Chapter XXIV: In the Old Home 374 (4)

They could hear the clattering of mallets and axes beneath them, and knew the carpenters were knocking away the props. The ways had been slushed with grease. The tide was at the flood. Ruth Newville was to break the bottle of wine. She had shaken hands with Robert Walden, and given expression of her pleasure at meeting him once more. Her eyes had followed him; even when not looking towards him she had seen him. Once more she thanked Rachel for her gift. Her mates were asking her where she had found a hood so beautiful and becoming. They stood upon the quarter-deck, Berinthia the queen of the hour, Ruth, radiant and lovely, by her side. They heard the bell striking the hour of eleven. A great crowd had assembled to see the launching. Men, women, boys, and girls were in the yard, flocking the street, gazing from doors and windows of neighboring houses.

"Are you ready there?"

It was the builder of the ship, Mr. Brandon, shouting over the taffrail to those beneath.

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Then knock it away."

They heard a blow from an axe. The stately ship quivered a moment, then glided with increasing speed down the ways.

Mr. Brandon raised his hand, and a ball of bunting at the topmast fluttered out into the Cross of St. George. Ruth lifted the bottle of wine, broke it upon the rail, and poured the contents into the river. A huzza rose from the quarter-deck. Handkerchiefs fluttered in the air. The people tossed up their hats. From street, doorway, and window came an answering shout.

Out from the shore drifted the Berinthia till the anchor dropped from her bow, and she lay a thing of beauty, swinging with the ebbing tide.

In the cabin the guests were partaking of the bountiful and appetizing repast.

"I remember, Miss Newville, that you once graciously served me at an afternoon tea; shall I have the pleasure of waiting upon you?" Robert asked.

"I shall be pleased to be served by you. The fresh air has sharpened my appetite, and I will begin with a plate of beans, if you please."

He brought what she desired, served himself, and took a chair by her side. They talked of the successful launching, of the beauty of the ship, sitting as gracefully as a swan upon the water, of the almost perfect likeness of the figurehead to Berinthia.

"Possibly it is so beautiful because the engraver's heart has gone into it," she said with a smile.

Their eyes met. He thought hers very beautiful at the moment.

Roger Stanley found equal pleasure in serving Rachel, and in listening to what she had to say about the launching, her visit to Boston, and of things in Rumford.

Robert talked with Isaac Coffin, who said he expected to have a commission in his majesty's navy. Admiral Montague was very kind, and was using his influence to secure an appointment. His younger brother, John, liked the army better. Robert came to the conclusion that they were not Sons of Liberty, but were inclined to take sides with the ministry, which was very natural, as their father was holding a very important office under the crown.

There was a merry chattering of voices, a rattling of knives and forks, and changing of plates. Mark Antony was master of ceremonies at the table, giving directions to Cæsar and Pompey.

Although society was divided politically, neighbors still were friends, accepting and giving hospitality, and when meeting socially avoiding all allusion to the proposed bill for taxing the Colonies. All hoped that nothing would be done by Parliament to interrupt friendly relations between the Colonies and the mother country. Doctor Warren made himself agreeable to bluff Admiral Montague. William Molineux cracked jokes with Colonel Dalrymple. Richard Dana and Nathaniel Coffin were friendly neighbors. Mr. Dana could look out from his front windows near Frog Lane,[34] and see the spacious grounds of his neighbor Coffin's "Fields," as the boys who played ball called it. There was no reason why they should be at odds socially, just because Lord North and the king proposed to levy a tax of three pence a pound on tea.

[Footnote 34: Frog Lane extended from Newbury, now Washington Street, to the Common. It is now a part of Boylston Street. Mr. Dana's house commanded an extensive view across the fields, gardens, and orchards owned by Nathaniel Coffin, south of the present Summer Street.]

With story and jest the company enjoyed the banquet and then were rowed to the shore, all shaking hands with Berinthia and congratulating her upon the successful launching of the vessel bearing her name.

"What can we do to round out the day for you, dear?"

It was Miss Newville addressing Berinthia.

"I don't know; what can we?" was the reply.

"How would you like a sleigh-ride?" Robert asked.

"Delightful!" exclaimed Miss Newville.

"Jenny and the colt are rested, and if you don't mind riding in a pung, I shall be pleased to take a little spin out of town."

"Oh, it will be so charming! I would rather go in a pung than in a sleigh; it is more romantic," Miss Newville said.

It was quickly arranged. Robert went to the Green Dragon, put new straw in the pung, and was soon back with the team. They were eight in number and quickly seated themselves. It was natural that Berinthia and Abraham Duncan, who had put his heart into his work while carving her features, should sit side by side, and that Tom Brandon and Mary Shrimpton should desire to be tucked under the same bearskin. It was a pleasure to Roger Stanley to ask Miss Walden to keep him company.

"They have decided, Mr. Walden, that we shall sit together," Miss Newville said as she stepped into the pung.

"I shall regard it an honor to have your company," was the reply.

When all were ready, the horses set the sleigh-bells jingling. Farmers plodding home from the market gave them the road, and smiled as they listened to the merry laughter. They went at a brisk trot over the Neck leading to Roxbury, and turned to the left, taking the Dorchester road. At times the horses came to a walk, but at a chirrup from Robert quickened their pace, the colt throwing snowballs into Miss Newville's face.

"You must excuse him, Miss Newville; he is young, and has not learned to be polite," Robert said, apologizing for the animal.

They gained the highlands of Dorchester, from whence they could overlook the harbor and its islands, and see the lighthouse rising from its rocky foundation, with the white surf breaking around it. A ship which had left Charles River with the ebbing tide had reached Nantasket Roads, and was spreading its sails for a voyage across the sea.

