FIRST FRUITS.
On the morning following the assembly at Liberty Hall, which resulted
in the warning given to Master Theophilus Lillie, Hardy Baker,
regardless of the fact that Lieutenant Draper's account had been given
him in consideration of strict attention to duty, went from his home
directly to Hanover Street, instead of to the hair-dressing
establishment of Master Piemont, as he should have done.
Once on Hanover Street, all thought of duty was forgotten as he
viewed, with no slight degree of pride, that scene of excitement, in
the cause of which he had assisted.
The pole, surmounted by the mutilated figurehead of the sloop and
decorated with the names of the merchants who had been faithless to
their agreement, was yet in position, as he and his companions had
left it a short time previous, and, although the new day was but half
an hour old, the throng in front of Master Lillie's shop was so great
as to entirely block the street.
The first passerby, after the darkness of night was so far dissipated
that the object could be readily distinguished, had stopped several
moments to read the inscription--a difficult task, owing to the faint
light. While deciphering, with no slight amount of labour, the result
of Jim Gray's work as a painter, the man had been joined by one and
another, until the walk directly in front of the shop was crowded to
overflowing with the curious, the throng swelling far out into the
street, and added to each moment, until, when Hardy Baker arrived, it
had become a mob--a good-natured, careless gathering, but yet a mob,
which needed but slight provocation to render it unmanageable and
dangerous.
It filled Hardy Baker's sensation-loving heart with joy to see the
result of the labour in which he had assisted.
For the moment he forgot that the idea of this symbol of warning was
Jim Gray's, and took upon himself all the credit of having thus
aroused the populace.
"Could Lieutenant Draper know I have been able to do so much he would
be more ready to settle his account, I fancy," Hardy muttered. "If he
thinks a barber's apprentice has no influence, he should look at this
scene. There are nearly as many people here as saw the informer tarred
and feathered, and I have had considerably more than a finger in both
pies. This should show the good people of Boston what I can do. Hello,
Chris! Both Christophers, eh?"
This salutation was addressed to little Chris Snyder, who was early
abroad according to the agreement made on the night previous, and his
companion, Christopher Gore,[B] a lad whom Master Snyder had brought
to the scene under promise of showing him something rare.
"Has Master Lillie seen that yet?" Snyder asked, gleefully, as he
motioned with his thumb toward the pole.
"I can't say. I have been here only a few moments, and when I came the
throng was as great as you see it now."
"It isn't reasonable to suppose the shopkeeper doesn't know what has
caused so great a gathering," Chris Gore said, placidly, and added,
with a meaning look at Hardy, "If I had taken any part in raising that
warning I should be careful to keep the fact a secret."
"Why?" Hardy asked, quickly, and looking just a trifle disturbed.
"Because more may come of it than in the case of the informer. Master
Theophilus Lillie, although he may not be loved by some of us, is
patronised by Governor Hutchinson."
"Well, and what then? He made an agreement, only to break it before the
words were cold, and should suffer for it," Hardy replied, defiantly.
"I am not defending him, but simply gave words to my thoughts."
"And you believe trouble will come to those who put that up?"
"I said not so, yet I believe it will be well if those who have thus
advised Master Lillie keep the fact that they were concerned in the
work a secret. Who is that now coming from the house?"
"Ebenezer Richardson, the informer, and Amos's uncle. Surely you
should know him."
"I never saw him before, but have heard much of his doings."
"And so have others," Hardy replied, in a significant tone. "If he is
wise he will stay in the house this day, for there yet remains in the
city of Boston plenty of tar and feathers."
"And you think he may get a new coat?"
"It won't be long coming," the barber's apprentice replied, in a
meaning tone, as if his especial mission in life was to correct the
shortcomings of others. "Now that this work has been begun by the boys
of Boston, it will be continued by them."
"You said that this Richardson is a relative of our friend Amos?"
"An uncle, but Amos has cast him off long since," and Hardy's
assumption of importance was almost comical. "He is reading the names
now; perhaps thinks he is called upon to protect Master Lillie. As I
said before, he had best remain hidden from view. How Amos would rage
if he could see his uncle at this moment!"
"Then he has no love for him?"
"As much as a frog has for a red rag."
The mob, who had been in the best possible humour, now began to show
signs of anger as the informer made himself conspicuous, and
half-muttered words soon became loudly-spoken threats.
"The informer himself should hang from that pole!"
"Where are the feathers? He needs a new coat!"
"Down with the informer!"
