Amos was brought to a consciousness of his surroundings by the wailings of Jim, who, regardless of everything save his own sore affliction, was kneeling by the side of his brother, trying to staunch a sluggish flow of blood, which was issuing from Sam’s forehead.

Near him lay James Caldwell and Crispus Attucks, both of whom had been killed instantly, and a short distance away Samuel Maverick and Patrick Carr were writhing in the agony of mortal wounds, while here and there within the narrow space were six others who had been brought to the ground by the leaden hail.

Amos dimly understood that the crowd had fallen back at the discharge of the weapons, but he thought only of his friend’s great grief, and tried in vain to assuage it.

Sitting upon the snow-covered ice, Jim held the head of his dead brother, moaning and sobbing, until Amos began to fear he also had been wounded.

“Did any of the bullets hit you, Jim?” he asked, solicitously.

“No, no, I only wish they had! I don’t amount to anything.  Poor Sam!” And, in the frenzy of his grief, Jim swayed to and fro, still holding in tender clasp the lifeless head, while above him, grim and menacing, stood the soldiers with levelled muskets.

While one might have counted twenty, the square, lately the scene of such an uproar, was silent, save for the moans of the wounded, and then the tramp of the soldiers rang out horribly distinct as Captain Preston marched them away to the main guard.

The people recovered sufficiently from their terror and bewilderment to advance, in order to succour those who were suffering, and hardly had they done so when the sound of drums beating the call to arms was heard, and a few moments later it was whispered from one to another that the Twenty-ninth Regiment was forming in ranks near the Town House.

Then from far up the street came the dreadful cry, shrill and menacing: 

“The soldiers are rising!  To arms!  To arms!  Turn out with your guns!”

While the drums continued to beat, this terrible summons resounded through first one street and then another, striking terror to the hearts of those who heard it; but causing the courageous to hasten to the scene of the murder in order to aid their townsmen, and the cowardly to seek refuge in flight.

Five minutes later, amid the rattle of drums and the menacing cries, came the pealing of bells summoning the inhabitants to defend their city.

In Dock Square men stood shoulder to shoulder, the well-to-do citizen by the side of the labourer or sailor, each armed after his own fashion, and each ready to defend the lives of those nearest and dearest to him.

During half an hour or more there was probably no person in the vicinity of the tragedy who did not firmly believe that the soldiers were rising with the intent to massacre, and then Governor Hutchinson appeared upon the scene, ordering the people to disperse, and declaring the “law should have its course.”

“Has the captain who ordered the soldiers to fire been arrested?” some one cried, and instantly there went up a great shout.

“Arrest the murderers!  Bring them to justice before you call upon us to go quietly to our homes!  Murder has been done this night, and the blood must be avenged!”

The Governor hesitated, as if uncertain what reply should be made, and then said: 

“Justice shall be meted out to all.  You who have gathered here have done so in defiance of the law, and - ”

“We have come here that the law shall not be broken,” a voice cried.  “Arrest those who have committed the murder!  Do your own duty before you call upon us to do ours.”

The Governor attempted once more to speak, but the cries of the more ignorant ones drowned his voice, and he disappeared from view.

Shortly after, while the citizens remained in an attitude of defiance, it was reported that Governor Hutchinson had ordered Captain Preston to be brought before him, and that an investigation of the officer’s conduct would be made.

Then a portion of the people returned to their homes; but yet more remained to make certain the report regarding the investigation was not a falsehood, devised for the purpose of inducing them to disperse.

Of all these things Amos knew nothing.  His thoughts were confined entirely to his grief-stricken friend, and as he assisted in carrying Sam to his brother’s house on Royal Exchange Lane, he moved and acted like one in a dream, for the terror of the scene was still upon him.

He left Jim by the side of the lifeless body, while kindly friends hastened to break the sad news with some degree of gentleness to the parents of the murdered man, and then went to his own home; but not to sleep.

It was not yet daylight, on the following morning, when Christopher Gore, his arm bandaged and in a sling, appeared at Amos’s home.

“I was afraid you might have come to some harm when I heard that Sam Gray was killed, for I knew you and Jim were most likely near him,” he said, as if apologising for his early visit.  “How did you escape?”

“I don’t know, Chris. It doesn’t seem to me that I can remember anything of that awful moment, except that I saw Sam Gray fall dead, and heard Jim weeping over him.”

