TEA, Destroyed by Indians.

There’s something wonderfully Boston about turning a political flashpoint into a song you can carry in your pocket. “TEA, Destroyed by Indians.” isn’t a dry report, it’s a song-sheet broadside, the kind you’d tack up, pass along, or read aloud where people actually gathered: print shops, doorways, and taverns. Printed on a traditional press at the Edes & Gill Printing Office (hand-set in Caslon type, just like the period), it’s a reminder that revolutionary news didn’t only move by speeches and letters, it moved by rhythm, repetition, and a chorus that sticks.

“TEA, Destroyed by Indians” A hand-printed broadside from Edes & Gill

The lyrics do exactly what broadsides did best: they frame the story and tell you how to feel about it. The headline names “Indians,” nodding to the disguise used on the night of December 16, 1773, less an ethnographic claim than a theatrical mask, a symbolic break from British identity. The song celebrates the act as courage, ties it to liberty, and leans hard into community energy: a call to keep going, keep resisting, keep your backbone straight. You can almost hear the hook in the repeated chorus, designed for groups, not soloists, because the point wasn’t just to inform the public; it was to activate it.

Colonists coming together to sing the new broadside at a local tavern.

That’s why this broadside is such a delight to hold and read today: it’s basically Revolutionary-era “shareable media.” The little ship vignette at the top sets the scene, the bold typography pulls you in, and the verses do the persuasive work, turning a complicated dispute over taxes, cargo, and authority into a story with heroes, stakes, and a singalong refrain. In other words: Boston didn’t merely witness history; it printed it, performed it, and made sure the whole town could hum the message on the way home.