’Twas in the latter part of August, in the year 1765, made memorable by the Stamp Act, that I first came in touch with the deep-set feelings of the times then beginning, and I count from that year the awakening of the sympathy which determined my career.  One sultry day I was wading in the shallows after crabs, when the Governor’s messenger came drifting in, all impatience at the lack of wind.  He ran to the house to seek Mr. Carvel, and I after him, with all a boy’s curiosity, as fast as my small legs would carry me.  My grandfather hurried out to order his barge to be got ready at once, so that I knew something important was at hand.  At first he refused me permission to go, but afterwards relented, and about eleven in the morning we pulled away strongly, the ten blacks bending to the oars as if their lives were at stake.

A wind arose before we sighted Greensbury Point, and I saw a bark sailing in, but thought nothing of this until Mr. Carvel, who had been silent and preoccupied, called for his glass and swept her decks.  She soon shortened sail, and went so leisurely that presently our light barge drew alongside, and I perceived Mr. Zachariah Hood, a merchant of the town, returning from London, hanging over her rail.  Mr. Hood was very pale in spite of his sea-voyage; he flung up his cap at our boat, but Mr. Carvel’s salute in return was colder than he looked for.  As we came in view of the dock, a fine rain was setting in, and to my astonishment I beheld such a mass of people assembled as I had never seen, and scarce standing-room on the wharves.  We were to have gone to the Governor’s wharf in the Severn, but my grandfather changed his intention at once.  Many of the crowd greeted him as we drew near them, and, having landed, respectfully made room for him to pass through.  I followed him a-tremble with excitement and delight over such an unwonted experience.  We had barely gone ten paces, however, before Mr. Carvel stopped abreast of Mr. Claude, mine host of the Coffee House, who cried: 

“Hast seen his Majesty’s newest representative, Mr. Carvel?”

“Mr. Hood is on board the bark, sir,” replied my grandfather.  “I take it you mean Mr. Hood.”

“Ay, that I do; Mr. Zachariah Hood, come to lick stamps for his brother-colonists.”

“After licking his Majesty’s boots,” says a wag near by, which brings a laugh from those about us.  I remembered that I had heard some talk as to how Mr. Hood had sought and obtained from King George the office of Stamp Distributor for the province.  Now, my grandfather, God rest him! was as doughty an old gentleman as might well be, and would not listen without protest to remarks which bordered sedition.  He had little fear of things below, and none of a mob.

“My masters,” he shouted, with a flourish of his stick, so stoutly that people fell back from him, “know that ye are met against the law, and endanger the peace of his Lordship’s government.”