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Daughters of the Revolution and Their Times - 1769 - 1776 A Historical Romance
by Charles Carleton Coffin
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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:—

"Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson, if you have power to remove one regiment, you have power to remove both. It is at your peril if you do not. The meeting is composed of three thousand people. They are impatient. One thousand men have arrived from the surrounding towns. The country is in motion. The people expect an immediate answer."

A whiteness came into the face of the lieutenant-governor. His hands began to tremble. One hundred years before, the people in their majesty and might had put Edmund Andros in prison. Might they not do the same with him?

"What shall be done?" he asked of the council, with trembling lips.

"It is not such people as injured your house who are asking you to remove the troops," said Councilman Tyler; "they are the best people of the town, men of property, supporters of religion. It is impossible, your excellency, for the troops to remain. If they do not go, ten thousand armed men will soon be here."

"Men will soon be here from Essex and Middlesex," said Councilman Bussell of Charlestown.

"Yes, and from Worcester and Connecticut," said Mr. Dexter of Dedham.

Every member said the same, and advised their removal. Colonel Dalrymple had consented that the regiment which began the disturbance should leave, but it would be very humiliating if all the troops were to go. The instructions from the king had put the military as superior to the civil authority.

"I cannot consent, your excellency, voluntarily to remove all the troops," said Dalrymple.

"You have asked the advice of the council," said Councilman Gray to Hutchinson; "it has been given; you are bound to conform to it."

Robert felt it was a home-thrust that Councilman Gray gave, who said further:—

"If mischief shall come, your excellency, by means of your not doing what the council has advised, you alone must bear the blame. If the commanding officer after that should refuse to remove the troops, the blame then will be at his door!"

"I will do what the council has advised," said Hutchinson.

"I shall obey the command of your excellency," said Dalrymple.

The victory was won. "The lobsters have got to go," the shout that went up in the Old South, when Mr. Adams informed the people.

Very galling it was to the king's troops to hear the drums of the citizens beating, and to see armed men patrolling the streets, while they were packing their equipments. It was exasperating to be cooped up in Fort William, with no opportunity to roam the streets, insult the people, drink toddy in the tap-rooms of the Tun and Bacchus and the White Horse taverns. No longer could the lieutenants and ensigns quarter themselves upon the people and be waited upon by negro servants, or spend their evenings with young ladies. They who came to maintain law and order had themselves become transgressors, and were being sent to what was little better than a prison, while Captain Preston and the men who fired upon the unarmed citizens were in jail as murderers. It was a humiliating, exasperating reflection.



X.

MRS. NEWVILLE'S DINNER-PARTY.

His majesty's commissioner of imposts, Theodore Newville, being an officer of the crown, dispensed generous hospitality. Gentlemen of position or culture arriving in town were cordially entertained. His table was abundantly supplied with meats and with wines mellowed by age. He was loyal to his sovereign; gloried in being an Englishman, gave reverence to King George, and was respected and honored by his fellow-citizens. On Sunday, in King's Chapel, he repeated with unction the prayer for their majesties the king and queen, and for his royal highness the Prince of Wales. Not only as a servant of the crown but as a citizen it was his duty to be loyal to the king. He was kind, courteous, and tolerant towards those who did not agree with him in political affairs. He thought Sam Adams, James Otis, and Doctor Warren were rather hot-headed, but they were nevertheless frequent guests at his table.

Mrs. Newville took pride in making her home attractive. Whether as hostess at the dinner-table or in the parlor, she displayed tact and grace in conversation. She was ever solicitous for the welfare and happiness of Ruth, her only child, and fondly hoped a kind Providence would bring about an alliance with some worthy son of an ancient and honorable family. Her day-dreams pictured a possible marriage of her beloved daughter to some lord, earl, or baronet from the mother country, owner of a great estate, a castle, or baronial hall.

It was an agreeable announcement which Mr. Newville made to Mrs. Newville, that the ship Robin Hood, sent out by the Admiralty to obtain masts, had arrived, bringing as passengers young Lord Upperton and his traveling companion, Mr. Dapper. His lordship had recently taken his seat with the peers, and was traveling for recreation and adventure in the Colonies. Not only was he a peer, but prospective Duke of Northfield. He was intimate with the nobility of the realm, and had kissed the hands of the king and queen in the drawing-room of Buckingham Palace.

Mr. Dapper was several years the senior of Lord Upperton, so intelligent, agreeable, polite, courteous, and of such humor, that he was ever welcomed in the drawing-room of my lady the Countess of Epsom, the Marquise of Biddeford, and at the tables of my Lady Stamford, and of her grace the Duchess of Alwington. The doors of the London clubs were always wide open to one who could keep the table in a roar by his wit. Lord Upperton had chosen him as his companion during his visit to his majesty's Colonies.

"It will indeed be an honor to entertain Lord Upperton and his friends," said Mrs. Newville, with sparkling eyes. It was not only the anticipated pleasure of their company at dinner that set her pulses throbbing, but the thought that it might in the end make her day-dreams a reality.