Richardson turned toward the mob an instant, as if to defy it, and
then, as the threats grew louder, entered the house.
"Whoever did that bit of work should be well paid for it," some one in
the crowd said, sufficiently loud for Hardy to hear, and the latter
looked triumphantly toward Chris Snyder. "I'll wager it came from
under the Liberty Tree."
"You're right, my friend," the barber's apprentice said, in a loud
tone, and in another moment he would have revealed that which should
be kept a secret, had not the arrival of several British officers
given him, in his opinion, an opportunity of yet further
distinguishing himself.
"There is Lieutenant Draper," he said, sufficiently loud for all in
the immediate vicinity to hear, "and this time he shall listen to what
I have to say, unless he is willing to settle his account."
"Are you going to speak to that officer?" Chris Gore asked, as he
detained Hardy for an instant by stepping in front of him.
"Why not? He should pay that which he owes."
"But this is not the proper time to speak of business affairs. No man
would listen to a barber's apprentice in public, like this."
"He shall listen to me," Master Piemont's assistant replied, loftily.
"It is to me he owes the money, and I do not intend to be defrauded."
Before his companion could check him, the valiant Hardy stepped
quickly up to Lieutenant Draper, who was in company with two brother
officers, and said, in an offensive tone:
"I was at the Custom House yesterday to see you, sir."
"And pray, why did you take it upon yourself to go there?" the
lieutenant asked.
"Because I wanted the money you owe Master Piemont for dressing your
hair, and I went where I was most likely to find you."
The lieutenant's face grew pale with anger, and he made a motion as if
to strike the impudent boy, but one of his companions said, in a
warning whisper:
"Be careful what you do, Draper. An injudicious word or act now might
arouse this apparently peaceable assemblage into an unruly mob!"
Glancing around him, the officer realised the truth of the remark, and
would have turned away but that Hardy stepped yet nearer, and, in a
louder voice, cried:
"Will you give me the money now, or shall I visit the Custom House
again?"
"Hark you, lad," Lieutenant Draper said, angrily, but speaking so low
that only those in the immediate vicinity could hear the words, "if
you dare present your barber's account to me in public, I'll have you
punished for an insolent cur. When I am ready to pay your master, I
will call at his shop."
"The account belongs to me. It has been turned over by Master Piemont,
and the money must be paid."
[Illustration]
"Be careful of your words, my fine fellow, or they will lead you into
trouble!"
The lieutenant was now almost beside himself with anger, and,
understanding that he might do something rash, his brother officers
literally forced him to accompany them up the street, while the
barber's apprentice, not wishing to leave the scene of what he
considered his triumph, hurled insolent epithets after the soldiers.
"What are you doing, Hardy Baker? Do you want to bring about a riot?"
Turning quickly, Master Piemont's assistant saw his friend Amos, who
had just come up, and he retorted:
"I am attending to my own affairs."
"It is better you should do that in private. You have no right to
brawl in the streets, even though your debtor be an enemy."
"I have the right to do that which I please, and it will become you
better to turn your attention to the informer, who is at the same time
your relative."
"What do you mean by that?" and now Amos began to display signs of
losing his temper, for the part in public affairs which Ebenezer
Richardson had been playing latterly was a sore subject to him. "What
has he been doing?"
"Nothing, as yet. It is what he may do that I speak of."
"But he is not here."
"He came out of Master Lillie's a few moments ago, and would have torn
down the pole but for the crowd which threatened him. There he is
now, and while you are watching your precious uncle, I'll continue to
demand my money from that red-coated lieutenant, if it so pleases me!"
"Do as you choose," Amos cried, in a rage, "and some day you will
realise what a fool's back deserves."
Then, understanding that no credit could be gained by bandying words
with one like the barber's apprentice, he stepped nearer the two
Christophers, as the mob, agitated by the sight of the informer,
watched eagerly his every movement.
A wagon was coming down the street, and it appeared to Amos as if his
uncle must have seen the team approaching and hurried out of the
building to speak with the driver, for he made his way around the
throng, as he beckoned vigourously to the newcomer.
The vehicle was a roughly-made cart for hauling country produce, drawn
by two horses, and partially loaded with potatoes and corn.
The driver reined in his steeds as the informer advanced, and those
nearest heard Richardson say:
"Look here, Stephen, I want you to pull your team so far in toward
Master Lillie's shop that you'll run against that pole and overturn it."
"To what purpose?" the countryman asked, in surprise.