“Do you know what became of Hardy Baker?”

“I didn’t see him after the shots were fired.  I only know it was he who called attention to the sentinel, and but for him it is almost certain no disturbance would have taken place at the Custom House.  Have you heard from him?”

“No.  I wanted to go out as soon as we heard that murder had been done; but mother wouldn’t listen to me.  It was only by promising to come directly here, and have you walk home with me, that she was willing I should venture out now.  The streets are filled with people, and the excitement is as great as at noonday.”

“Have you heard whether the British captain has been arrested?”

“Father said, and he was among those who waited to be certain Governor Hutchinson wouldn’t play us false, that the investigation was not finished until three o’clock this morning.  The captain has been held for trial, and the squad of soldiers who did the firing are all in jail.”

“Do you know what is to be done now?”

“There is to be a town meeting at Faneuil Hall at eleven o’clock, and it is said that Master Samuel Adams will address the people.”

“Are you to be there?”

“I wouldn’t dare go in a crowd while the wound on my arm is yet unhealed.  What have you to do this morning?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I wanted you to come to my home with me; but I suppose that is too much to ask, for of course you intend to be on the street, in order to know what is going on.”

“I’ll go with you willingly, Chris. I have seen enough of the work which may be done on the street, until the time comes when I can be of some assistance.”

An hour later the boys were at Chris Gore’s home, and there they remained until noon, when it was learned that a formal town meeting was appointed for three o’clock in the afternoon.  During the informal meeting Master Samuel Adams had made an address to the people, in which he recommended that a committee be sent to the Governor, to tell him once more that peace could not be maintained while the British soldiers virtually held possession of the city, and of this committee was Master Samuel Adams.

At night, when Chris Gore’s father came home, he reported all the general public knew regarding the condition of affairs.

Faneuil Hall had proven too small for the throng of citizens assembled at the hour set, and it became necessary to adjourn to the Old South Meeting-house.

There it was said by some one who claimed to have talked with one of the committee appointed to wait upon the Governor, that while the throng were passing from Faneuil Hall to the church a member of the Council said to Hutchinson: 

“This multitude are not such as pulled down your house; but they are men of the best character, men of estates, men of religion, and men who pray over what they do.”

“When Master Adams came into the meeting-house at the head of the committee,” Mr. Gore said to the boys, in continuing his story, “he whispered to those who were nearest as he passed, and I was one of them, ‘Both regiments or none!  Both regiments or none!’ I did not at the moment understand his meaning; but a few moments later, when the report had been read, all was clear.  Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson had decided that both regiments could not be removed; one must remain.  The Twenty-ninth, because it was members of that body who committed the murder, was to be sent to the Castle; but the Fourteenth, so the Lieutenant-Governor declared, was to remain in the city.  Then we knew what Master Adams meant by his whispered communication, and the cry went up in such volume as seemed to shake the building, ’Both regiments or none.’

“With this as the sentiment of the people, little business was done, save that of making plain to Governor Hutchinson that our will, not his, must prevail.  A new committee, of which were Master Samuel Adams, John Hancock, and Dr. Joseph Warren, was chosen, and sent to the Council-chamber to report.  I was so fortunate as to be able to speak with Dr. Warren shortly after they returned, and am, therefore, able to tell you exactly what occurred.  Master Adams, in presenting the case for the second time to Governor Hutchinson, argued as he always has, that it is illegal to quarter troops upon the city in time of peace, and that this, if there was no other reason, would be sufficient cause for our demanding their immediate removal.  The Lieutenant-Governor insisted it was not only legal, but absolutely necessary, and he lamely concluded by saying the soldiers were not under his control.  Then it was Master Adams took advantage of this weak point in His Excellency’s remarks, to say that if he had the power to remove one, he could remove both regiments, and he added - I can well fancy with what power - ’A multitude, highly incensed, now awaits the result of this application.  The voice of ten thousand freemen demands that both regiments be forthwith removed.  Their voice must be respected - their demand obeyed.  Fail not, then, at your peril, to comply with this request.  On you alone rests the responsibility of this decision; but if the just expectations of the people are disappointed, you must be answerable to God and your country for the fatal consequences that must ensue.’”

“And then he could do no less than comply with the demands of the people,” Chris said, excitedly.

