True Stories From History and Biography (18 page)

"Our grave old chair must have been scandalized at such scenes," observed
Laurence. "The chair that had been the Lady Arbella's, and which the holy
Apostle Eliot had consecrated."

"It certainly was little less than sacrilege," replied Grandfather; "but
the time was coming, when even the churches, where hallowed pastors had
long preached the word of God, were to be torn down or desecrated by the
British troops. Some years passed, however, before such things were done."

Grandfather now told his auditors, that, in 1769, Sir Francis Bernard went
to England, after having been governor of Massachusetts ten years. He was
a gentleman of many good qualities, an excellent scholar, and a friend to
learning. But he was naturally of an arbitrary disposition; and he had
been bred at the University of Oxford, where young men were taught that
the divine right of kings was the only thing to be regarded in matters of
government. Such ideas were ill adapted to please the people of
Massachusetts. They rejoiced to get rid of Sir Francis Bernard, but liked
his successor, Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson, no better than himself.

About this period, the people were much incensed at an act, committed by a
person who held an office in the custom-house. Some lads, or young men,
were snow-balling his windows. He fired a musket at them and killed a poor
German boy, only eleven years old. This event made a great noise in town
and country, and much increased the resentment that was already felt
against the servants of the crown.

"Now, children," said Grandfather, "I wish to make you comprehend the
position of the British troops in King Street. This is the same which we
now call State Street. On the south side of the town-house, or Old State
House, was what military men call a court of guard, defended by two brass
cannons, which pointed directly at one of the doors of the above edifice.
A large party of soldiers were always stationed in the court of guard. The
custom-house stood at a little distance down King Street, nearly where the
Suffolk bank now stands; and a sentinel was continually pacing before its
front."

"I shall remember this, to-morrow," said Charley; "and I will go to State
Street, so as to see exactly where the British troops were stationed."

"And, before long," observed Grandfather, "I shall have to relate an
event, which made King Street sadly famous on both sides of the Atlantic.
The history of our chair will soon bring us to this melancholy business."

Here Grandfather described the state of things, which arose from the
ill-will that existed between the inhabitants and the red-coats. The old
and sober part of the town's-people were very angry at the government, for
sending soldiers to overawe them. But those gray-headed men were cautious,
and kept their thoughts and feelings in their own breasts, without putting
themselves in the way of the British bayonets.

The younger people, however, could hardly be kept within such prudent
limits. They reddened with wrath at the very sight of a soldier, and would
have been willing to come to blows with them, at any moment. For it was
their opinion, that every tap of a British drum within the peninsula of
Boston, was an insult to the brave old town.

"It was sometimes the case," continued Grandfather, "that affrays happened
between such wild young men as these, and small parties of the soldiers.
No weapons had hitherto been used, except fists or cudgels. But, when men
have loaded muskets in their hands, it is easy to foretell, that they will
soon be turned against the bosoms of those who provoke their anger."

"Grandfather," said little Alice, looking fearfully into his face, "your
voice sounds as though you were going to tell us something awful!"

Little Alice, by her last remark, proved herself a good judge of what was
expressed by the tones of Grandfather's voice. He had given the above
description of the enmity between the town's-people and the soldiers, in
order to prepare the minds of his auditors for a very terrible event. It
was one that did more to heighten the quarrel between England and America,
than any thing that had yet occurred.

Without further preface, Grandfather began the story of

It was now the 3d of March, 1770. The sunset music of the British
regiments was heard, as usual, throughout the town. The shrill fife and
rattling drum awoke the echoes in King Street, while the last ray of
sunshine was lingering on the cupola of the town-house. And now, all the
sentinels were posted. One of them marched up and down before the
custom-house, treading a short path through the snow, and longing for the
time when he would be dismissed to the warm fire-side of the guard-room.
Meanwhile, Captain Preston was perhaps sitting in our great chair, before
the hearth of the British Coffee House. In the course of the evening,
there were two or three slight commotions, which seemed to indicate that
trouble was at hand. Small parties of young men stood at the corners of
the streets, or walked along the narrow pavements. Squads of soldiers, who
were dismissed from duty, passed by them, shoulder to shoulder, with the
regular step which they had learned at the drill. Whenever these
encounters took place, it appeared to be the object of the young men to
treat the soldiers with as much incivility as possible.

