|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 54
Grandfather now told his auditors, that, in 1769, Sir Francis Bernard
went to England, after having been governor of Massachusetts ten years.
He was a gentleman of many good qualities, an excellent scholar, and a
friend to learning. But he was naturally of an arbitrary disposition;
and he had been bred at the University of Oxford, where young men were
taught that the divine right of kings was the only thing to be regarded
in matters of government. Such ideas were ill adapted to please the
people of Massachusetts. They rejoiced to get rid of Sir Francis
Bernard, but liked his successor, Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson, no
better than himself.
About this period, the people were much incensed at an act, committed by
a person who held an office in the custom-house. Some lads, or young
men, were snow-balling his windows. He fired a musket at them and killed
a poor German boy, only eleven years old. This event made a great noise
in town and country, and much increased the resentment that was already
felt against the servants of the crown.
"Now, children," said Grandfather, "I wish to make you comprehend the
position of the British troops in King Street. This is the same which we
now call State Street. On the south side of the town-house, or Old State
House, was what military men call a court of guard, defended by two
brass cannons, which pointed directly at one of the doors of the above
edifice. A large party of soldiers were always stationed in the court of
guard. The custom-house stood at a little distance down King Street,
nearly where the Suffolk bank now stands; and a sentinel was continually
pacing before its front."
"I shall remember this, to-morrow," said Charley; "and I will go to
State Street, so as to see exactly where the British troops were
stationed."
"And, before long," observed Grandfather, "I shall have to relate an
event, which made King Street sadly famous on both sides of the
Atlantic. The history of our chair will soon bring us to this melancholy
business."
Here Grandfather described the state of things, which arose from the
ill-will that existed between the inhabitants and the red-coats. The old
and sober part of the town's-people were very angry at the government,
for sending soldiers to overawe them. But those gray-headed men were
cautious, and kept their thoughts and feelings in their own breasts,
without putting themselves in the way of the British bayonets.
The younger people, however, could hardly be kept within such prudent
limits. They reddened with wrath at the very sight of a soldier, and
would have been willing to come to blows with them, at any moment. For
it was their opinion, that every tap of a British drum within the
peninsula of Boston, was an insult to the brave old town.
"It was sometimes the case," continued Grandfather, "that affrays
happened between such wild young men as these, and small parties of the
soldiers. No weapons had hitherto been used, except fists or cudgels.
But, when men have loaded muskets in their hands, it is easy to
foretell, that they will soon be turned against the bosoms of those who
provoke their anger."
"Grandfather," said little Alice, looking fearfully into his face, "your
voice sounds as though you were going to tell us something awful!"
CHAPTER V.
Little Alice, by her last remark, proved herself a good judge of what
was expressed by the tones of Grandfather's voice. He had given the
above description of the enmity between the town's-people and the
soldiers, in order to prepare the minds of his auditors for a very
terrible event. It was one that did more to heighten the quarrel between
England and America, than any thing that had yet occurred.
Without further preface, Grandfather began the story of
THE BOSTON MASSACRE.
It was now the 3d of March, 1770. The sunset music of the British
regiments was heard, as usual, throughout the town. The shrill fife and
rattling drum awoke the echoes in King Street, while the last ray of
sunshine was lingering on the cupola of the town-house. And now, all the
sentinels were posted. One of them marched up and down before the
custom-house, treading a short path through the snow, and longing for
the time when he would be dismissed to the warm fire-side of the
guard-room. Meanwhile, Captain Preston was perhaps sitting in our great
chair, before the hearth of the British Coffee House. In the course of
the evening, there were two or three slight commotions, which seemed to
indicate that trouble was at hand. Small parties of young men stood at
the corners of the streets, or walked along the narrow pavements. Squads
of soldiers, who were dismissed from duty, passed by them, shoulder to
shoulder, with the regular step which they had learned at the drill.
Whenever these encounters took place, it appeared to be the object of
the young men to treat the soldiers with as much incivility as possible.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|