Rush Revere and the First Patriots: Time-Travel Adventures With Exceptional Americans

by Rush Limbaugh

  “Hey, you sound just like her,” Cam said and laughed.

  The two boys high-fived each other and Tommy said, “So, anyway, I asked her what her plans were. I told her maybe I could help. I was curious to know what she’s up to.”

  “What did she say?” Cam asked.

  Again, pretending to be Elizabeth, Tommy said, “Oh, Thomas, wouldn’t you like to know!”

  Cam raised one eyebrow and said, “On second thought, you probably shouldn’t talk like that. It’s sort of creepin’ me out!”

  Tommy chuckled. “Anyway, while we were waiting for the fire drill to end a couple of kids were throwing a football back and forth but one of their passes went wide. It soared like a heat-seeking missile headed right for Elizabeth.”

  “Let me guess—KABLAM!” Cam said.

  “Yep, it was a direct hit! Her books and folders and papers went everywhere. As soon as those kids saw what happened they ran away like a quarterback running from a linebacker.”

  “I don’t blame them,” I said, smiling. “Elizabeth is a pretty mean linebacker!”

  “Anyway, I’m not sure what came over me,” said Tommy, “but I decided to help her gather her things and that’s when I came across this.” He pulled out a folded piece of paper that was stuffed into his pocket. “I saw the words ‘Top Secret’ written on it so I snatched it when she wasn’t looking.” He handed the paper to me.

  I unfolded the note and then smoothed out the paper. The note had a few words written on three lines. The first line said, Jump to Great Britain. The second line said, Impress the King. The third line said, Tell secret about BTP. And underneath that were several signatures. One said, Queen Elizabeth. Another said, President Elizabeth. And a third said, Elizabeth the Great.

  “She definitely bumped her head back in the eighteenth century. She’s nuts!” Cam said.

  “What does BTP stand for?” asked Tommy. “British Toilet Paper?”

  Cam laughed and said, “Or maybe it stands for Boston Triple-Cream Pie? I love a good pie!”

  “That’s something Liberty would say,” I said. “Wait a second, I think you’re on to something, Cam.”

  “I am?” Cam replied, confused. “You think Elizabeth’s secret is about a pie recipe?”

  “No,” I corrected. “I think her secret is about Boston. In particular, a secret event that will happen in Boston, a big secret that involves a lot of tea!”

  “Ohhhhhh,” Cam said, snapping his fingers. “BTP. Boston Tea Party! Of course!”

  “Exactly,” I exclaimed. “If the King knew about the Boston Tea Party before it happened, well, he could probably stop it and it could be the beginning of the end of the American Revolution.”

  Tommy raised his hand like he was in class. “What exactly is the Boston Tea Party? And why would Elizabeth plan something like that?”

  “Elizabeth isn’t planning it,” I said. “The Boston Tea Party is a secret mission planned by the Sons of Liberty.”

  “Liberty has sons?” asked Tommy, surprised.

  “No, I’m referring to a secret organization called the Sons of Liberty. It was a well-organized group of Patriots who banded together to resist the British and unfair laws like the Stamp Act. The Sons of Liberty were sort of like Robin Hood and Batman mixed into one. When the colonists were burdened and suffering because of King George and his minions, the Sons of Liberty would come to the rescue! Their most famous operation was the Boston Tea Party!”

  “Cool!” Tommy was smiling. “I wish I could be a Son of Liberty. What else did they do, Mr. Revere?”

  “They once tried to persuade Governor Thomas Hutchinson of Massachusetts to reject the Stamp Act in his official letters to London. The governor was a loyalist so, of course, he refused. In fact, Governor Hutchinson sent and received many letters to and from England. These letters made it very clear that the British were superior. King George and his Parliament thought the colonists were sloppy and stupid so they granted fewer rights to people living in America. Simply, the letters said that Britain was better and America was blech! Governor Hutchinson agreed and that made the Sons of Liberty really mad so they attacked the governor’s mansion. They axed his door, uprooted his garden, and destroyed much of his home. Of course, they didn’t harm the governor, but they told him that he didn’t belong in America. Eventually, he left Massachusetts and returned to England.”