"So the Berinthia will soon be sailing," said Miss Newville, "and we shall all want to keep track of her; and whenever we read of her coming and going we shall all recall this delightful day, made so enjoyable for us this morning by Berinthia and so charming this afternoon by your kindness."

She turned her face towards Robert. The afternoon sun was illumining her countenance. He had seen in Mr. Henchman's bookstall a beautiful picture of a Madonna. Mr. Knox told him it was a steel engraving from a picture painted by the great artist Raphael, and Robert wondered if the countenance was any more lovely than that which looked up to him at the moment.

They were riding towards the Milton Hills. The woodman's axe had left untouched the oaks, elms, maples, and birches; they were leafless in midwinter, but the pines and hemlocks were green and beautiful upon its rocky sides. The purple sky, changing into gold along the western horizon, the white robe of winter upon hill and dale, the windows of farmhouses reflecting the setting sun, made the view and landscape of marvelous beauty. Descending the hill, they came to the winding Neponset River, and rode along its banks beneath overhanging elms. The bending limbs, though leafless, were beautiful in their outlines against the sky. Turning westward, they reached the great road leading from Boston to Providence.

"We might go to Dedham, but I think we had better turn back towards Roxbury, let the horses rest a bit at the Greyhound Tavern, and have supper,"[35] said Tom, who was well acquainted with the road.

[Footnote 35: The Greyhound was a much frequented tavern in Roxbury, with the figure of a greyhound upon its sign. It was in this tavern that the repeal of the Stamp Act was celebrated, 1767. Convivial parties were courteously entertained by the accommodating landlord.]

The sun had gone down when they whirled up to the tavern, whose swinging sign was ornamented with a rude picture of a greyhound. A bright fire was blazing in the parlor. They laid aside their outer garments and warmed themselves by its ruddy glow. The keen, fresh air had sharpened their appetites for supper. Chloe and Samson, cook and table-waiter, served them with beefsteak hot from the gridiron, swimming in butter; potatoes roasted in the ashes; shortcake steaming hot from the Dutch oven.

"Shall I brew Bohea, Hyson, or Hyperion[36] tea," the landlady asked, beginning with Miss Newville and glancing at each in turn.

[Footnote 36: Strawberry and other domestic teas were called by the high-sounding name, Hyperion.]

"I will take Hyperion," Miss Newville replied, with a tact and grace that made her dearer than ever to Berinthia, and to them all, knowing as they did that Bohea and Hyson were still served in her own home.

Supper over, they returned to the parlor, where the bright flame on the hearth was setting their shadows to dancing on the walls. The feet of Mary Shrimpton were keeping time to the ticking of the clock.

"Why can't we have a dance?" she asked.

"Why not?" all responded.

"I'll see if we can find Uncle Brutus," said Tom.

Uncle Brutus was the white-haired old negro who did chores about the tavern.

"Yes, massa, I can play a jig, quickstep, minuet, and reel. De ladies and genmen say I can play de fiddle right smart," Brutus responded, rolling his eyes and showing his well-preserved white teeth.

"If de ladies and genmen will wait a little till old Brutus can make himself 'spectable, he'll make de fiddle sing."

While the old negro was getting ready to entertain them with his violin, they proposed conundrums and riddles and narrated stories.

There came at length a gentle rap on the door, and Brutus, with high standing collar, wearing a cast-off coat given him by his master, his round-bowed spectacles on the tip of his nose, entered the room, bowing very low. He took his stand in one corner and tuned his violin. The chairs and light-stand were removed to the hall.

"De ladies and genmen will please choose pardners for de minuet," said Brutus.

The choosing had been already done; the partners were as they had been. After the minuet came the reel and quickstep, danced with grace and due decorum.

The hour quickly flew. The horses had finished their provender and were rested. Once more they were on the road, not riding directly homeward, but turning into cross-roads to Jamaica Pond, where the boys were gliding over the gleaming ice on their skates. They had kindled fires which lighted up the surrounding objects, the dark foliage of pines and hemlocks, and the branches of the leafless elms and maples growing on the banks of the pond.

The full moon was shining in their faces as they rode homeward. The evening air was crisp, but the hot supper and the merry dance had warmed their blood. The jingling of the sleigh-bells and their joyous laughter made the air resonant with music.

At times the horses lagged to a walk, and Robert could let the reins lie loose and turn his face toward Miss Newville. Her eyes at times looked up to his. He could feel her arm against his own. The violet hood leaned towards him as if to find a resting-place. To Robert Walden and to Ruth Newville alike never had there been such a night, so full of beauty, so delightful.

The horses came to a standstill at last by the entrance to the Newville mansion.

"This has been the most enjoyable day of my life," Miss Newville said, as Robert gave her his hand to assist her from the pung.

"Good-night, all. Thank you, Mr. Walden, for all your kindness," her parting words.

VIII.

CHRISTOPHER SNIDER.

The night-watchman of the North End of Boston, with overcoat buttoned to the chin and a muffler around his neck, a fur cap drawn down over his ears to exclude the biting frost of midwinter, was going his rounds. He saw no revelers in the streets, nor belated visitors returning to their homes.