Mr. Newville thought it would be eminently fitting to invite the commander of his majesty's fleet, Admiral Montague, and also the rector of King's Chapel, Reverend Mr. Coner; together they would represent the crown and the church.

Mrs. Newville did not intend that any bevy of beautiful girls should assemble around her table and be a cluster of diamonds to dazzle his lordship by their brilliancy. She would have but one brilliant, her own daughter. The other ladies should be of mature years. She would invite Miss Milford, who made it a point to read every new book; Miss Artley, who could paint in oils, and Miss Chanson, who would sing a song after dinner, and accompany herself upon the harpsichord; Mr. John Adams, the able lawyer, and his accomplished wife.

From her chamber window, Ruth saw a lumbering coach drive up the street. The footman in blue livery opened the coach door, and a young man, tall, handsome, wearing a blue velvet coat, the sleeves slashed with gold, an embroidered waistcoat, buff breeches, lace ruffles, and powdered wig, walked up the path accompanied by a gentleman several years his senior, faultlessly dressed, with crimson velvet coat and costly ruffles. The other guests had previously arrived. Ruth, in accordance with her mother's wishes, wore a rich brocaded silk of pure white. She needed no adornment of silver, gold, or precious stones to set forth her loveliness as she entered the parlor.

"My lord, shall I have the pleasure of presenting my daughter?" said her mother.

Lord Upperton bowed. Mrs. Newville saw a look of surprise upon his face, as if he had not expected to find so sweet a flower in the wilderness of the Western world. He bowed again, very politely, and expressed his pleasure at making her acquaintance.

Pompey, bowing low, informed Mr. Newville that dinner was ready to be served.

"My lord, may I presume to assign my daughter to you?" said Mrs. Newville, giving her own arm to Admiral Montague.

Mr. Dapper solicited the favor of Mrs. Adams's company. As Miss Chanson sang in the choir at King's Chapel, Reverend Mr. Coner thought it becoming to offer her his arm, leaving Miss Artley to Mr. Newville, and Miss Milford to Mr. Adams.

"I presume, my lord, you find things quite different here from what you do in England," Ruth remarked, feeling it was incumbent upon her to open the conversation.

"Yes, Miss Newville, very different; for instance, in London, and in almost all our towns, the houses are mostly brick, with tiles or thatch; but here, they are built of wood, covered with shingles. Your churches are meetinghouses. Queer name." Lord Upperton laughed.

"Ha, ha! I had a funny experience the other day. I told the landlord of the Admiral Vernon I would like a chair for myself, and another for Mr. Dapper,—that we wanted to see the town. Well, what do you think happened? A little later, in came two niggers, each bringing a big rocking-chair. 'Dese be de cheers you axed for, Massa,' they said."

Miss Newville laughed heartily.

"The landlord evidently did not know you meant sedan-chairs; we do not have them here," she said.

"More than that, I told him I should want some links for the evening, as I was to be out late. He said I could get 'em in Faneuil Hall Market, if it was sausages I wanted."

Again Miss Newville gave way to laughter.

"I do not suppose," she said, "that the landlord ever had heard that a link-boy is a torch-bearer."

"I had the pleasure of attending services at your church last Sunday," said Lord Upperton to the rector, when they were seated at the table. "I noticed that you have a substantial stone edifice."

"Yes, my lord, and we regard it with what, I trust, is reverential pride. The Church of God is enduring, and the church's edifice should be firm and solid, and of material that the tooth of time will not gnaw," the rector answered.

"Ought it not to be beautiful as well?" Miss Newville inquired.

"Most certainly."

"I cannot say I think King's Chapel is beautiful in the architecture, with its stump of a tower, and no steeple or spire," Miss Newville replied.

"Perhaps by and by we shall have money enough to carry out the plan of the architect. I admit it is not as attractive as it might be," said the rector.

"I never look at the lower tier of windows without laughing over the wit of Reverend Mr. Byles[44] in regard to them," said Mr. Adams.

[Footnote 44: Rev. Matthew Byles, the first pastor of Hollis Street Church, was born in Boston, 1706, descended from Reverend John Cotton, the first minister, and Richard Mather. He was minister of the parish more than forty years. He was a celebrated wit and punster. He maintained his allegiance to the king, and remained in Boston after the departure of the British. He died in 1788. His clock is preserved in the old State House, by the Bostonian Society.]

"What might it be?" the rector asked.

"He said he had heard of the canons of the church, but never before had he seen the portholes."

The company laughed.

"Excellent! Excellent!" exclaimed Mr. Dapper.

"The reverend gentleman, Mr. Byles, though dissenting from our Apostolic Church, I am happy to say is loyal to our most gracious King George," said the rector.

"Reverend Mr. Byles is very witty," Miss Newville remarked. "He asked the selectmen several times to give their attention to a quagmire in the road near his house. After long delay, they stepped into a chaise and rode to the spot. Suddenly they found themselves stuck in the mud. Mr. Byles opened his window and remarked that he was glad they were stirring in the matter at last."

