sovereign authority over the colonies. The colonies, on the other hand,
were inclined to confirm their present advantage and take a step still
further in advance. They would not be taxed without representation; why
should they submit to any legislation whatever without representation?
What right had England to enforce the Navigation Acts? The more the
general situation was contemplated and discussed, the plainer to all
did it appear that union was indispensable. The governors of most of
the colonies were directing a treacherous attack against the charters;
but bold students of the drift of things were foreseeing a time when
charters might be superseded by independence. Patriots everywhere were
keenly on the watch for any symptoms of a design on Parliament's part
to raise a revenue from America. The presence and quartering of English
soldiers in the colonies was regarded as not only a burden, but an
insinuation. It was moreover a constant occasion of disturbance; for
there was no love lost between the people and the soldiers. But, that
there was no disposition on the people's part to pick quarrels or to
borrow trouble, was evident from their voluntarily passing resolutions
for the reimbursement of persons, like Hutchinson, who had suffered
loss from the riots. If England would treat them like reasonable
creatures, they were more than willing to meet her half way. It is
probable that but for the royal governors, England and America might
have arrived at an amicable understanding; yet, in the ultimate
interests of both countries, it was better that the evil counselors of
the day should prevail.
Townshend, an able, eloquent, but entirely untrustworthy man, devoted
to affairs, and of insatiable though unprincipled ambition, proposed in
Parliament to formulate a plan to derive a permanent revenue from
America. This Parliament has been described by historians, and is
convicted by its record, as the most corrupt, profligate and
unscrupulous in English annals. William Pitt, who had accepted the
title of Lord Chatham, and entered the House of Lords, was nominally
the leader, but his health and failing faculties left him no real
power. Shelburne, Secretary of State, was moderate and liberal, but no
match for Townshend's brilliancy. The latter's proposal was to suspend
the legislature of New York, as a punishment for the insubordination of
the colony and a warning to others; to support a resident army, and to
pay salaries to governors, judges and other crown officers, out of the
revenue from America; to establish commissioners of the customs in the
country; to legalize general writs of assistance; to permit no
native-born American to hold office under the crown; and to make the
revenue derivable from specified taxes on imports. The tax on tea was
among those particularly mentioned. This was the scheme which was to be
substituted for the repealed stamp tax; the colonies had objected to
that as internal; this was external, and, though Townshend had refused
to admit any difference between the two, he now employed it as a means
of bringing the colonies to terms. The measure was received with
acclaim by Parliament, though it was contrary to the real sentiment of
the English nation. The king was charmed with it. Townshend died soon
after it was passed, at the age of forty-one; and the king called on
Lord North to take his place; a man of infirm will, but able,
well-informed and clear-minded, with a settled predisposition against
the cause of the people. He was as good an enemy of America as
Grenville himself, though a less ill-natured one.
But, viewing this period broadly, it is manifest that the finest brains
and best hearts, both in England and America, were friends to the cause
of liberty. America, certainly, at this critical epoch in her career,
produced a remarkable band of statesmen and patriots, perfectly fitted
to the parts they had to play. The two Adamses, Gadsden, Franklin,
Otis, Patrick Henry, Livingstone of New York, John Hancock, the wealthy
and splendid Boston merchant, Hawley of Connecticut, and Washington,
meditating upon the liberties of his country in the retirement of Mount
Vernon, and unconsciously preparing himself to lead her armies through
the Revolution--there has never been a company of better men active at
one time in any country. Just at this juncture, too, there arose in
Delaware a prophet by the name of John Dickinson, who wrote under the
title of The Farmer, and who formulated an argument against the new
revenue law which caught the attention of all the colonies. England, he
pointed out, prohibits American manufactures; she now lays duties on
importations, for the purpose of revenue only. Americans were taking
steps to establish a league to abstain from purchasing any articles
brought from England, intending thus to defeat the operation of the act
without breaking the law. This might answer in the case of luxuries, or
of things which could be made at home. But what if England were to meet
this move by laying a duty on some necessary of life, and then forbid
Americans to manufacture it at home? Obviously, they would then be
constrained to buy it, paying the duty, and thus surrendering their
freedom. From this point of view it would not be enough to evade the
tax; it must be repealed, or resisted; and resistance meant war.
Unless, however, some action of an official character were taken,
binding the colonies to co-operation, it was evident that the law would
gradually go into effect. The Massachusetts assembly, early in 1768,
sent to its London agent a letter, composed by Samuel Adams, embodying
their formal protest to the articles of the revenue act and its
corollaries. At the same time, they sent copies of the statement to the
other colonial assemblies in the country, accompanied with the
suggestion that all unite in discontinuing the use of British imported
manufactures and other articles. The crown officers, for their part,
renewed their appeal to England for naval and military forces to compel
obedience and secure order.
