Part 17 (1/2)

Grandfather was interrupted by the violent sobs of little Alice. In his earnestness, he had neglected to soften down the narrative, so that it might not terrify the heart of this unworldly infant. Since Grandfather began the history of our chair, little Alice had listened to many tales of war. But, probably, the idea had never really impressed itself upon her mind, that men have shed the blood of their fellow-creatures. And now that this idea was forcibly presented to her, it affected the sweet child with bewilderment and horror.

”I ought to have remembered our dear little Alice,” said Grandfather reproachfully to himself. ”Oh, what a pity! Her heavenly nature has now received its first impression of earthly sin and violence. Well, Clara, take her to bed, and comfort her. Heaven grant that she may dream away the recollection of the Boston Ma.s.sacre!”

”Grandfather,” said Charley, when Clara and little Alice had retired, ”did not the people rush upon the soldiers, and take revenge?”

”The town drums beat to arms,” replied Grandfather, ”the alarm bells rang, and an immense mult.i.tude rushed into King Street. Many of them had weapons in their hands. The British prepared to defend themselves. A whole regiment was drawn up in the street, expecting an attack; for the townsmen appeared ready to throw themselves upon the bayonets.”

”And how did it end?” asked Charley.

”Governor Hutchinson hurried to the spot,” said Grandfather, ”and besought the people to have patience, promising that strict justice should be done.

A day or two afterward, the British troops were withdrawn from town, and stationed at Castle William. Captain Preston and the eight soldiers were tried for murder. But none of them were found guilty. The judges told the jury that the insults and violence which had been offered to the soldiers, justified them in firing at the mob.”

”The Revolution,” observed Laurence, who had said but little during the evening, ”was not such a calm, majestic movement as I supposed. I do not love to hear of mobs and broils in the street. These things were unworthy of the people, when they had such a great object to accomplish.”

”Nevertheless, the world has seen no grander movement than that of our Revolution, from first to last,” said Grandfather. ”The people, to a man, were full of a great and n.o.ble sentiment. True, there may be much fault to find with their mode of expressing this sentiment; but they knew no better-the necessity was upon them to act out their feelings, in the best manner they could. We must forgive what was wrong in their actions, and look into their hearts and minds for the honorable motives that impelled them.”

”And I suppose,” said Laurence, ”there were men who knew how to act worthily of what they felt.”

”There were many such,” replied Grandfather, ”and we will speak of some of them, hereafter.”

Grandfather here made a pause. That night, Charley had a dream about the Boston Ma.s.sacre, and thought that he himself was in the crowd, and struck down Captain Preston with a great club. Laurence dreamed that he was sitting in our great chair, at the window of the British Coffee House, and beheld the whole scene which Grandfather had described. It seemed to him, in his dream, that if the town's-people and the soldiers would but have heard him speak a single word, all the slaughter might have been averted.

But there was such an uproar that it drowned his voice.

The next morning, the two boys went together to State Street, and stood on the very spot where the first blood of the Revolution had been shed. The Old State House was still there, presenting almost the same aspect that it had worn on that memorable evening, one-and-seventy years ago. It is the sole remaining witness of the Boston Ma.s.sacre.

Chapter VI

The next evening the astral lamp was lighted earlier than usual, because Laurence was very much engaged in looking over the collection of portraits which had been his New Year's gift from Grandfather.

Among them he found the features of more than one famous personage who had been connected with the adventures of our old chair. Grandfather bade him draw the table nearer to the fire-side; and they looked over the portraits together, while Clara and Charley likewise lent their attention. As for little Alice, she sat in Grandfather's lap, and seemed to see the very men alive, whose faces were there represented.

Turning over the volume, Laurence came to the portrait of a stern, grim-looking man, in plain attire, of much more modern fas.h.i.+on than that of the old Puritans. But the face might well have befitted one of those iron-hearted men. Beneath the portrait was the name of Samuel Adams.

”He was a man of great note in all the doings that brought about the Revolution,” said Grandfather. ”His character was such, that it seemed as if one of the ancient Puritans had been sent back to earth, to animate the people's hearts with the same abhorrence of tyranny, that had distinguished the earliest settlers. He was as religious as they, as stern and inflexible, and as deeply imbued with democratic principles. He, better than any one else, may be taken as a representative of the people of New England, and of the spirit with which they engaged in the revolutionary struggle. He was a poor man, and earned his bread by an humble occupation; but with his tongue and pen, he made the king of England tremble on his throne. Remember him, my children, as one of the strong men of our country.”

”Here is one whose looks show a very different character,” observed Laurence, turning to the portrait of John Hanc.o.c.k. ”I should think, by his splendid dress and courtly aspect, that he was one of the king's friends.”

”There never was a greater contrast than between Samuel Adams and John Hanc.o.c.k,” said Grandfather. ”Yet they were of the same side in politics, and had an equal agency in the Revolution. Hanc.o.c.k was born to the inheritance of the largest fortune in New England. His tastes and habits were aristocratic. He loved gorgeous attire, a splendid mansion, magnificent furniture, stately festivals, and all that was glittering and pompous in external things. His manners were so polished, that there stood not a n.o.bleman at the footstool of King George's throne, who was a more skilful courtier than John Hanc.o.c.k might have been. Nevertheless, he, in his embroidered clothes, and Samuel Adams in his threadbare coat, wrought together in the cause of liberty. Adams acted from pure and rigid principle. Hanc.o.c.k, though he loved his country, yet thought quite as much of his own popularity as he did of the people's rights. It is remarkable, that these two men, so very different as I describe them, were the only two exempted from pardon by the king's proclamation.”

On the next leaf of the book, was the portrait of General Joseph Warren.

Charley recognized the name, and said that here was a greater man than either Hanc.o.c.k or Adams.

”Warren was an eloquent and able patriot,” replied Grandfather. ”He deserves a lasting memory for his zealous efforts in behalf of liberty. No man's voice was more powerful in Faneuil Hall than Joseph Warren's. If his death had not happened so early in the contest, he would probably have gained a high name as a soldier.”

The next portrait was a venerable man, who held his thumb under his chin, and, through his spectacles, appeared to be attentively reading a ma.n.u.script.