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There were many other tea parties. Down in Charleston, they let the stuff rot on the wharves. In Philadelphia and New York, they sent back full cargoes. And the Committees of Correspondence got busy publicizing these outrages and celebrating the courage of such as these female patriots in Edenton, North Carolina, who urged people to sign a pledge to boycott British goods.

Whatever else they may seem to have on their minds, this is what they are doing, signing a pledge. "We, the ladies of Edenton, do hereby solemnly engage not to conform to that pernicious custom of drinking tea, and not to promote or wear any manufacture from England."
The Committees of Correspondence ran all the way down to South Carolina, the secret and soon not-so-secret militant underground. But the real southern end of the radical axis was over 500 miles and a whole culture away from Boston.

It was here in the capital of Virginia, Williamsburg. It was one of the very few southern cities, and much the most elegant and lively. We see it today almost as exactly as it was in the 1770s because history moved away and left it as a crumbling ghost town for a century and a half. Until in the 1920s, the idea occurred to a local clergyman, and was subsidized by the Rockefellers, to restore the original 18th century buildings that were still standing, and they were more than half the town. Also to tear down over 450 later uglier buildings and reconstruct the town as it was in its prime.

Now this was made possible by a map, left by a meticulous French solider. He was something of an amateur architect and during the Revolutionary War, he walked all over the place, and noted down the furnishings and the colors of the dyes on the walls and measured not only the dimensions of the buildings, but the arrangements of the spaces in between.

It's this which, to me at any rate, makes the town so fascinating. And I know that it's fashionable among intellectuals to decry Williamsburg as a museum. So it is, and a very fine one. At any rate, it's the only true picture I know of an 18th century town in which the blanks, the spaces between the old buildings, have a true 18th century look. Here was the seat of government, the colonial capital where the legislature sat. And here along the street you can see what the Virginians did with the local materials to vary the English and Dutch styles that they knew best. Here, twice a year, when the court sat, the tobacco planters rode in to stay in their town houses. These periodic invaders included landholders like Lord Fairfax with his five million acres and small freeholders from the Tidewater Country. If they were lucky, they were invited to a ball at the Governor's Palace, which was on a scale befitting the Royal Governor of the largest of the American colonies.