"It is intended as an insult to Master Lillie, and you, as one of his
friends, should be willing to do so slight a favour."
"I am a friend of Theophilus Lillie in matters of business, Ebenezer
Richardson; but, when it comes to opinions, such as some of us hold
and others don't, I am not favourably disposed toward the worthy
merchant, as he himself well knows. What is this insult?"
The farmer descended from the wagon, and that portion of the throng
which had heard his reply readily gave way before him as he advanced,
until he could read the names painted on the board.
"What does it all mean?" he asked of the man standing nearest him.
"Master Lillie is one of those who agreed not to sell British goods,
and has not only broken that agreement, but declares that no one shall
prevent him from dealing in such wares as he thinks fit."
"But the names painted there?"
"Are those of the other merchants who believe as does Master Lillie."
"Who raised this pole?"
"That is what no one can say; but it is safe to guess it came from
under the Liberty Tree."
The farmer returned to his team, and Richardson asked, eagerly:
"Now will you run it down?"
"No, Ebenezer. It was put there by Master Lillie's townsmen, and I
have no right to interfere, even though I had the inclination, which I
haven't. A man who gives his word of his own free will should hold to
it or take the consequences. As I said before, Master Lillie's
opinions, outside of business affairs, are not my opinions."
"You are a coward!"
"I live in Massachusetts Colony, and am not willing to pay taxes for
the privilege of buying goods from Britishers."
Then the farmer mounted his cart, and the crowd, wild with enthusiasm,
cheered lustily his sentiments, opening a passage for him as he urged
his horses forward.
[Illustration]
"You are cowards, all of you!" Richardson cried, as if beside himself
with rage. "A mob of a thousand men stand by and see an old man
insulted like this!"
"Your old man has laid himself open to the insult, and deserves it,"
some one cried.
"He shall not be forced to endure it," and the informer seized the
pole as if to pull it from the ground, regarding not the shouts and
threats which assailed his ears from every direction.
Now it was that Hardy Baker saw an opportunity to distinguish himself,
as he thought, and, gathering a handful of pebbles from the street, he
threw them viciously at Richardson.
The mob needed only an example, and, before one could have counted
ten, young men and boys were pelting the informer with such missiles
as came nearest to hand.
Stones, bits of earth, sticks and icicles were hurled at him with no
slight accuracy of aim, and, under such a shower, the informer could
do no less than beat a retreat, for to have held his ground longer
would have been dangerous.
Already his face and hands were cut and bleeding, and more than once
had a rock, sufficiently large to have knocked him senseless, whistled
within a few inches of his head.
As he disappeared within the shop some of the younger members of the
mob, chief among whom was Hardy Baker, continued to shower missiles,
until they rattled against the building like hailstones; but this
method of showing displeasure at the merchant's course of action was
frowned down by the wiser portion of the gathering, and the boys were
soon forced to desist.
"It was well enough to prevent him from taking down the pole," some
one cried; "but, when it comes to destroying property, we're going
beyond our rights."
"He will soon destroy that which cost so much labour to put up!" Hardy
Baker shouted. "He has only to wait until we are obliged to go away."
"That may be a longer time than he thinks for," Attucks, a mulatto who
was well known to all, replied. "When it comes to such work as this we
can afford to let everything else go. That pole will stand where it is
a spell longer, my boy."
"But not all are of your way of thinking. It cost much labour to place
it there, and it should remain until Master Lillie understands he
cannot play fast and loose with the people," and now Hardy, having
forced his way into the centre of the throng, was almost bursting with
the desire to explain that he had assisted in this good work.
He was ready at the first opportunity to take upon himself all the
credit of having devised the symbol and erected it; but there were
none near who cared particularly to listen to the barber's apprentice,
whose love for notoriety was his ruling passion.
Besides, even though they had been desirous of hearing what he was so
eager to say, no heed would have been given his words just then, for
at that moment the door of the shop was opened again, and Richardson
appeared, followed by his friend, David Wilmot.
At first no one appeared to observe that the informer was armed, and
then, as some one noted the fact that he carried a musket, the cry was
raised:
"Down with the informer! Down with the informer! Hang him to the pole!
Bring out the tar and feathers! Give him an informer's uniform!"
That portion of the mob farthest from the building, unable to see
clearly what was going on, pressed forward, forcing those in front yet
nearer the shop, and for an instant it appeared as if the entire
assemblage was bent on making a prisoner of Richardson.