  “Okay, wait, back up,” said Tommy. “You said the Sons of Liberty were the ones who planned the Boston Tea Party. A tea party? I don’t get it. I mean, my little sister likes to have tea parties with all her friends. I just don’t see the Sons of Liberty doing that.”

  Cam laughed. “Not that kind of tea party!” he said.

  I laughed as well and said, “The best way for me to explain it is to simply show you!”

  “Awesome!” Tommy said. “Road trip!”

  “Let’s go find Liberty,” I said.

  “Yeah, it shouldn’t be too hard to find him.” Cam smiled. “All we have to do is to listen for someone cutting the cheese!”

  Tommy chuckled and asked, “Seriously?”

  “Oh yeah,” said Cam. “He ate a boatload of beans in Boston.”

  After fifteen minutes, we found Liberty. He was waiting for us by the big oak tree near the back door of the school.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  “Let’s just say I’ve bean better,” Liberty said with a half smile.

  “Are you up to jumping again?” I asked Liberty.

  “Did the Mayflower make it to the New World? Did Benjamin Franklin invent the lightning rod? Was Paul Revere a master blacksmith?” asked Liberty.

  “I think he means yes,” said Cam.

  All the students and buses had left by now, and the schoolyard looked deserted. After Tommy and Cam climbed up onto Liberty’s saddle, Liberty said, “Rush, rush, rushing to history!”

  A broadside (poster) calling the Sons of Liberty to a meeting at twelve o’clock on December 17, 1765.

  Swirling colors of purple and gold grew to the size of a Hobbit hole. As we rushed to the time portal I said, “December sixteenth, 1773, Boston, Massachusetts, the Old South Meeting House!” We jumped and the next thing I felt was the chilled air. Were we in a field or a park? It was hard to tell since the only light came from the moon and the flickering lanterns and candles in a building straight ahead of us. It looked like an old church with a large steeple that stood like a single sentinel keeping watch over the large crowd of colonists below. The boys quickly jumped off Liberty and put on their colonial clothes over their modern-day clothes.

  “There must be five thousand people over there,” said Tommy.

  I nodded. “We’re about to witness another key event that brings the thirteen colonies that much closer to their revolution against Great Britain.”

  “Can we get a closer look?” asked Cam. “I want to hear what they say.”

  As we approached the front doors to the meetinghouse a man rushed outside and pushed his way through the crowd. He wore cream-colored breeches and white stockings as well as a cream-colored vest buttoned nearly to the neck. His royal blue coat with golden buttons and gold trim hung low to his knees and reminded me of something a ship’s captain would wear. The man was searching for something. When he saw us he hurried over and said, “I’m in need of a swift horse. I’m Mr. Francis Rotch, owner of the Dartmouth out of England. I’ve been asked to seek a pass from Governor Hutchinson so my ship might return to England with its crates of tea. May I borrow your horse? I expect to return shortly with the governor’s answer.”

  Before I could respond, Liberty was enthusiastically nodding his head. He looked excited for this unexpected adventure. I knew Liberty was a fast horse and would enjoy the task of an important mission. I finally said, “Oh, why not?”

  “Thank you, my good sir. I shall return shortly,” said Francis. Within seconds he was sitting in Liberty’s saddle and dashing off into the night.

  I turned to the boys and sa
id, “Let’s squeeze our way into the meetinghouse.”

  “I think the Dartmouth is the name of a ship,” said Cam.

  “Yes, that’s right,” I confirmed. “The Dartmouth is one of three ships that are sitting in Boston Harbor right now with hundreds of crates of tea from England. King George and Parliament are trying to force the colonists to purchase only British tea. In fact, the King has made his tea cheaper than anything else the colonists could buy.”

  “Yeah, but he’s also making the colonists pay a tax on the tea!” said Cam.

  “More taxes?” asked Tommy. “King George doesn’t give up! I mean, it’s pretty obvious the colonies don’t want to be taxed by England anymore. You’d think the King would’ve learned that lesson with the Stamp Act!”