Again the company laughed.

"Capital; he must be a genius," said Mr. Dapper.

Pompey served the oysters, large, fat, and juicy.

"Pardon me, madam, but may I inquire what these may be?" Mr. Dapper inquired.

"They are oysters. I think you will find them quite palatable," Mrs. Newville replied.

Mr. Dapper put his glasses to his eyes, tilted an oyster on his fork, and examined it.

"Do you mean to say that you swallow these monsters?"

"We think them fine eating," Mrs. Adams replied.

"My lord," said Mr. Dapper, turning to Upperton, "I'm going to try one. I've made my last will and testament. Tell 'em at Almack's, when you get home, that Dapper committed suicide by attempting to swallow an oyster."

"I will send Pompey for the coroner," exclaimed Mr. Newville, laughing.

"'Pon my soul, madam, they are delicious. Bless me! It is worth crossing the Atlantic to eat one. Try one, my lord, and then you can torment the Macaronies[45] by telling them they don't know anything about fine eating," said Dapper, after gulping it down.

[Footnote 45: The derisive term "Macaronies" was applied to ladies and gentlemen who had visited Italy, and who upon returning to England aped foreign customs in the matter of dress.]

Lord Upperton ate one, smacked his lips, and testified his enjoyment by clearing his plate.

"I dare say, my lord, that you find many amusing things here in the Colonies," remarked Mrs. Adams.

"Indeed I do. Yesterday, as I was smoking my pipe in the tap-room of the Admiral Vernon, a countryman stepped up to me, and said, 'Mister, may I ax for a little pig-tail?' I told him I didn't keep little pigs and hadn't any tails. I presumed he would find plenty of 'em in the market."

Lord Upperton was at a loss to know the meaning of the shout of laughter given by the company.

"The bumpkin replied if I hadn't any pig-tail, a bit of plug would do just as well for a chaw."

Again the laughter.

"I expect I must have made a big bull, but, 'pon my soul, I can't make out where the fun comes in."

"He was asking you first for pig-tail tobacco for his pipe, and then for a bit of plug tobacco for chewing," Mrs. Adams explained.

"Oh ho! then that is it! What a stupid donkey I was," responded Lord Upperton, laughing heartily. "He wasn't at all bashful," he continued, "but was well behaved; asked me where I was from. I told him I was from London. 'Sho! is that so? Haow's King George and his wife?' he asked. I told him they were well. 'When you go hum,' said he, 'jes give 'em the 'spec's of Peter Bushwick, and tell George that Yankee Doodle ain't goin' to pay no tax on tea.'" Lord Upperton laughed heartily. "I rather like Peter Bushwick," he said. "I'd give a two-pound note to have him at Almack's for an evening. He'd set the table in a roar."

"My lord, shall I give you some cranberries?" Miss Newville asked, as she dished the sauce.

"Cranberries! What are they? I am ashamed to let you know how ignorant I am, but really I never heard of 'em before. Do they grow on trees?"

She explained that they were an uncultivated fruit, growing on vines in swamps and lowlands.

"'Pon my soul, they are delicious. And what a rich color. Indeed, you do have things good to eat," he added, smacking his lips.

"I trust you will relish a bit of wild turkey," said Mr. Newville, as he carved the fowl.

"Wild turkey, did you say?"

"Yes, my lord. They are plentiful in the forests."

Again Lord Upperton smacked his lips.

"By Jove, Dapper, it is superb!" he exclaimed.

"Will you try some succotash, my lord?" Ruth inquired.

"There you have me again. What a name!"

"It is an Indian name, my lord," said Mrs. Adams.

"Oh ho! Indian. They told me I should find the people lived like the savages. Succotash! what is it?"

"Succotash, my lord, is a mixture of beans and Indian corn."

"Beans! beans! Do you eat beans over here?" his lordship asked.

"We do, my lord," Mrs. Adams replied, "and we think them very nutritious and palatable, notwithstanding the maxim, 'Abstincto a fabis.' Possibly you may be a disciple of Pythagoras, and believe that the souls of the dead are encased in beans, and so think it almost sacrilegious for us to use them as food."

Lord Upperton looked up in astonishment. Was it possible that ladies in the Colonies were acquainted with the classics?

"In England we feed our sheep on beans," his lordship replied; "and may I ask what is Indian corn?"

"Possibly you may call it maize in England. When our fathers came to this country they found the Indians used it for food, and so ever since it has been known as Indian corn."

"Beans for sheep; corn for savages. Pardon me, madam, but I am not a sheep, nor yet quite a savage with a tomahawk. Thank you, but I don't care for any succotash."

"Better take some, Upperton. It is positively delicious," said Mr. Dapper, after swallowing a spoonful.

Lord Upperton poked the mixture with his spoon and then tasted it.

"It isn't so very nasty," he said, and took a second spoonful. "By Jove, it isn't bad at all. Bless me, the more I eat the better I like it."

His plate was quickly cleaned.