“He did nothing of the kind, my son; but declared that he would not allow himself to be intimidated; that he should not send both regiments away.  What the result might have been had the committee returned with this decision, I tremble to contemplate; but Lieutenant-Colonel Dalrymple, who, it seems, has a better idea of the condition of affairs in this city than the men who rule over us, gave his word of honour as a soldier that the troops should be removed at once, and such was the report with which the committee returned to us.”

“And does the matter rest there, sir?” Amos asked.

“Yes, to a certain extent.  The people, determined there should be no opportunity of breaking faith, either on the part of the Lieutenant-Governor or the military officer, appointed the same gentlemen who had waited on His Excellency, as a Committee of Safety, and from this time out our most reputable citizens will act as night-watch, each doing his share of the duty fully armed, until every soldier shall have left this city.  There is to be no unnecessary delay.”

“But what about those who committed the murder?”

“They will be tried in due form, and I hope, as must every good citizen, that it will be an impartial trial.  Already it is claimed for Captain Preston that he did not give the order for his men to fire; but that some one near him - perhaps one of our own people - seeing the soldiers were threatened with bodily harm, and that there was every danger of their receiving severe injuries, cried:  ‘Why don’t you fire?’”

“And that is exactly what I heard,” Amos said, quickly.  “I was looking at the captain at that fatal moment, and, although it hadn’t occurred to me from that time until this, I am certain he never gave the command to fire.  Nevertheless, the soldiers all shot to kill.”

“True, lad,” Mr. Gore said, sorrowfully, “and if the military remain in the city, it will be impossible for the authorities to prevent further conflicts, more especially now that the people are fully aroused by the bloodshed.”

When Amos set out for home at a late hour that evening, he saw the members of the citizens’ watch parading the streets, and there came to him a sense of deepest relief after the terrible events of the past week, with the knowledge that for a certain time, at least, the good city of Boston would be properly guarded by her own people.

Despite this new feeling of safety, he started with apprehension, almost alarm, when a dark figure crept cautiously toward him as he was passing the head of Water Street, and an instant later he stood with his back against the palings in an attitude of self-defence, for he who had approached so stealthily was Hardy Baker.

“Don’t act as if you was going to fight me,” the barber’s apprentice said, piteously.  “Don’t do that, Amos!  I know I tried to make trouble for you yesterday afternoon; but you served me out for it, and I haven’t said a word against you since then.”

“I don’t know whether you have or not.”

“What I tell you is true, Amos,” and the listener was thoroughly surprised by the change in the bearing of Master Piemont’s apprentice.

“What do you want of me?” he asked, sharply.

“I don’t know,” Hardy replied, in a tone of despair.  “It seems as if everybody was my enemy.  I went down to Jim Gray’s house this afternoon, and he wouldn’t so much as look at me.”

“Do you think he has good reason to be friendly with you?”

“You say that because his brother was killed at the Custom House.  Amos, I didn’t think anything like murder could happen when I told the crowd the soldier on the steps was the one who had knocked me down.  If you had been treated as I was, and saw the man standing there when you believed the soldiers were going to rise against us, you might have done the same thing.”

“Well, and if I might, what then, Hardy Baker?  What do you want of me?”

“I want you to talk with me, Amos.  It seems as if everybody believed I was as much of a murderer as the ‘bloody backs,’ and Master Piémont told me this afternoon never to show my face near his shop again - that I wasn’t wholesome even for Britishers to look at.”

“I don’t think, Hardy,” and now Amos’s tone was less sharp than before, “that you should expect either the people or the soldiers would be very friendly toward you.”

“But I didn’t do this thing.  I didn’t have any more hand in it than you, or Jim Gray, or Chris Snyder.”

“But how can you charge us with any concern in it?”

“Wasn’t it all a piece of work beginning with what we did to Master Lillie?  Hasn’t it grown out of that?”

“Of course not.  Ebenezer Richardson’s bloody deed had nothing to do with the soldiers,” Amos cried, quickly, but at the same time a terrible fear took possession of him that possibly the tragedy on Hanover Street might have had some connection with that at the Custom House.

“But, Amos,” Hardy continued, imploringly, “when poor little Chris Snyder was killed through what we did to Master Lillie, and you were as much concerned in the matter as I, you didn’t accuse me then of being at fault.”