  “History shows that King George III was not a very smart man,” I said.

  “Okay, but wait a second,” said Tommy. “The guy who rode off on Liberty said that his ship can’t leave the harbor without a pass from the governor?”

  “That’s right,” I said. “You see, the Dartmouth arrived in Boston a few weeks ago. A tax has to be paid the moment the cargo of tea is removed from the ship. However, the colonists refuse to pay the tax and, therefore, don’t want the tea to leave the ship. And to make matters worse, two more ships have arrived with more tea! So the Patriots, the colonists who are fighting for a free America, have posted guards around all the ships so that not a single crate is removed. They want the ships to return to England. But only the governor can approve such a thing.”

  On Monday, January 1, 1770, the Boston Gazette published a list of merchants who imported British goods into Boston despite the boycott.

  “I get it. They want the governor to tell the King to go jump in a lake because they’re not paying the stinkin’ royal tea tax!” said Cam.

  “In manner of speaking, yes. But the governor is not a Patriot. He’s a loyalist, remember? He’s supports the King. So, I’m afraid Liberty will return with bad news for the Patriots.”

  As we entered the front door Cam said, “There’s a great spot for us to the right in the corner.” There was standing room only so we shuffled across the wooden floor and squeezed our way over and against the back wall near the corner of the room. I immediately recognized Samuel Adams at the front of the large gathering. Just seeing him reminded me of his clever plan to use the Boston Massacre as a way to incite the colonists to hate Great Britain. He was always ready to get the Patriots fired up to fight against the British Empire. Tonight was no different. He was standing behind a podium with a firm scowl. He raked his fingers through his wild hair and then tried to get the attention of the raucous crowd, but the men in the room were arguing and yelling with each other. The sound was deafening and the smell reminded me that underarm deodorant hadn’t been invented yet. It might have been chilly outside but it was warm and stuffy inside.

  “Gentlemen, order! We will have order!” Samuel demanded. Finally, the crowd calmed down, and Samuel pointed to a man who was sitting in the balcony.

  “Three pence a pound is a small sum to pay for tea!” said the man, who was surely a loyalist.

  “It’s not the cost that angers me. It is the tax that comes with the tea!” yelled a Patriot. “I will not pay it. The tea tax is an insult to the citizens of Boston! The British Empire does not treat us as equals! We have no representation in Parliament! They think we are fools, children, and worse—slaves!”

  Cam rolled his eyes and said, “Ironic, isn’t it?”

  “Indeed,” I said.

  “But we must pay for the French and Indian War debt!” yelled a loyalist. “If not for the King we might all be speaking French!”

  Tommy whispered, “What does he mean by that?”

  I whispered back, “King George sent thousands of British troops to help the colonists fight the French and Indians. Without the King’s help the colonies would not have been able to defend their lands and defeat the French. The King wants the colonies to help pay for the war. That’s partly why he’s taxing them. The colonies believe they did pay for the war; many gave their lives for it. But the King and Parliament feel like the colonies still owe England.”

  “And that’s why the King is taxing them,” said Tommy.

  “Correct,” I said. “But as you can see and hear, the colonists can’t agree on what’s best for America.”

  “Sort of like the Senate and the House of Representatives in Congress today,” said Cam with a smirk. “When our leaders can’t agree, well, it can lead to a government shutdown!”

  I nodded sadly. “Yes, you’re getting a taste of our future government in this very room.”

  Although it was cold outside, the meetinghouse was getting very warm, the crowd was getting louder, and some men started shoving and pushing to get their point across.

  “Mr. Revere!” Tommy shouted. “Maybe we should leave.”

  The idea was a good one, I thought. Unfortunately, we were boxed into a corner with Patriots and loyalists on either side of us who looked like they were ready to come to blows.

  Samuel Adams tried to retain order but he looked just as angry as the rest of them. It was apparent that neither side was willing to back down.

  “We should have the right to tax ourselves and keep it in the colonies! Not send it to the King!” said a Patriot.

  “And we must not let the tea leave the ships!” said another Patriot. “Our colonies in Charleston, New York, and Philadelphia all refused to accept the tea shipments. Boston must do the same!”