"Pardon me, Miss Newville, but the succotash is so superb that I dare violate good manners, which I am sure you will overlook, and pass my plate for more."

"You see, my lord, what you have gained by trying it. If you had not tasted it, you would have gone back to England and told the nabobs that the people in the Colonies eat just such nasty things as the sheep-men feed to their flocks; but now you can torment them by describing the dainty delicacies of the Colonies."

"By Jove! That's a capital idea, Dapper. It will make the Macaronies mad as March hares."

"Please fill your glasses, ladies and gentlemen, and we will drink the health of our most gracious sovereign,"[46] said Mr. Newville.

[Footnote 46: George III. was grandson of George II., and son of Frederick, Prince of Wales, whose death made his son heir to the throne. The mother of George III. had plans of her own, and was aided by the Earl of Bute. There were political parties in church and state; scheming bishops and intriguing politicians, each striving for his own advancement, or the advancement of his party. George III. during his early years had frequent changes of governors and tutors, several of whom were intense Jacobites, holding reactionary opinions. Being dull of intellect, his education tended to make him a bigot.]

The glasses were filled, and the health of the king drunk.

"Our king is a right royal sovereign," said Mr. Newville.

"Yes, royal, but stupid now and then," Mr. Dapper responded, to the amazement of the company, and especially Mrs. Newville. "The fact is, my dear madam, our king, unfortunately, has the reputation of being the dullest sovereign in Europe. Perhaps you know there was not much of him to begin with, as he was only a little pinch of a baby when he was born, so puny and weak the nurses said he wouldn't stay here long. He sat in their laps, and was coddled till six years old, when he was put under that scheming, narrow-minded bigot, Reverend Doctor Ayscough. And what do you suppose the reverend donkey set him to doing? Why, learning hymns, written by another reverend gentleman, Doctor Philip Doddridge. Very good religious hymns, no doubt, but not quite so attractive as Mother Goose would have been to the little fellow. After learning a few hymns and a few words in Latin, he was set to making verses in that language, when he could not read a story book without spelling half the words."

"How preposterous!" exclaimed Miss Milford.

"Somewhat absurd, I will admit," said Mr. Dapper, bowing. "One reverend doctor was not sufficient," he continued, "to look after the education of the prince, and so my Lord Bishop Hayter of Norwich was associated with Doctor Ayscough. Then the Old Harry was let loose. My Lord Bishop of Norwich was scheming to be made Archbishop of Canterbury, and Ayscough wanted to become Bishop of Bristol. Both were striving to rival little Jack Horner in putting their thumbs into the pie."

The ladies were amused—excepting Mrs. Newville, who laid down her knife and fork, folded her hands, and looked earnestly at Mr. Dapper.

"Do you mean to say there is scheming among the reverend prelates of our most holy church?" she asked.

"Why, madam, human nature is pretty much the same in the church as out of it, and there is quite as much intrigue among the prelates of the church as among the politicians at court. His majesty, talking about his early years not long since, said there was nothing but disagreement and intrigue among those who had charge of him during his early years. Mr. Scott, his tutor, did what he could for the little fellow, but it wasn't much. His father, Fred, Prince of Wales, delighted in private theatricals. He had several plays performed at Leicester House by children, employing Jimmy Quin[47] to teach them their parts. Now, my dear madam, you will see that with three bishops disputing as to how the boy should be instructed in theology; whether politically he should be a Jacobite or Whig; when each was trying to get the biggest piece of pie and the most plums,—the boy, the while, muddling his brains in trying to make Latin verses and learning tragedies, there wasn't much chance for Master Scott to get him on in other things, especially when my lord the Bishop of Norwich was intriguing to get the master kicked downstairs, that he might put one of his favorites in the position of tutor to the prince."

[Footnote 47: The celebrated actor, James Quin, was employed by the Prince of Wales to direct the plays performed in Leicester House by the children of the nobility.]

"Why, Mr. Dapper!" exclaimed Mrs. Newville.

"Then the prince had a change of governors about as often as the moon fulled," said Mr. Dapper. "Each, of course, had some directions to give in regard to his education. When Lord Harcourt was governor his chief concern was to have the prince turn out his toes when walking."

The ladies laughed at Mr. Dapper's droll way of narrating the manner of the king's education.