If suitors were calling upon their ladies, the visits were ended long before the clock on the Old Brick struck the midnight hour. No voice broke the stillness of the night. The watchman scarcely heard his own footsteps in the newly fallen snow as he slowly made his way along Middle Street,[37] with his lantern and staff. He was not expecting to encounter a burglar, breaking and entering a shop, store, or residence. He heard the clock strike once more, and was just pursing his lips to cry, "Two o'clock, and all's well," when he caught a glimpse of a figure in front of Theophilus Lillie's store.[38] Was it a burglar? The man was standing stock-still, as if scanning the premises. The watchman dodged back behind the building on the corner of the street, hid his lantern, and peered slyly at the thief, who was still looking at the store. What was the meaning of such mysterious inaction? The watchman, instead of waiting to catch the culprit in the act of breaking and entering, stepped softly forward. Grasping his staff with a firm grip, to give a sudden whack, should the villain turn upon him,--"What ye 'bout, sir!" he shouted.

[Footnote 37: The section of the present Hanover Street east of Blackstone Street was called Middle Street.]

[Footnote 38: Mr. Theophilus Lillie was one of the six merchants who refused to sign the association paper not to import goods from England, thereby making himself exceedingly obnoxious to the people. Other merchants had agreed not to make any importation, and had violated the agreement.]

The burglar did not reply, neither turn his head.

"Is the fellow dead, I wonder--frozen stiff, this bitter night, and standing still?" the question that flashed through the watchman's brain.

"Bless my soul! It's Mr. Lillie's head,--his nose, mouth, chin. Looks just like him. And the post is set in the ground. I'll bet that carving is Abe Duncan's work. Nobody can carve like him. But what is it here for? Ah! I see. Lillie has gone back on his agreement not to import tea. The Sons of Liberty have rigged it up to guy him. Ha, ha!"

The watchman laughed to himself as he examined the figure.

"Well, that's a cute job," he said reflectively. "The ground is frozen stiff a foot deep. They had to break it with a crowbar, but not a sound did I hear. Shall I say anything about it? Will not the selectmen make a fuss if I don't notify 'em at once? But what's the use of knocking 'em up at two o'clock in the morning? The thing's done. 'Taint my business to pull it up. The post won't run away. I'll report what time I found it."

Remembering that he had not cried the hour, he shouted:--

"Two o'clock, all's well!"

He secreted himself in a doorway awhile, to see if any one would appear, but no one came.

The early risers--the milkmen and bakers' apprentices going their rounds, shop boys on their way to kindle fires in stores--all stopped to look at the figure. The news quickly spread. People left their breakfast-tables to see the joke played on Mr. Lillie. Ebenezer Richardson, however, could not see the fun of the thing. The schoolboys called him "Poke Nose" because he was ever ready to poke into other people's affairs.[39] The officers of the Custom House employed him to ferret out goods smuggled ashore by merchants, who, regarding the laws as unjust and oppressive, had no scruples in circumventing the customs officers. Richardson hated the Sons of Liberty, and haunted the Green Dragon to spy out their actions.

[Footnote 39: The offensive and unjust laws and acts and ordinances of the Board of Trade in enforcing the collection of customs dues had brought about systematic effort to circumvent the Custom House officials, who employed spies and informers to ferret out fraudulent transactions. Smuggling was regarded as a virtue, and outwitting the officials a duty rather than an offense. Ebenezer Richardson, by his service to the Custom House officials, made himself obnoxious to the community. An account of the incidents that led to the shooting of Christopher Snider may be found in the newspapers of March, 1770.]

"This is their work," he said to those around the figure. "It's outrageous. Mr. Lillie has just as good a right to sell tea as anything else, without having everybody pointing their fingers at him. It's an insult. It's disgraceful. Whoever did it ought to be trounced."

"Charcoal! Charcoal! Hard and soft charcoal!"

It was the cry of the charcoal-man, turning from Union into Middle Street.

"I'll get him to run his sled against it and knock it over," said Mr. Richardson to himself.

Slowly the charcoal vender advanced.

Seeing the post and the group of people around it, he reined in his old horse and looked at the figure.

"See here," said Mr. Richardson. "Just gee a little and run the nose of your sled agin it and knock it over, will ye? It's a tarnal fiendish outrage to set up such a thing in front of a gentleman's store."

"Do you own the figger?"

"No."

"Do you own the store?"

"No."

"Anybody ax ye to get it knocked down?"

"No; but it's an outrage which honest citizens ought to resent."

"Think so, do ye?"

"Yes, I do; and everybody else ought to, instead of laughing and chuckling over it."

"That may be, mister, but ye see you don't own it, and may be I'd get myself into trouble if I were to run my sled agin it purposely. Should like to oblige ye, neighbor, but guess I'd better not. Charcoal! Charcoal! Hard and soft charcoal!" he shouted, jerking the reins for the old horse to move on.

"Gee, Buck! Haw, Barry!"

It was a farmer driving his oxen drawing a load of wood, swinging his goad-stick, who shouted it. The team came to a standstill by the figure.

"What's up?" the farmer inquired.

"The Sons of Liberty have perpetrated a rascally trick, by setting this effigy in front of this gentleman's store," said Mr. Richardson.

"What'd they do that for?"

"'Cause he agreed not to sell tea, and then, finding he'd made a bad bargain, backed out of it; and now I'd like to have ye hitch yer oxen to the thing and snake it to Jericho."

"'Fraid I can't 'commodate ye; got to go down to widow Jenkins's with my wood. Gee, Buck! Haw, Barry!" said the farmer, as he started on.

"Rich, why don't ye pull it up yourself," said an apprentice.

"Better get an axe and chop it down, if it's such an eyesore to ye," said another.

"Get a crowbar and dig it up. A little exercise will be good for ye," said a third.

"Has Lillie engaged ye to get rid of the thing?" another asked.

"Did the Sons of Liberty smuggle it ashore during the night?"