Raising his musket quickly, and, without taking aim, he fired, and as
the report rang out, even above the shrill cries of the infuriated
multitude, it was as if the sharp crack of the weapon had alarmed him
who discharged it, for, turning precipitately, driving Wilmot before
him, the informer rushed into the building, closing the door behind him.
Those in the immediate vicinity of the warning symbol, and nearest the
informer, were unharmed, and, believing no injury had been done by the
discharge of the musket, they set up a howl of derision, which was
checked an instant later as a wailing cry came from the walk opposite.
"Chris Snyder's killed! Chris Snyder's killed!"
"Chris Gore's killed!" another cried. "Help! Stand back; you are
trampling him to death!"
Turning as one man, the startled assemblage rushed frantically toward
that quarter from which the ominous words had come, pressing down upon
the little group that had gathered around something on the ground,
until there was every danger these few would be trampled under foot.
During several moments no one outside the awe-stricken circle on the
walk knew really what had occurred, and then it was whispered--not
spoken--among the gathering:
"Two boys have been killed!"
A silence that was profound, intense--a silence which was at the same
time a menace, ensued, and, involuntarily, every head was bared.
Amos, who had been standing beside the two Christophers, was one of
the few who knew exactly what followed the discharge of the weapon.
Little Chris Snyder, the smallest and perhaps the youngest of the
throng, had fallen with an ominous-looking wound in the vicinity of
his lungs, and Chris Gore was leaning against the palings, big crimson
drops falling from his shoulder to the frozen earth.
Amos, at once recognising the fact that Snyder was the most grievously
wounded, raised the little German lad's head tenderly on his arm as he
implored those nearest to keep the crowd back, and when the excited
ones in the rear finally understood what was required, every order
given by Amos, boy though he was, received implicit obedience.
Rough men lifted the little lad as gently as his widowed mother could
have done, and one asked:
"Where does he live?"
"On Frog Lane.[C] Chris Gore must be attended to also."
"I can take care of myself. It isn't much of a hurt, this on my
shoulder."
"But it ought to be dressed at once, and I am not certain you should
be allowed to walk," Amos said, hurriedly.
[Illustration]
"There will be no danger; you can go with me. There are plenty who
will see that poor little Chris is cared for. Some one should go ahead
to tell his mother he is hurt, and to call a surgeon."
"I'll take care of that part of it," Hardy Baker cried, quickly.
"Leave it to me."
Amos seized the excited barber before he could move, for he knew how
Hardy would break the sad news to the poor mother, and did not intend
she should suffer more than was absolutely necessary.
"Here is Master Revere!" he said, with a sigh of relief, as he
struggled to prevent the apprentice from leaving him. "He is the one
who should speak to Mrs. Snyder, not you, Hardy. Take hold of Chris a
moment while I speak with him."
Master Piemont's assistant was not pleased at thus being prevented
from appearing as one of the principal characters in this terrible
drama; but Chris Gore, understanding as well as did Amos, why Hardy
should not be allowed to go to the widow's home, forced him to remain
by saying:
"You must stay with me until I can get home."
"Are you hurt very much?"
"It may be that I am," Gore replied, knowing that if he made light of
his wounds Hardy would consider himself at liberty to act upon his own
suggestion.
Hurriedly Amos explained to the goldsmith what had occurred, and what
he desired the latter to do, after which he came back to his two
friends.
"Master Revere will go to poor Chris's mother, and since there are more
than enough to give him all the care he needs, we can attend to you."
"Do you think the little fellow will die?" Gore asked, more concerned
regarding his friend than for himself.
"I am afraid the wound is a serious one," Amos replied, sadly. "The
blood was coming from his mouth, and I am told that is a bad sign."
"If it's signs you're looking for, see there!" and Hardy pointed up
the street, where the crowd was marching as if in procession behind
those who carried the dying boy. "If that doesn't look like a funeral,
what should you say it was?"
Amos gave one quick glance and turned his head away.
It seemed as if he was in a certain degree responsible for this death;
but the barber's apprentice, who was equally culpable, had no such
misgivings.
One would have said Hardy Baker found a certain degree of pleasure in
dwelling upon the fact that he had been instrumental in this day's
work, since it would bring his name into greater prominence than he
could ever have hoped for otherwise, however conscientiously he might
discharge his duties as Master Piemont's apprentice.
[Footnote B: In 1809 this same Christopher Gore became Governor of the
Commonwealth of Massachusetts.]
[Footnote C: Now Boylston Street.]