"I do not wonder you smile, ladies; it is enough to make a horse laugh," he said. "Perhaps you would like to know how the prince was put through his paces from the time he opened his eyes in the morning till he was tucked in bed at night. Lord North at one time was governor to the prince; he gave me the programme of the daily routine. The boy was to be out of bed at seven o'clock, eat breakfast and be ready for Mr. Scott from eight o'clock to nine, or till the Reverend Doctor John Thomas came, who had him in charge till eleven, when he was to be turned over to Mr. Fung, for what purpose Lord North did not know. At noon, Mr. Ruperti had him for half an hour. From half past twelve till three the prince could play; that is, he could walk through the grounds around Leicester House, trussed up in fine clothes like a turkey for the spit, but he couldn't kick up his heels or turn somersaults on the grass; he must be a nice little gentleman in lace and ruffles. At three o'clock he had dinner. At half past four the dancing-master, Mr. Deneyer, taught him the minuet. At five o'clock he had another half hour with Mr. Fung. From half past six to eight Mr. Scott put him through his curriculum. At eight o'clock he had supper, but must be in bed at ten. On Sunday from half past nine till eleven Reverend Doctor Ayscough lectured him on religion. To state it plainly, our royal sovereign's real instructors were the servants and chambermaids of Leicester House. They told him nursery tales about hobgoblins, giant-killers, and witches. Doctor Ayscough and the bishop gave him lectures on theology. The Jacobite bishop exalted the prerogatives of princes and kings. Lord Waldegrave told me that, when he was appointed governor to Prince George, he found him to be a good, narrow-minded little bigot, with his head full of nursery tales and not much else."

"Why, Mr. Dapper!" exclaimed Mrs. Newville, laying down her knife and fork again, and holding up her hands.

"I see that you are astonished, madam. Now I would not for the world say anything disrespectful of our gracious sovereign; he is not to be blamed for the errors of those who had charge of him during his minority,—he is to be commiserated rather; but you will observe that it was not a course of education calculated to enlighten a dull intellect. That he is good at heart every one knows, but his ministers also know that he is narrow-minded and obstinate."

"We must not forget that our most gracious majesty, King George, is one of the Lord's chosen instruments to carry out the plan of the divine mind," said the rector.

"Oh, certainly, my dear sir; just as much of an instrument as ever Samson was, flourishing the jawbone of an ass, smiting the Philistines hip and thigh," Mr. Dapper replied.

The ladies smiled, but the rector did not altogether relish the reply.

"I never have quite understood how Earl Bute obtained his ascendency with the king," said Mr. Adams.

"It was through his influence with the mother of the king," Mr. Dapper replied. "He had a great deal to say about the king's education. It was Bute who induced George II. to appoint Andrew Stone to have charge of the young prince. Then the fat was in the fire. The Bishop of Norwich accused Stone of being a Jacobite, and the quarrel became hot—so sharp that the bishop entered the schoolroom to have it out with Master Stone. Now I suppose, my dear rector, you would have staked your money on the bishop, on the theory that the church militant should also be the church triumphant."

"Possibly, if I were in the habit of laying wagers," the rector replied.

"I certainly should have done so, reverend sir, but I should have lost my money," continued Mr. Dapper; "for Mr. Stone was plucky, used his fists beautifully, and gave it to my lord the bishop right between the eyes. The bishop was quite gamey, though, and aimed a blow at Stone's nose, but finally got shoved out of the room, greatly to his mortification. He couldn't let the matter drop, and so accused Stone of being drunk. The matter finally got into Parliament where there was quite a row about it. Such were the auspices under which our good sovereign was educated to administer the affairs of the realm. His mother wanted to make him pious. She would not allow him to associate with other boys because they would corrupt his morals. Lord Bute advised the princess dowager to keep the prince tied to her apron strings, and succeeded."

"Lord Bute," Mr. Adams responded, "is very much disliked in the Colonies. When he was at the head of the ministry, he was hung in effigy on the Liberty Tree."

"So he was in London," Mr. Dapper replied. "Your detestation of him cannot be greater than it is in England. No one can quite understand how John Stuart made his way up to power. He was a poor Scotsman from the Frith of Clyde. He went to school at Eton and also at Cambridge, then came to London, hired a piece of land out a little way from the city, and raised peppermint, camomile, and other simples for medicine. He had a love for private theatricals, had shapely legs and liked to show them. One evening the Prince of Wales saw his legs, and, taking a fancy to the owner, told him to make himself at home in Leicester House. That was enough for John Stuart. Having got a foothold, he made himself useful to Fred, and especially to the princess dowager. George II. was getting on in years and irritable. The old king took it upon himself to pick out a wife for the prince, selecting the daughter of Charles, Duke of Brunswick-Wolfenbuettel; but the prince said he wasn't going to be Wolfenbuttled by his grandsire. Just what he meant by it no one knows, as the word is not to be found in Doctor Johnson's big dictionary."

"Shall I help you to a bit of canvasback, my lord?" Mrs. Newville asked, interrupting the narrative.

"Canvasback! What may it be? Really, you have most astonishing things to eat over here," Lord Upperton replied.

Mrs. Newville explained that it was a duck, and that it was regarded as a delicacy.

"I never ate anything so delicious," said Upperton.

Mr. Dapper also praised it.

"Was the marriage of our king and queen a love-match?" Miss Chanson inquired.