Tom Brandon asked the question, which nettled Mr. Richardson exceedingly. Possibly the informer could not have said why he was so zealous for the removal of the effigy. He would not have been willing to admit that he was seeking to advance himself in the estimation of Hon. Theodore Newville, commissioner of imposts, and Hon. Nathaniel Coffin, his majesty's receiver-general. Quite likely he could not have given any very satisfactory reason for his activity in attempting to remove the figure. He knew that the selectmen would be obliged to clear the street of the obstruction, but a display of loyalty to the king might possibly inure to his benefit. Boys on their way to school began to chaff the informer.

"Say, Poke Nose; how much are ye going to get for the job?" shouted one of the boys.

"You mind your own business."

"That's what you don't do."

"Don't ye call me names, you little imp," shouted the informer, shaking his fist at the boy.

"Poke Nose! Poke Nose! Poke Nose!" the chorus of voices.

"Take that, Poke Nose!" said a boy as he threw a snowball.

Losing his temper, the informer threw a brickbat in return. He was but one against fifty lads pelting him with snowballs, which knocked off his hat, struck him in the face, compelling him to flee, the jeering boys following him to his own home.

Tom Brandon accompanied the boys. He saw the informer raise a window. There was a flash, a puff of smoke, the report of a gun, a shriek, and two of the boys were lying upon the ground and their blood spurting upon the snow. He helped carry them into a house, and then ran for Doctor Warren. It was but a few steps. The doctor came in haste.

"Samuel Gore is not much injured, but Christopher Snider is mortally wounded," he said.

Christ Church bells were ringing. Merchants were closing their stores; blacksmiths leaving their forges; carpenters throwing down their tools,--everybody hastening with buckets and ladders to put out the fire, finding instead the blood-stained snow and wounded schoolboys.

"Hang him! Hang him!" shouted the apprentices and journeymen. But the sheriff had the culprit in his keeping, and the law in its majesty was guarding him from the violence of the angered people.

"Christopher Snider is dead," said Doctor Warren, as he came from the house into which the boy had been carried by Tom Brandon and those who assisted him.

Thenceforth the widow's home in Frog Lane would be desolate, for an only child was gone.

An exasperated multitude, among others Tom Brandon and Robert Walden, gathered in Faneuil Hall, Tom as witness, attending the examination of Ebenezer Richardson,[40] charged with the murder of Christopher Snider. Upon the platform sat the justices, John Ruddock, Edmund Quincy, Richard Dana, and Samuel Pemberton, wearing their scarlet cloaks and white wigs. There was a murmuring of voices.

[Footnote 40: John Ruddock, Edmund Quincy, Richard Dana, and Samuel Pemberton were the principal magistrates of the town, and unitedly sat as a court. Richardson was committed to jail, tried, and condemned to death. As his crime grew from political troubles, Governor Hutchinson caused his execution to be delayed. He was kept in jail till the outbreak of the war, when he was set at liberty.]

"I hope the spy will swing for it," Robert heard one citizen say.

"It's downright murder, this shooting of a boy only nine years old, who hadn't even been teasing Poke Nose," said another.

"This is what comes from customs nabobs trying to enforce wicked laws," said an old man.

"Yes, and keeps two regiments of lobsters here to insult us."

"That's so," responded Peter Bushwick, whom Robert recognized. "If the laws were just the people wouldn't smuggle. If there was no smuggling there wouldn't be any spies, and Ebe Richardson, instead of being a sneaking informer, would have been earning an honest living. He wouldn't have been called Poke Nose; there wouldn't have been any snowballs nor brickbats nor shooting. Ever since I was a little boy Parliament has been passing laws to cripple us; that's what's brought on smuggling; that's what keeps the troops here. Ebe Richardson is part of the system."

There was a louder buzzing as the sheriff entered the hall and made his way through the crowd with his prisoner, who stood pale and trembling before the justices while the indictment was read. Witnesses were sworn and examined, and the sheriff ordered to commit the accused to the jail for trial.

"No other incident," said Mr. John Adams, "has so stirred the people as the shooting of this boy. Nothing has so brought to the consciousness of the community the meaning of the ministerial system. Instinctively they connect the death of Christopher with the attempt to enforce the unrighteous laws. Richardson is in the employ of the government. There is no evidence that Theodore Newville or Nathaniel Coffin or any of the officers of the customs engaged him to remove the effigy; he did it on his own account, and must suffer for it, but the obloquy falls, nevertheless, upon the officers of the crown, and especially upon the soldiers, who are a constant menace. I fear this is but the beginning of trouble."

Tom had been called upon to testify as a witness in regard to the shooting. He had heard the informer ask the peddler of charcoal and the farmer to run against the effigy with their teams; had seen the snowballs and brickbat fly, the shooting, and had assisted in caring for the wounded and summoning Doctor Warren.

"Have you any idea, Tom, who placed the effigy there?" Mrs. Brandon asked.

"I might have an idea, which might be correct or which might not be. A supposition isn't testimony. I don't think I'll say anything about it," said Tom.

"Can you guess who carved it?" Berinthia asked earnestly.

"Anybody can guess, Brinth, but the guess might not be worth anything; I'll not try."

"You Sons of Liberty don't let out your secrets," Berinthia said.

"If we did they wouldn't be secrets."

Never had there been such a funeral in the town as that of Christopher Snider. The schools were closed that the scholars might march in procession. Merchants put up the shutters of their stores; joiners, carpenters, ropemakers, blacksmiths, all trades and occupations laid down their tools and made their way to the Liberty-Tree, where the procession was to form. Mothers flocked to the little cottage in Frog Lane to weep with a mother bereft of her only child. Tom Brandon and five other young men were to carry the bier. The newspaper published by Benjamin Edes expressed the hope that none but friends of freedom would join in the procession.