"Turn out, you lobster-backs!" one would say. "Crowd them off the
side-walks!" another would cry. "A red-coat has no right in Boston
streets."

"Oh, you rebel rascals!" perhaps the soldiers would reply, glaring
fiercely at the young men. "Some day or other, we'll make our way through
Boston streets, at the point of the bayonet!"

Once or twice, such disputes as these brought on a scuffle; which passed
off, however, without attracting much notice. About eight o'clock, for
some unknown cause, an alarm bell rang loudly and hurriedly.

At the sound, many people ran out of their houses, supposing it to be an
alarm of fire. But there were no flames to be seen; nor was there any
smell of smoke in the clear, frosty air; so that most of the townsmen went
back to their own fire-sides, and sat talking with their wives and
children about the calamities of the times. Others, who were younger and
less prudent, remained in the streets; for there seems to have been a
presentiment that some strange event was on the eve of taking place.

Later in the evening, not far from nine o'clock, several young men passed
by the town-house, and walked down King Street. The sentinel was still on
his post, in front of the custom-house, pacing to and fro, while, as he
turned, a gleam of light, from some neighboring window, glittered on the
barrel of his musket. At no great distance were the barracks and the
guard-house, where his comrades were probably telling stories of battle
and bloodshed.

Down towards the custom-house, as I told you, came a party of wild young
men. When they drew near the sentinel, he halted on his post, and took his
musket from his shoulder, ready to present the bayonet at their breasts.

"Who goes there?" he cried, in the gruff, peremptory tones of a soldier's
challenge.

The young men, being Boston boys, felt as if they had a right to walk
their own streets, without being accountable to a British red-coat, even
though he challenged them in King George's name. They made some rude
answer to the sentinel. There was a dispute, or, perhaps a scuffle. Other
soldiers heard the noise, and ran hastily from the barracks, to assist
their comrade. At the same time, many of the town's-people rushed into
King Street, by various avenues, and gathered in a crowd round about the
custom-house. It seemed wonderful how such a multitude had started up, all
of a sudden.

The wrongs and insults, which the people had been suffering for many
months, now kindled them into a rage. They threw snow-balls and lumps of
ice at the soldiers. As the tumult grew louder, it reached the ears of
Captain Preston, the officer of the day. He immediately ordered eight
soldiers of the main guard to take their muskets and follow him. They
marched across the street, forcing their way roughly through the crowd,
and pricking the town's-people with their bayonets.

A gentleman, (it was Henry Knox, afterwards general of the American
artillery,) caught Captain Preston's arm.

"For Heaven's sake, sir," exclaimed he, take heed what you do, or here
will be bloodshed."

"Stand aside!" answered Captain Preston, haughtily. "Do not interfere,
sir. Leave me to manage the affair."

Arriving at the sentinel's post, Captain Preston drew up his men in a
semi-circle, with their faces to the crowd and their rear to the
custom-house. "When the people saw the officer, and beheld the threatening
attitude with which the soldiers fronted them, their rage became almost
uncontrollable.

"Fire, you lobster-backs!" bellowed some.

"You dare not fire, you cowardly red-coats," cried others.

"Rush upon them!" shouted many voices. "Drive the rascals to their
barracks! Down with them! Down with them! Let them fire, if they dare!"

Amid the uproar, the soldiers stood glaring at the people, with the
fierceness of men whose trade was to shed blood.