"Well, hardly, at the beginning," said Mr. Dapper. "When the prince was eighteen, he fell in love with Lady Sarah Lennox, daughter of the Duke of Richmond. She was seventeen, beautiful, and attractive. She knew how to display her charms to the best advantage, by going out with the haymakers on fine summer mornings to wander in the meadows among the daisies, wearing a fancy costume. No wonder the prince, looking from the windows of Holland House, thought it a delightful exhibition of Arcadian simplicity and made haste to chat with her. But love-making between the future king and a subject was not in accordance with the princess dowager's ideas, and so Earl Bute found it convenient to appear upon the scene,—a gentle hint that there was to be no more love-making. Their flirtations would make a long story though, for Lord Newbottle was in love with Lady Sarah and jealous of the prince, which made it all the more interesting. Bute and the princess dowager put their heads together, and sent Colonel Graham on a prospecting tour among the German principalities. He sent back word that the daughter of the Duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz would make a good wife for his royal highness, and he judged well, for I am sure you all love our Sophia Charlotte."

"Most certainly, and we would emulate her virtues," said Mrs. Adams.

Mr. Newville proposed the health of the queen.

Their glasses drained, Mr. Dapper went on:—

"Lord Harcourt was sent as ambassador to negotiate a marriage, not with Sophia Charlotte, but with her brother, the duke."

"Was not our queen consulted in regard to the matter?" Ruth asked.



"Not at all. She knew very little about the world; never had been a dozen miles from home, never even had sat at the duke's table. She was a simple-minded little girl who gave the chickens their dough and gathered nosegays from her flower-garden. You can imagine, ladies, that she hardly knew what to make of it when told that an ambassador from England had arrived and wanted to see her. The duke told her to put on her best gown, mind what Harcourt said, and not be a baby. Suddenly the folding-doors leading to the ducal chamber opened, and there stood the ambassador. 'You are to be married to him by proxy, and be queen of England,' said the duke, which so surprised the poor girl that she nearly fainted. The ceremony over, Harcourt presented her with a necklace of diamonds. You see, ladies, it is almost the story of Cinderella over again!"

"It is really romantic," responded Miss Milford.

"I would not be married to one whom I never had seen," exclaimed Ruth.

"A princess, Miss Newville, cannot always do as she would. She may be compelled to marry against her will," said Lord Upperton.

"I would not," Ruth replied.

"Not if the country required it?" Lord Upperton asked.

"No, my lord; and I am glad I am not a princess."

"Bravely spoken. Ladies and gentlemen, let us drink to the maiden who, though not of the blood royal, is yet a princess," said Mr. Dapper.

"Hear! hear!" exclaimed the admiral, thumping the table.

The company gazed admiringly at Ruth, peerless in her beauty, the warm blood suffusing her cheeks.

"I understand that our queen assumed the position of royalty with much grace," Mrs. Adams remarked.

"With charming simplicity, madam," responded Mr. Dapper. "She landed at Harwich, and had an ovation all the way to London. People hurrahed, bells rang, and cannon thundered. The poor girl was terribly frightened. The thought of meeting a husband whom she had never seen unstrung her nerves. The Duchess of Hamilton laughed at her, but it was a hot shot the queen let fly; she said: 'You have been married twice to husbands of your own choosing, but poor me must marry a man whom I never have seen.'"

"Bravo! that raked the quarter-deck," exclaimed the admiral.

"How did the king receive her?" Ruth inquired.

"When she stepped from the coach she knelt at his feet; he gave her a kiss, and led her into the palace."

"Very gallant on the part of the king; fitting and humble the action of the queen," said the rector.

"I would not have got down on my knees to him," said Ruth.

"May I ask why Miss Newville would not have knelt to her future husband and sovereign, had she been Princess Sophia?" the rector asked.

"Because it was an acknowledgement at the outset that she was not his equal. She abased herself by taking an inferior position. In the days of chivalry, men knelt to women. The princess did not leave her happy home to be a subject of King George; but to be his wife to stand by his side, and not crouch at his feet."

"Hurrah! That's a whole broadside. She's sweeping your quarter-deck," shouted the admiral.

The rector grew red in the face.

"It is recorded in the Holy Scriptures, Miss Newville, that wives must be obedient to their husbands," he replied.

"Does the Bible say a wife must kneel at her husband's feet?" she asked.

"Perhaps not in so many words, but she is commanded to obey. Our holy church teaches the doctrine. When the princess knelt at the feet of his majesty, it signified she would obey him. Perhaps it is my duty, Miss Newville, to say that your sentiments would be regarded as heretical by the authorities of the church."

"Hold on, rector," said Mr. Adams. "Don't set the canons of the church to thundering."

"It is the gossip at court," said Mr. Dapper, "that the king wanted to retire soon after sundown, but the queen said she wasn't going to bed with the hens. It is said he told her she must wear a particular dress, but she informed him he could dress as he pleased, and she should do the same."

"You will have to go to court, rector, and lecture the queen on heresy," said Mr. Adams.

The company laughed, and Ruth's eyes sparkled over the rector's discomfiture.

The meats had been removed and Pompey was serving the pastry and comfits.

"What delicious cheese you have. It is as toothsome as the finest Cheshire," said Lord Upperton.

"We think it of excellent flavor, and I am sure you will relish it all the more when I inform you, my lord, that it was made by a girl not older than myself," replied Ruth.

"Indeed! is it possible? How very clever she must be."

"She is a New Hampshire lady."

"Are dairymaids ladies?"

"Indeed they are, my lord. The young lady who made the cheese you are eating, I dare say, would adorn the court of our queen," responded Mr. Adams.

"Bless me! oysters, cranberries, succotash, canvasback ducks, wild turkeys, pumpkin pie, dairymaids ladies, wives the equals of their husbands! Rector, will there be anything beyond these in the New Jerusalem?" exclaimed Lord Upperton.

Dinner over, the ladies passed into the parlor while the gentlemen smoked their pipes and finished their wine.

"I suppose, my lord," said Mr. Adams, "you have not been here sufficiently long to form an opinion in regard to the Colonies."

"Everything is so new and strange," Lord Upperton replied, "I hardly know what to make of it. I had an idea that I should find your people quite rude and uncultivated. I understand you haven't any theatre or anything of that sort; but, really, your ladies charm me by their conversation. Mrs. Adams informs me she has studied Latin and Greek."

"I am happy to say my wife can read Cicero and Homer in the originals," Mr. Adams replied.

"You astonish me," his lordship exclaimed.

"We are somewhat primitive, but the Colonies in time will make amends for whatever they maybe lacking now," Mr. Adams responded, sipping his wine. "The people who came to this Western world did so mainly for conscience sake, and the time will come when this country will be the seat of empire. Society here is established on enduring foundations. One hundred years hence the chances are the people in the Colonies will outnumber those of England. We are loyal to the king, but we are a liberty-loving people and jealous of our rights. In time we shall be so strong that the united force of Europe will not be able to subdue us."[48]

[Footnote 48: The paragraph is in substance the prophecy of John Adams, written to Nathan Webb, a school-teacher in Worcester, in 1755.]

"You have a great extent of country, but as a people you are widely scattered. You have only a little fringe of settlements along the seacoast. It will be an easy matter to divide you. England is rich, and has a great navy; she controls the sea. Her armies have been victors on many fields; she has wrested Canada from France," said his lordship.

"With the aid of the Colonies," interrupted Mr. Adams.

"Perhaps we had better give politics the go-by and join the ladies," said his lordship, rising and moving towards the parlor.

Pompey brought in the tea-urn, cups and saucers, sugar and cream.

"Shall I pass you a cup, Miss Newville?" Lord Upperton asked.

"Thank you, my lord, but I do not drink tea."

"Ha, ha! Miss Newville, so you have joined the other conspirators to outwit Lord North!"

"No, your lordship, I have not joined them, but I must say I admire their resolution in giving up a luxury to maintain a great principle."

"As for myself," said Mr. Dapper, "I rather like the spirit of the Puritan mothers and daughters here in the Colonies; they are worthy descendants of the men who had it out with Charles I. It is all nonsense, this plea of Lord North, that the people in the Colonies ought to pay a portion of the debt incurred by England in the late war with France; it is the extravagance and corruption of Parliament and of those in power that grinds us,—the giving of grants, pensions, and gratuities to favorites, parasites, and hangers-on. During Bute's and Grenville's administrations the public money was sown broadcast. If votes were wanted, they were purchased. It was not unusual for a member of the Commons to find four hundred pounds in his napkin at dinner, or in a billet-doux left by the postman. Of course he understood the meaning of it. The ministers helped themselves to sugar-plums worth five thousand pounds. When the Duke of Grafton was at the head of the ministry, that parasite, Tom Bradshaw, who had done some nasty work for the Premier, received an annuity of fifteen hundred pounds and a suite of thirty rooms in Hampton Palace. He is there now, and has had the suite increased to seventy apartments. Not long ago the ministry put out one hundred thousand pounds to carry a measure through the Commons."

"You astonish me! Do you mean to intimate that our king has corrupt men around him?" Mrs. Newville inquired.

"My dear madam, the king is hardly responsible for this state of things. It is part of the political system. Politics is a game. Men can cheat in government as well as in anything else, and there are quite as many cheats in and around St. James's as at Almack's or any of the other gambling resorts. Other things are done in and around Westminster, by those whom you are accustomed to revere, which would astonish you could I but speak of them," said Mr. Dapper.

The evening being beautiful, the air genial, the company strolled in the garden, and ate the ripening plums and pears. Lord Upperton, finding pleasure in the society of Miss Newville, asked what recreation the young people in the Colonies enjoyed. She told of the launching of the ship Berinthia Brandon, the pung-ride and dance at the Greyhound Tavern, the quiltings, huskings, and tea-parties.

"I hope, Miss Newville, this will not be the last time I shall have the pleasure of seeing you. I shall not soon forget the succotash and cranberries, and shall improve an early opportunity to pay my respects to you," he said, as he bade her good-evening.

"By Jove, Dapper, she's as fine a piece of chintz as can be picked up at St. James's or anywhere else," he said, as they returned to the Admiral Vernon.