“No,” Amos said, slowly and thoughtfully, “because that which we did, so Master Revere said, was not done with any idea or possibility in our minds that bloodshed might follow.”

“Nor was there in my mind any idea that bloodshed might follow when I told the crowd the soldier at the Custom House was the one who had knocked me down.”

During several moments Amos stood silent and motionless.

Hardy’s offending seemed less heinous in his eyes than it had a few moments previous, and he said, in a milder tone: 

“I won’t be one to accuse you, Hardy; but let me advise you to leave the affairs of the city to those who are older and have better judgment.  Don’t go about any more with such companions as have been yours during the past few days.”

“Will you forgive me, Amos, for what I did yesterday?”

“I surely ought to, after we settled it with our fists.”

“May I walk home with you?” Hardy asked, meekly, after a brief pause.

“To what end?”

“I want to be with some one who is friendly,” and Master Piemont’s assistant spoke in a tone of such dejection that Amos’s heart was touched.

“Where do you live?”

“Nowhere now.  Master Piémont declares I shall not stay in the house another hour - you know the terms of my apprenticeship were that he should give me a home.”

“Then what do you intend to do, Hardy?” and now Amos began to display some concern.

“I shall walk to Salem, where my parents live, if I cannot find other work here.  I am afraid when people know it was through me that the trouble began at the Custom House, they will feel as Master Piémont does, and refuse to hire me.”

“You can’t walk to Salem to-night.  Where will you sleep?”

“That makes no difference.  If you will only be friendly with me, Amos, I can get along somehow.”

“You shall go home with me, Hardy, and after the excitement has died away people will begin to realise that you are not as much to blame as now appears.  Even Jim Gray will see the matter in another light, as soon as his grief has subsided.”

With this reconciliation it is necessary, because the purpose of this book is finished, to bid adieu to the boys whom we have met under the Liberty Tree, for in nowise would the incidents of their lives interest the reader, until after the lapse of many months, when we may, perchance, meet them again, while relating certain events connected with the Siege of Boston.

The following is taken from Arthur Gilman’s “Story of Boston.”

“Before the troops could be removed, on the following Thursday, March 8th, the funerals of the slain were celebrated with all the pomp that Boston was capable of displaying at the time.  The assemblage was the ‘largest ever known’; the bells were tolled in Boston, Cambridge, Roxbury, Charlestown; the bodies of Caldwell and Attucks, the friendless ones among the victims, were taken to Faneuil Hall, Maverick’s was borne from his mother’s home, on Union Street, and that of Gray from his brother’s on Royal Exchange Lane.  The four hearses formed a junction on the fatal King Street, and thence the procession continued, six deep, to the Middle, or Granary Burying-ground, where the bodies were solemnly laid in a single grave.  Thus, the last view that the retreating soldiers had of King Street was marked by the passage of thousands of Bostonians, doing honour to the men whose taunts and insults had goaded them beyond endurance, and they felt the humiliation of their situation as they gave way before the successful ‘bullies’ of the little town, who had put them to flight.  It was not ‘ignominious’ in Dalrymple, however, to take his men away from an infuriated populace; there were then thousands of sturdy New Englanders in the towns about, ready to crowd into Boston at the proper signal; and what were two single regiments to do if they had come?  It was foolhardy in Hutchinson to resist the demand of the determined gathering at the Old South.  He had been wise the evening before, but on that day his sagacity deserted him.  When Lord North, the unwise minister of King George, heard of the circumstances, he was interested in every detail, and the picture of Adams before Hutchinson impressed him so deeply that he afterwards called the Fourteenth and the Twenty-ninth ‘the Sam Adams regiments.’”

“In August, 1775, the name of Liberty having become offensive to the tories and their British allies, the tree was cut down by a party led by one Job Williams.  ’Armed with axes they made a furious attack upon it.  After a long spell of laughing and grinning, sweating, swearing, and foaming, with malice diabolical, they cut down the tree, because it bore the name of Liberty.’ (Essex Gazette, 1775.) Some idea of the size of the tree may be formed from the fact that it made fourteen cords of wood.  The jesting at the expense of the Sons of Liberty had a sorry conclusion; one of the soldiers, in attempting to remove a limb, fell to the pavement and was killed.”