Oh, what a crisis had now arrived! Up to this very moment, the angry
feelings between England and America might have been pacified. England had
but to stretch out the hand of reconciliation, and acknowledge that she
had hitherto mistaken her rights but would do so no more. Then, the
ancient bonds of brotherhood would again have been knit together, as
firmly as in old times. The habit of loyalty, which had grown as strong as
instinct, was not utterly overcome. The perils shared, the victories won,
in the Old French War, when the soldiers of the colonies fought side by
side with their comrades from beyond the sea, were unforgotten yet.
England was still that beloved country which the colonists called their
home. King George, though he had frowned upon America, was still
reverenced as a father.

But, should the king's soldiers shed one drop of American blood, then it
was a quarrel to the death. Never—never would America rest satisfied,
until she had torn down the royal authority, and trampled it in the dust.

"Fire, if you dare, villains!" hoarsely shouted the people, while the
muzzles of the muskets were turned upon them; "you dare not fire!"

They appeared ready to rush upon the levelled bayonets. Captain Preston
waved his sword, and uttered a command which could not be distinctly
heard, amid the uproar of shouts that issued from a hundred throats. But
his soldiers deemed that he had spoken the fatal mandate—"fire!" The flash
of their muskets lighted up the street, and the report rang loudly between
the edifices. It was said, too, that the figure of a man with a cloth
hanging down over his face, was seen to step into the balcony of the
custom-house, and discharge a musket at the crowd.

A gush of smoke had overspread the scene. It rose heavily, as if it were
loath to reveal the dreadful spectacle beneath it. Eleven of the sons of
New England lay stretched upon the street. Some, sorely wounded, were
struggling to rise again. Others stirred not, nor groaned, for they were
past all pain. Blood was streaming upon the snow; and that purple stain,
in the midst of King Street, though it melted away in the next day's sun,
was never forgotten nor forgiven by the people.

Grandfather was interrupted by the violent sobs of little Alice. In his
earnestness, he had neglected to soften down the narrative, so that it
might not terrify the heart of this unworldly infant. Since Grandfather
began the history of our chair, little Alice had listened to many tales of
war. But, probably, the idea had never really impressed itself upon her
mind, that men have shed the blood of their fellow-creatures. And now that
this idea was forcibly presented to her, it affected the sweet child with
bewilderment and horror.

"I ought to have remembered our dear little Alice," said Grandfather
reproachfully to himself. "Oh, what a pity! Her heavenly nature has now
received its first impression of earthly sin and violence. Well, Clara,
take her to bed, and comfort her. Heaven grant that she may dream away the
recollection of the Boston Massacre!"

"Grandfather," said Charley, when Clara and little Alice had retired, "did
not the people rush upon the soldiers, and take revenge?"

"The town drums beat to arms," replied Grandfather, "the alarm bells rang,
and an immense multitude rushed into King Street. Many of them had weapons
in their hands. The British prepared to defend themselves. A whole
regiment was drawn up in the street, expecting an attack; for the townsmen
appeared ready to throw themselves upon the bayonets."

"And how did it end?" asked Charley.

"Governor Hutchinson hurried to the spot," said Grandfather, "and besought
the people to have patience, promising that strict justice should be done.
A day or two afterward, the British troops were withdrawn from town, and
stationed at Castle William. Captain Preston and the eight soldiers were
tried for murder. But none of them were found guilty. The judges told the
jury that the insults and violence which had been offered to the soldiers,
justified them in firing at the mob."

"The Revolution," observed Laurence, who had said but little during the
evening, "was not such a calm, majestic movement as I supposed. I do not
love to hear of mobs and broils in the street. These things were unworthy
of the people, when they had such a great object to accomplish."

"Nevertheless, the world has seen no grander movement than that of our
Revolution, from first to last," said Grandfather. "The people, to a man,
were full of a great and noble sentiment. True, there may be much fault to
find with their mode of expressing this sentiment; but they knew no
better—the necessity was upon them to act out their feelings, in the best
manner they could. We must forgive what was wrong in their actions, and
look into their hearts and minds for the honorable motives that impelled
them."