Robert made his way to the Liberty Tree at the hour appointed. A great crowd had assembled. Somebody had nailed a board to the tree, upon which were painted texts from the Bible:--

"_Thou shalt take no satisfaction for the life of a murderer. He shall surely be put to death._"

"_Though hand join in hand, the wicked shall not pass unpunished._"

The clock was striking three when the bearers brought the coffin from the home of the mother in Frog Lane to the Liberty Tree. While the procession was forming Robert had an opportunity to look at the inscriptions upon the black velvet pall. They were in Latin, but a gentleman with a kindly face, Master Lovell, translated them to the people.

"_Latet Anguis in Herba._"
"_Hoeret Lateris lethalis Armada._"
"_Innocentia nusquam in tuta._"

The serpent is lurking in the grass.
The fatal dart is thrown.
Innocence is nowhere safe.

All the bells were tolling. Mothers and maidens along the street were weeping for the mother following the body of her boy. Old men uncovered their heads, and bared their snow-white locks to the wintry air, as the pall-bearers with slow and measured steps moved past them. Schoolboys, more than six hundred, two by two, hand in hand; apprentices, journeymen, citizens, three thousand in number; magistrates, ministers, merchants, lawyers, physicians in chaises and carriages,--composed the throng bearing the murdered boy to his burial.

Listen, my Lord Frederick North, to the mournful pealing of the bells of Boston! Listen, King George, to the tramping of the schoolmates of Christopher Snider, laying aside their books for the day to bear witness against your royal policy,--boys now, men ere long,--protesting with tears to-day, with muskets by and by! Listen, ye men who have purchased seats in parliament to satisfy your greed!

The assembled multitude, the tolling bells, the tramping feet, the emblems of mourning, are the indignant protest of an outraged community against tyranny and oppression,--the enforcement of law by the show of force,--by musket, sword, and bayonet. Listen, and take warning.[41]

[Footnote 41: Historians have made little account of the shooting of Christopher Snider, but there can be no question that it led directly to the collision between the ropemakers and soldiers one week later, resulting in the Massacre of March 5, 1770.]

IX.

THE LOBSTERS AND ROPEMAKERS.

Although March had come, the snow was still deep upon the ground. Robert and Rachel could prolong their stay in Boston and enjoy the hospitality of their friends. It was Monday evening the 5th of the month. Berinthia had invited Ruth Newville to tea.

"The soldiers and the ropemakers are at loggerheads," said Tom, as he came in and laid aside his coat.

"What is the trouble?" Robert asked.

"It seems that a negro hemp-stretcher, down in Gray's ropewalk[42], last Friday asked a soldier if he wanted to work, and the redcoat replied he did. What the ropemaker told him to do wasn't very nice, and they had a set-to. The soldier got the worst of it, and swore vengeance. The redcoat went to the barracks, but was soon back again with eight others, armed with clubs, swearing they'd split the skulls of the beggars. The ropemakers seized their woolding-sticks, and they had it hot and heavy, but the lobsters got a licking. You'd better believe there was a buzzing in the barracks. Pretty soon between thirty and forty of the hirelings, armed with bayonets, clubs, and cutlasses, rushed down to the ropewalk. The ropemakers rallied, but all told they were only fourteen. They showed what stuff they were made of, though, and proved themselves the better men. They whacked the lobsters' skulls and drove them."

[Footnote 42: Edward Gray, in 1712, purchased a large tract of land on the westerly side of Hutchinson's Lane, now Pearl Street, and erected a ropewalk seven hundred and forty feet long. The large number of ships built in Boston and other New England towns made it a lucrative occupation. His son, Harrison Gray, was appointed treasurer of the Province. He was a loyalist, and took his departure from Boston upon its evacuation by the British. His property was confiscated to the state. He proceeded from Halifax to London, where he gave generous hospitality to his fellow exiles in that city.]

"Good for the ropemakers," said Berinthia, clapping her hands.

Robert saw a lighting up of Miss Newville's eyes, but no word fell from her lips.

"I fear," said Mr. Brandon, "there will be an outbreak between the soldiers and the people. Since the funeral of Snider, the soldiers have been growing more insolent. The long stay of the troops with nothing to do except the daily drill and parade, and drinking toddy, has demoralized them. The under-officers are but little better than the men, spending most of their time in the taverns playing cards. Discipline is lax. I shall not be surprised at whatever may happen."

Miss Newville and Robert sat down to a game of checkers. He debated with himself whether or not he would let her win the first game. Would it be gentlemanly to defeat her? Ought he not to allow her to win? But almost before he was aware of what had happened she was victor, and he was making apology for playing so badly. Again the men were set, and again, although he did his best to win, his men were swept from the board.

"I see I'm no match for you," he said.

"I am not so sure about that. I saw your mistake. You would soon learn to correct it," she said with a smile.

Although yet early in the evening, Miss Newville said she must be going home, as her parents might be concerned for her.

"I trust the soldiers will not molest you," said Mrs. Brandon, bidding Miss Newville farewell.

"I am sure I shall be safe with Mr. Walden," she replied. There was a meaning in her eyes which he alone understood, the silent reference to their first meeting.

The moon was at its full, its silver light gleaming upon the untrodden snow. There was no need for them to hasten their steps when the night was so lovely.

"Oh, look, Mr. Walden! see Christ Church!" Miss Newville exclaimed. "Tower, belfry, turret, and steeple are glazed with frozen sea-mist and driven snow."

