interest in following him to the pulpit. At the age of fourteen, I enrolled in Harvard Collage in ‘36. I progressed through the school without distinguishing myself in any remarkable form. After receiving my Master's degree at Harvard, I searched for means of income to support my family, if needed. I halfheartedly began studying law but my mother, Mary, expressed strong opposition and prevented any serious study. Soon, I joined the counting house of Thomas Cushing in hopes to succeed in business. I quickly proved I lacked severely in business abilities and in a few short months Mister Cushing informed my parents I would never be a merchant. He remarked he trained men to be merchants, not politicians.
I remember my Father loaned me a thousand pounds in pursuit for business opportunities. With expectations, he thought the young Samuel Adams would responsibly use the money and become a financier. I lost almost every shilling in a single transaction.
My Father, Samuel, instructed and taught me the family business – brewery, in further hopes to prevent an impoverished son. He passed away in ‘48, leaving me as the sole supporter of my family at the approximate age of twenty-five. I struggled and attempted, but eventually I ran the malt business into financial bankruptcy.
I became engrossed in politics. Our house on Purchase Street nearly fell into ruins by my own neglect. I never ventured into acquiring land or other more profitable means of income. Eventually, although it is embarrassing to admit, I fell into poverty. I survived by my meager wages as Boston's stamp collector."
Sam stopped suddenly and drank more water. He set the mug gently on the table.
"Are you all right, my friend?" I asked curiously.
"Shh! Let me speak," Sam said. "Ye were the one which convinced me to confront myself."
His comment stung but I nodded. I apologize,” I said quietly.
A hand immediately tightened on the top of my right shoulder. I turned and stared at Sam.
"I apologize, Master Warren for my outburst. Ye know I think highly of you."
“Is this one of those male bonding moments?” Paul chuckled.
I glanced at Paul. His chin rested on top of his palms.
“Paul!” Sam shouted.
“Ignore him,” I said.
“Ignore?” Paul chuckled again.
"Please continue. I am sure Paul is still intrigued," I commented.
"I am," he said immediately. "Enlighten me, Sam Adams.”
I watched him swallow another gulp of water. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and then nodded at a portrait.
“Currently, I suffer from an infectious emptiness. My cousin has a wife and children. You Paul, have a wife and children. Where as I? I long to share the pleasures of life. To cuddle, caress, rub and feel her soft lips, arms, hands, neck, breasts, and her whole nakedness tremble underneath mine. I crave to listen to the steady beats of her heart. The Lord has denied me of the satisfaction in succeeding loving a second wife. Last night Paul, ye mocked the emptiness by saying I sought hot, passionate lust with ye, then ye kissed me! On the lips!”
"Starting to remember a little. A bet was placed and someone won it. I was to kiss you if the person succeeded."
"Ye succeeded!” Samuel finished his mug of water. “I never thought ye were serious."
"Come to think of it, there is a lump on my forehead. Must have fell. Anything else?"
"Some before I move on to the matter of the subject of Betsey. Ye have any notion of the pain ye caused me?" Sam asked.
He nodded. "The alcohol did it."
"Sometimes ye are dense," Sam retorted. "Know this, the pain was hurtful. It should never have happened. The final demonstration which ye so skillfully displayed, and I quote, 'I will be your lover,' and then ye proceeded rocking your arms in the fashion cradling a baby. I hope to father another child. Reminding me I am without a woman, it was depressing with different levels of sadness. Imagine if ye were squatting on the highest plateau alone with not a soul within miles. Ye would yearn for human contact too. Have ye considered braiding the strands of sorrow around your heart to fill the void? Finding a trusting wife is not so simplistic."
"How much did I drink last night?" Paul asked.
"Two mugs, until I left, unable to cope with my emotions."
"Joseph knows of your problems, Sam?"
"He has confided a tremendous amount about his past and personal dilemmas. There is very little I have not heard before," I interjected before Sam answered.
"How is it Joseph knows more about Samuel Adams's problems, than me? Although you have told minor things of your past, they were never very remarkable." Paul said.
“I am a widower. It is the anniversary of the death of my wife. Betsey died, eight o’clock A.M., three years to the day, giving birth to a stillborn son.”
Paul pushed the stool aside and knelt close to Sam. “I see there are limits I must learn. Wished you came to me sooner. If I had known your personal dilemmas, I would never have opened my mouth. Understand, I never intentionally wanted to cause heartache."
"I know," Sam mouthed silently. “I have been blessed with a short temper and react accordingly,” he said louder so we might hear his words clearer.
“I know it,” Paul said. “We all do,” he added.
"If ye do not stop, I am going to feel the pain." Sam muttered.
Paul rubbed Sam's left shoulder in a few clockwise motions before returning to his seat.
“I suppose I should make my rounds now. There are a few patients showing symptoms I am not all fully familiar with,” I remarked.
“I need to return to the shop and fix loose ends," Paul commented.
Sam and I filed out of our seats and waved our good-byes.
"Until next time, Mister Adams. Farewell, Warren!” Paul shouted.
(Part IIII can be found here: