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, 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.”

“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.

“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.