The church loomed before them in the refulgent light, a mass of shining silver. Above all was the tapering spire and golden vane.

"It is the poetry of nature. Such beauty thrills me. I feel, but cannot express, my pleasure," she said.

"It is indeed very beautiful," he replied. "The snow, the silver, gold, light and shade, the steeple tapering to a point, make it a wonderful picture. Would that you could see on such a night as this the view from my own home,--upland and valley, meadow and forest, walls and fences, leafless oaks, elms, and maples in fields and pastures, pure white and shining like polished silver in the moonlight, and all the twigs and branches glittering with diamonds. On such nights, when the crust is hard and firm, we boys and girls pile ourselves on a sled and go like the wind from the top of the hill in the pasture down to the meadow, across the intervale, over the river bank, and out upon the gleaming ice. We wake the echoes with our laughter and have a jolly time."

"Oh, how I should enjoy it," she said.

Suddenly they heard other voices, and as they turned the corner of the street came upon a group of men and boys armed with cudgels.

"We'll give it to the lobsters," they heard one say.

"I fear there may be trouble," Robert remarked, recalling the conversation at the supper-table.

Passing the home of Doctor Warren, they saw a light burning in his office, and by the shadow on the window curtain knew he was seated at his writing-desk. Turning from Hanover towards Queen Street, they found several soldiers in earnest conversation blocking the way.

"I'd like to split the heads of the blackguards," said one, flourishing a cutlass.

"Will you please allow me to pass?" said Robert.

"When you take off your hat to us," the answer.

"This is the king's highway," said Robert.

He felt Miss Newville's arm clinging more firmly to his own.

"You can pass if your wench gives me a kiss," said the soldier with the cutlass.

Swiftly Robert's right arm and clenched fist sent the fellow headlong into the snow. He faced the others a moment, and then with Miss Newville walked leisurely away. He could feel her heart palpitating against his arm. He cast a glance behind, but the redcoats were not following him.

"It seems we are fated to meet ill-bred men," he said.

"Oh, Mr. Walden, how resolute and brave you are!"

"It is not difficult to be courageous when you know you are right."

"But they are so many."

"We are more than they," he replied, smiling.

"More than they! We are only two."

"He who is in the right has all of God's host with him. They knew they were in the wrong; that made them cowards."

Again he felt the warmth and pressure of her arm, as if she would say, "I know I shall be safe with you to protect me."

They were passing King's Chapel. Its gray walls never had seemed so picturesque as on that evening with the moon casting the shadows of pillar, cornice, roof, and tower upon the pure white snow that had fallen through the day. Beyond it were the young elms of Long Acre, twig and limb a mass of glittering diamonds. They stood at last beneath the portico of her home.

"I have been thinking," she said, "of the strange happenings that have come to us--how you have been my protector from insult. I cannot express my gratitude, Mr. Walden."

"Please do not mention it, Miss Newville. I should indeed be a poltroon did I not resent an indignity to a lady, especially to you. I esteem it an honor to have made your acquaintance. May I say I cannot find words to express the pleasure I have had in your society? I do not know that I shall see you again before we start on our homeward journey."

"Must you go? Can you not prolong your stay?"

"We have already overstayed our time; but not to our regret. I never shall forget, Miss Newville, these days and evenings which you, with Berinthia, Tom, Miss Shrimpton, and Roger Stanley have made so enjoyable."

"I trust we shall not be like ships that signal each other in mid-ocean, then sail away never to meet again," she replied.

She reached out her hand to bid him farewell. It rested willingly in his.

"I hope," she said, "I never shall be so ungrateful as to forget what you have done for me. I certainly shall not forget the lesson you have taught me--to stand resolutely for the right. I shall always be pleased to see you."

"You may be sure, Miss Newville, I never shall fail to pay my respects to one whose very presence makes life more beautiful and worth the living."

The full moon was falling upon her face. Her eyes seemed to be looking far away. He saw for a moment a shade of sadness upon her countenance, succeeded by a smile. Her hand was still resting in his.

"Good-by till we meet again," her parting words.

Never before had he felt such an uplifting of spirit. "Till we meet again" would ever be like a strain of music. He lingered awhile, loath to leave the spot. A light was soon shining in her chamber. The curtains revealed her shadow. It was something to know she was there. Would she think of him when lying down to sleep? When would he again behold those loving eyes, that radiant face, that beauty of soul seen in every feature? What had the future in store for them? Ah! what had it? The light in the chamber was extinguished, and he turned away. Once more he lingered by the gray walls of King's Chapel to take a parting look at the white-curtained window, and then walked to Queen Street, past the jail and printing office. It would be a pleasure to stand once more upon the spot where first he met her.

He heard a commotion in the direction of Dock Square,--oaths and curses; and suddenly beheld citizens running, followed by soldiers, whose swords were flashing in the moonlight. They followed the fleeing people nearly to the town pump, then turned and disappeared in an alley.

"What has happened?" Robert asked of a man who had a pail of oysters in his hand.

"What? Just see what I've got from the hellish rascals," the man replied, setting down the pail and pointing to a gash on his shoulder. "The red-coated devils are cutting and slashing everybody. They are ripping and swearing they'll kill every blasted Son of Liberty."

While the oysterman was speaking, a little boy came along, piteously crying.

"What's the matter, my boy?" Robert asked.

Amid his sobs it was learned that the boy's father sent him on an errand; that while peacefully walking the street, a soldier rushed upon him swearing, aiming a blow, felling him to the ground with his sword.

"I'll kill every Yankee whelp in Boston," said the redcoat.

Again there was a commotion--soldiers rushing towards Dock Square.

"Where are the blackguards? let's kill 'em," they shouted.

"Come on, you dirty cowards; we are ready for ye," the answering shout.

Robert could hear oaths and vile words, and then the whacking of clubs, and saw the soldiers fleeing towards their barracks followed by the people. A man with a stout club came along the street.

"What's going on?" Robert asked.

"We are giving it to the poltroons. We'll drive 'em off Long Wharf. They rushed out upon us just now, with shovels, tongs, swords, and baggernets, and called us cowards. We whacked 'em with our clubs and drove the ruffians--blast their picters."

The commotion was increasing. Robert walked towards the barracks to learn the meaning of it. Reaching an alley, he saw a crowd of soldiers, and that the officers were trying to get them within the barrack gates. Towards Dock Square was a group of young men flourishing cudgels, and daring the lobsters to come on.

"Let's set the bell ringing," he heard one say, and two apprentices rushed past him towards the meetinghouse.

The officers, the while, were closing the barrack gates.

"To the main guard! Let us clean out that viper's nest," shouted one; and the apprentices moved towards King Street.

The bell was ringing. Robert walked back to the pump, and past it to the meetinghouse. Citizens were coming with fire-buckets. He could see by the clock above him that it was ten minutes past nine. Mr. Knox, the bookseller, came, out of breath with running.

"It is not a fire, but there is trouble with the soldiers," said Robert.

Together they walked down King Street, and saw the sentinel at the Custom House loading his gun. Robert learned that a boy had hurled a snowball at him.

"Stand back, or I'll shoot," said the soldier to those gathering round him.

"If you fire, you'll die for it," said Mr. Knox.

"I don't care if I do," the sentinel replied with an oath.

"You daren't fire," shouted a boy.

The redcoat raised his gun, and pulled the trigger. The lock clicked, but the powder did not flash.

"Spit in the pan!" said another boy, chaffing him.

"Guard! Guard!" shouted the sentinel, calling the main guard.

Captain Preston, with a file of men, came from the guardhouse upon the run, in response to the call. The meetinghouse bell was still ringing, and other bells began to clang. The soldiers, nine in number, formed in front of the Custom House with their bayonets fixed, and brought their guns to a level as if to fire. Robert thought there were thirty or more young men and boys in the street. Among them was a burly negro leaning on a stick, and looking at the soldiers. The others called him Crisp.

"Are your guns loaded?" asked a man of Captain Preston, commanding the soldiers.

"Yes."

"Are they going to fire?"

"They can't without my orders."

"For God's sake, captain, take your men back again, for if you fire your life must answer for it," said Mr. Knox, seizing the captain by the coat.

"I know what I'm about," Captain Preston replied.

The bayonets of the soldiers almost touched the breasts of Crispus Attucks and Samuel Gray. The negro was still leaning upon his cudgel, and Gray stood proudly before them with folded arms, a free citizen, in the dignity of his manhood protesting against the system of government instituted by King George and his ministry.

"You don't dare to fire," he said.

Why should they fire? The jeering apprentices before them had no guns, only sticks and clubs; they were not fifty in number. What had they done? Thrown a snowball at the sentinel; called him names; pointed their fingers at him; dared him to fire. It was not this, however, which had brought the guns to a level; but the drubbing the ropemakers had given them, and the funeral of Christopher Snider. These were not the beginning of the trouble, but rather the arrogance, greed, selfishness, and intolerance of the repressive measures of a bigot king, a servile ministry, and a venial Parliament.

Robert heard the clicking of gun-locks. He did not hear any order from Captain Preston, but a gun flashed, and then the entire file fired. He saw the negro, Samuel Gray, and several others reel to the ground, their warm blood spurting upon the newly fallen snow. There was a shriek from the fleeing apprentices. Robert, Mr. Knox, and several others ran to those who had been shot, lifted them tenderly, and carried them into a house. Doctor Warren, hearing the volley, came running to learn the meaning of it. He examined the wounded. "Crispus Attucks has been struck by two balls; either would have been fatal. He died instantly," the doctor said.

By the side of the negro lay Samuel Gray, who had stood so calmly with folded arms, the bayonets within a foot of his heart. In the bloom of youth, Samuel Maverick, seventeen years old, who had come to find the fire, was lying upon the ground, his heart's blood oozing upon the snow. Patrick Carr and Samuel Caldwell, who also had come to put out a fire, were dying, and six others were wounded. The soldiers were reloading their guns, preparing for another volley. Robert heard the rat-a-tat of a drum, and saw the Twenty-Ninth Regiment march into the street from Pudding Lane, the front rank kneeling, the rear rank standing, with guns loaded, bayonets fixed, and ready to fire.

"To arms! To arms!"

He could hear the cry along Cornhill, and down in Dock Square. All the meetinghouse bells were clanging and people were gathering with guns, swords, clubs, shovels, crowbars, and pitchforks.

Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson came.[43]

[Footnote 43: Thomas Hutchinson was a native of Boston. He graduated from Harvard College, 1727. He became a merchant, but was unsuccessful; studied law and opened an office in Boston. He was sent to London by the town as its agent, and upon his return was elected to the legislature several years in succession. He held the office of judge of probate, and was a councilor from 1749 to 1766, a lieutenant-governor from 1758 to 1771. He was also appointed chief justice, 1758. At the time this story opens he was holding four high offices under the crown. Upon the departure of Governor Francis Bernard for England in the autumn of 1769, Hutchinson became acting governor. He was commissioned as governor, 1771. In May, 1770, he issued his proclamation for the legislature to meet in Cambridge; but that body insisted that the terms of the charter required the General Court to assemble in Boston. A sharp and bitter controversy followed. Doctor Franklin was appointed agent of the Province to look after its welfare before Parliament. In 1773 he came into possession of a large number of letters written by Hutchinson to Mr. Whately, one of the under-secretaries, advising the ministry to take coercive measures with Massachusetts. Franklin sent the letters to Thomas Cushing speaker of the House of Representatives. Their publication aroused the indignation of the people, which was increased by the action of Hutchinson in connection with the arrival of the tea-ships. He became very unpopular and sailed for England, June 3, 1774. So eager was the king to see him that he was summoned into his royal presence before he had time to change his clothing. He assured King George that the bill closing the port of Boston to commerce was a wise and beneficent measure, and would compel the people to submit to royal authority. The conversation lasted two hours. Upon its conclusion the king expressed his great pleasure for the information and comfort Hutchinson had given him. He was created a baronet, and was consulted by Lord North and the other members of the ministry. That his opinions had great weight with the king and his ministers, and that he was largely instrumental in bringing about the Revolutionary War, cannot be questioned. He died at Brompton, near London, June 3, 1780.]

"Are you the officer who was in command of the troops?" he asked, addressing Captain Preston.

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know you have no power to fire upon the people except by order of a magistrate?"

"I was obliged to fire to save the sentry."

"That's a lie," shouted the crowd.

The surging multitude compelled the lieutenant-governor to enter the Town House. A few moments later he appeared upon the balcony overlooking King Street.

"I am greatly grieved," he said, "at what has happened. I pledge you my honor that this unhappy occurrence shall be inquired into. The law shall have its course. Now, fellow-citizens, let me urge you to retire to your homes."

"No, no! Send the troops to their barracks. We won't go till they are gone!" the shout from the people.

"I have no power to order them."

"The troops to their barracks! to their barracks!"

"I cannot do it; I have no authority."

"Arrest Preston! Hang the villains! To the barracks!" shouted the angry multitude.

"I will consult with the officers," said Hutchinson.

He went into the council chamber. Louder the outcry of the indignant people. The troops were as they had been, drawn up in two lines, the front rank kneeling, ready to fire upon the gathering multitude. Robert felt that it was a critical moment. If the troops were to fire into the surging throng, the gutters would run with blood.

"The troops to their barracks! Away with them!" the cry.

"I will order them to their barracks," said Colonel Dalrymple, who recognized the danger of the moment.

Robert breathed more freely when the front rank rose, and the troops filed once more through Pudding Lane to their quarters.

Tom Brandon had come with his gun ready to fight. A great crowd gathered around the Town House where the governor was holding a court of inquiry. Robert and Tom edged themselves into the room, and heard what was said and saw what was going on. It was nearly three o'clock in the morning when the magistrates directed the sheriff to put Captain Preston and the soldiers who had fired the volley in jail. It was a great satisfaction to Robert and Tom to go up Queen Street and see the redcoats enter the jail and hear the key click in the lock behind them. Civil law was still supreme.

The night was far gone when Robert reached the Brandon home. Although retiring to his chamber, he could not compose himself to sleep. He was looking into the future, wondering what would be the outcome of the massacre.

Long before the rising of the sun the following morning, the streets were swarming with people, hastening in from the country, with muskets on their shoulders, with indignation and fierce determination manifest in every feature, assembling in Faneuil Hall; but only a few of the multitude could get into the building.

"The Old South! Old South!" cried the people, and the crowd surged through Dock Square and along Cornhill to the Old South Meetinghouse. Samuel Adams, John Hancock, Joseph Warren, and others were chosen a committee to wait on the governor in the council chamber.

"The inhabitants and soldiery can no longer live together in safety; nothing can restore peace and prevent further carnage but the immediate removal of the troops," said Mr. Adams, speaking for the committee.

Colonel Dalrymple informed Governor Hutchinson that, as the Twenty-Ninth Regiment had done the mischief, he was willing it should be sent down the harbor to Fort William, and he would direct its removal.

"The people," said Mr. Adams, "not only of this town, but of all the surrounding towns, are determined that all the troops shall be removed."

"To attack the king's troops would be high treason, and every man concerned would forfeit his life and estate," said Hutchinson.

"The people demand their immediate withdrawal," Mr. Adams replied, bowing, and taking his departure.

Cornhill, all the way from the Town House to the Old South, was crowded with resolute and determined citizens, equipped with muskets and powder-horns. They saw Samuel Adams, loved and revered, descend the steps of the Town House, followed by the other members of the committee.

"Make way for the committee!" the cry.

"Hurrah for Sam Adams!" the shout.

They saw the man they loved lift his hat. They knew King George wanted him sent to England to be tried for treason; that Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson was ready to aid in such a plan; but there he was, more determined than ever to maintain the rights of the people.

Tom worked his way into the meetinghouse and heard Mr. Adams say the lieutenant-governor's answer was unsatisfactory.

"All the troops must go," shouted the citizens.

Once more Mr. Adams and six of his fellow-citizens made their way to the Town House. The lieutenant-governor and the council were assembled together with Colonel Dalrymple, Admiral Montague, and other officers in their scarlet uniforms. Robert edged his way into the building.

"It is the unanimous opinion," said Mr. Adams, "that the reply of your excellency is unsatisfactory. Nothing will satisfy the people other than the immediate removal of all the troops."

"The troops are not subject to my authority; I have no power to remove them," said Hutchinson.

Robert saw Mr. Adams raise his right arm towards Hutchinson. His words were clear and distinct:--