  Suddenly, the owner of the Dartmouth rushed back into the assembly and yelled, “I have news from the governor!” He panted and said, “He is not willing to send the tea back to England. He said it must be landed and the tea tax must be paid!”

  Patriots shouted with anger and loyalists yelled in support of what the governor had decided. It was so loud I could barely hear my own voice. I yelled to Tommy and Cam again, “Stay close by me. This could get ugly!”

  “This is like a Boston Bruins ice hockey brawl!” said Tommy.

  Samuel Adams raised his hands to quiet the crowd but without success. He looked like he was ready to explode.

  “Hey, I have an idea!” said Cam. He pulled out the silver whistle that Paul Revere gave him.

  “Good idea,” said Tommy, who pulled out the whistle that Freedom gave him.

  “On the count of three,” Cam said.

  They each put the tip of their whistle in their mouths. Cam counted to three with his fingers. One, two, three! After a deep breath the boys blew as long and as loud as they could. A high-pitched sound sliced through the room like a hot knife through butter. The sirenlike sound seemed to bounce off the Old South Meeting House walls until all eyes turned toward Cam.

  Cam smiled and said, “I think Mr. Samuel Adams has something to say.”

  With gratitude, Samuel nodded at Cam but he was in no mood to smile. With a stern expression on his face he looked out across the crowd of Patriots and loyalists and said, “It is clear that we are divided among ourselves. I will say only this, gentlemen. This meeting can do nothing more to save the country!” With that, Samuel Adams left the platform of the meetinghouse and slipped out the back door.

  I felt someone tap me on the shoulder. As I turned I saw that it was my hero Paul Revere. “Come,” he said. “Samuel said the secret words ‘This meeting can do nothing more to save the country!’ We agreed that if and when he said these words the Sons of Liberty would meet behind the Old South Meeting House.”

  Tommy smiled and said, “Is it time for the Boston Tea Party?”

  Paul looked at Tommy and while raising his eyebrows said, “Yes, that is correct.” He turned his gaze toward me and said, “Rush Revere, you agreed to be a Son of Liberty, did you not?”

  “Uh, yes, I did,” I said.

  Paul smiled and slapped me on the back. “Good, the Sons of Liberty need good men like you. And your students are welcome to join us.”

  “Awesome!” said Tommy. He tur
ned to Cam and said, “You can be Robin Hood and I’ll be Batman.”

  “No way,” argued Cam. “You’re Robin Hood and I’m Batman.”

  Paul Revere interrupted, “Robin Hood is a legendary hero who fights to destroy tyranny. A bat is a creature that cowers in caves and spreads filth and disease.”

  In unison, Tommy and Cam said, “I’m Robin Hood!”

  “I approve. The Sons of Liberty are very much like Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest. Come, follow me,” Paul said.

  We scurried along the wall and then through and around several men who were still arguing about what should be done with the tea. In less than a minute we had reached the back door. We exited and found ourselves in the middle of forty or fifty Indians. No, they weren’t real Native Americans, but their faces were covered with red and black war paint. They had feathers in their hair and many carried hatchets. Some were still in the process of changing from colonist to Indian, including Samuel Adams.

  “We need to change our appearance,” said Paul, smiling. “Come, we have enough clothes for the three of you.”

  I was thrilled to join the Sons of Liberty, disguised as Mohawk Indians in a unified act against the British Empire.

  Cam turned to Tommy and whispered, “Dude, do you realize what we’re about to do? We’re going undercover! We’re like eighteenth-century special ops or Navy SEALs!”

  “Except we don’t have night vision goggles,” said Tommy. “But this is way better than playing a video game! I mean we’re actually here in 1773 Boston! And we’re about to be a part of history!”

  “Yeah,” said Cam. “Operation BTP, here we come!”

  “This is going to be so awesome!” squealed Tommy.

  In a few minutes we were all dressed like Indians. Well, sort of. It was a good thing it was dark, because in the daylight I bet we looked more like Peter Pan’s lost boys. In any case, we used coal dust to darken our faces and arms.