XI.

SOCIETY LIFE IN LONDON.

On a pleasant afternoon Lord Upperton was once more ushered into the Newville mansion. Mrs. Newville being absent, he was graciously received by Ruth.

"I had such a delightful time in your hospitable home, Miss Newville, the other evening, that I could no longer refrain from paying my respects."

"It is certainly very kind of you, my lord."

"I cannot tell you how delighted I was when you told me about your recreations. How charming it must be to go riding in a pung, with a lot of ladies and gentlemen. I was wondering if I could not get up a pung-ride."

"We only do that in winter, when snow is on the ground, my lord," Ruth replied, hardly able to repress a smile.

"Oh, dear me! how stupid I am! Of course not," and his lordship laughed heartily at his blunder.

"Do you not have snow in London, my lord?"

"Yes, sometimes; but then we haven't any pungs. I don't know what they are. Maybe they are a sort of hackney or chariot?"

"We have no hackney coaches here, as yet, my lord, but Mr. Hancock and the governor and a few of our citizens have coaches. A pung is not at all like a coach. It is, instead, a sort of box on runners."

"Oh, indeed, how interesting!"

"May I ask, my lord, what recreations you have in London?"

"We have quite a variety, I assure you, Miss Newville. We have card parties, where we play high or low, just as we feel. We have assemblies, where we tittle-tattle and gossip. We gentlemen lay bets on the winning horse at the next Derby. We go to Drury Lane or Covent Garden, and clap our hands at the acting of Davy Garrick or Jimmy Quin. At the opera we go wild when Mademoiselle Truffi soars like a nightingale up to high C. We dance at balls, array ourselves as harlequins and imps at masquerades, and see who can carry off the most bottles of port or sherry at dinner," said his lordship, again laughing.

"Are you not jesting, my lord?"

"Oh no, Miss Newville; I am telling you sober truth. It is not exaggeration at all. For instance, the masquerade which the Duke and Duchess of Richmond gave on the king's last birthday was so gay that I can hardly hope to picture it. The duke's villa is on the banks of the Thames. The willows, elms, and oaks in the park were hung with lanterns, the house was all ablaze—lights in every room. Dukes, duchesses, earls, barons, lords, and ladies—more than six hundred—assembled in masquerade dress. The Duchess of Hamilton and Argyle was hostess. She appeared as Night, with a black trailing robe illuminated with silver stars, while her father was dressed as a footman, with the portrait of his other daughter dangling from a ribbon tied to a button of his jacket."

"Was it not rather out of character for a man old enough to be grave and dignified to take such a part?" Miss Newville asked.

"Perhaps so, but then we are expected to do absurd things in masquerade. Her grace the Duchess of Richmond, for instance, appeared as the Sultana of Persia, in a costume purchased in the bazaar of Bagdad. The Duchess of Grafton displayed her charms as Cleopatra. Now when we remember that Egypt and the Orient have a climate in which a person can get along without any great amount of clothing, it really does seem somewhat absurd for a lady, in a country with a climate like that of England, to attempt to imitate in dress, or undress, that celebrated queen of the East."

Lord Upperton laughed again. "Miss Fitzroy," he continued, "undertook to represent the Sultana of Turkey. If I remember rightly, she appeared in baggy silk trousers, high-heeled pink slippers, crimson jacket, embroidered with gold, and a white turban. Her bewitching eyes peeped through two holes in a muslin yashmak spangled with silver stars. Among the gentlemen I recall Lord Augustus Hervey, who disguised himself so completely as a jester that no one could make out who he was. He said saucy things as a court fool. He even guyed his own wife, and she never mistrusted she was flirting with her own husband, but then, as she was ready to flirt with anybody, it made no difference."

Miss Newville hardly knew what reply to make as his lordship laughed again, and so remained silent.

"May I ask what character Lord Upperton assumed," she asked.

"Oh, certainly. I appeared as a young devil, with hoofs, horns, and a forked tail. His satanic majesty, you know, is supposed to whisper things in people's ears, and you may be sure I acted out the character I assumed. I did it so well that Lady Lucy Hastings said I was a perfect imp of darkness."

"Have you any other recreations?" Miss Newville inquired.

"Oh, yes, a great many. One diversion I am sure would charm you,—the club at Almack's, in which the ladies nominate gentlemen to membership and gentlemen the ladies. Only a few days before leaving London I attended a grand masquerade ball at Almack's, where my Lady Archer appeared as a boy wearing a postman's blue coat. Lord Edgecombe assumed the character of an old washerwoman. Sir Watkins Wynne rode into the hall on a goat, assuming the character of holy Saint David. The goat, more accustomed to browse in the pastures than take part in such high jinks, frightened by the blare of trumpets, the scraping of fiddles, and the whisking of the ladies' skirts as they went round in the dance, capered like mad, butted my Lady Winchester so that she fell flat upon the floor, upset holy Saint David, and kept the room in an uproar until a waiter seized the animal by the horns and another by the tail and led him from the hall."

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