The king and the government inclined to think that force was the remedy
in this case. It was in vain that the more magnanimous called attention
to the fact that an army and navy could not compel a man to buy a black
broadcloth coat, if he liked a homespun one better. Inflammatory
reports from America represented it as being practically in a state of
insurrection. A Boston newspaper, which had published a severe
arraignment of Governor Bernard, was tried for libel, and the jury,
though informed by Hutchinson that if they did not convict of high
treason they "might depend on being damned," brought in a verdict of
acquittal. The Adams letter was laid before the English ministry and
pronounced to be "of a most dangerous and factious tendency," and an
injunction was dispatched to the several colonial governors to bid
their assemblies to treat it with contempt, and if they declined, to
dissolve them. Gage was ordered to enforce tranquillity. But the
colonial resistance had thus far been passive only. The assemblies now
declared that they had exclusive right to tax the people; Virginia not
only agreed to the Adams letter, but indited one even more
uncompromising; Pennsylvania and New York fell into line. A Boston
committee presented an address to Bernard asking him to mediate between
the people and England; he promised to do so, but at the same time sent
out secret requests to have regiments sent to Boston. Divining his
duplicity, John Adams, at the next town meeting, formulated the
people's resolve to vindicate their rights "at the utmost hazard of
their lives and fortunes," declaring that whosoever should solicit the
importation of troops was "an enemy to this town and province." The
determination not to rescind the principles stated in the Samuel Adams
letter of January was unanimous. Lord Mansfield thereupon declared that
the Americans must be reduced to entire obedience before their alleged
grievances could be considered. Camden confessed that he did not know
what to do; the law must be executed: but how? "If any province is to
be chastised, it should be Boston." Finally, two regiments and a
squadron were ordered to Boston from Halifax. Samuel Adams felt that
the time was now at hand either for independence or annihilation, and
he affirmed publicly that the colonists would be justified in
"destroying every British soldier whose foot should touch the shore."
In the country round Boston, thirty thousand men were ready to fight. A
meeting was called in Faneuil Hall, and it resolved that "the
inhabitants of the Town of Boston will at the utmost peril of their
lives and fortunes maintain and defend their rights, liberties,
privileges and immunities."--"And," said Otis, pointing to four hundred
muskets which had been collected, "there are your arms; when an attempt
is made against your liberties, they will be delivered." Bernard, who
was pale with alarm, had to announce that the regiments were coming,
and would be quartered, one in Castle William, the other on the town.
The council replied that there was room enough in the Castle for both,
and that, according to the law, any officer attempting to use private
houses would be cashiered. In the midst of the dispute, the regiments
arrived. The convention had, from the first, law on their side; and in
order to preserve this advantage were determined to offer only a
passive resistance to the revenue law, and to abstain from violence
until it was offered to them. No charge of high treason would stand
against any one. The anchoring of the squadron off Castle William, with
guns trained on the State House, had no effect. On the first of
October, in compliance with an order from Gage, and in the absence of
Bernard, who had fled to the country in a panic, the regiments were
landed at Long Wharf. With military music playing, fixed bayonets and
loaded guns, they marched to the Common, which was whitened by their
tents. An artillery train was also brought ashore. An attempt to
browbeat the people into providing quarters failed, and the officers
dared not seize them. At length they were obliged to rent rooms, and
some of the men were lodged in the State House, as the weather became
too cold for outdoor encampment; not a few of them deserted, and
escaped into the country. But Boston was under military rule, though
there was nothing for the soldiers to do. Sentinels were posted about
the town, and citizens were challenged as they walked their streets. On
the Sabbath Day, drums and bugles disturbed the worshipers in the
churches. Officers of the custom house and army officers met at the
British coffee house in King Street. On the south side of the State
House was a court of guard, defended by two brass cannon, and a large
number of soldiers were kept there; in front of the custom house,
further down the street, a sentinel paced his beat. Boston was
indignant, but restricted itself to ceasing all purchases of
importations, trusting thus to wear out their oppressors. Some of the
younger men, however, were becoming restive under the implied or overt
insults of the officers and soldiery, and there were occasional
quarrels which might develop into something more serious. It was at
this time that the French inhabitants of New Orleans rose and drove out
the Spanish governor, Ulloa; and Du Chatelet remarked that it was "a
good example for the English colonies." But Boston needed no example;
she afforded one in herself. All the other colonies had indorsed her
attitude; but the animosity of England was concentrated against her.
The whole kingdom was embattled against the one small town; two more
regiments had been sent there, but no rebellion could be found. Was it
the purpose to provoke one? Soldiers, from time to time, were arrested
for misdemeanors, and brought before the civil magistrates, but were
pardoned, when convicted, by the higher courts. Samuel Adams and
others, on the other hand, continued to be threatened with prosecution
for treason, but did not recede from their position. Bernard,
Hutchinson, Oliver, and the attorney-general acted as secret informers
and purveyors of evidence against the patriots. All petitions from the
colonies addressed to the English government were refused so much as a
hearing. And yet there was a strong division of opinion in Parliament
as to the course England was taking; and there were many who wished
that the question of taxation had never been raised. In 1769, it was
conceded that the duties on most specified articles should be
abolished; nevertheless, Hillsborough, Secretary for the Colonies, said
that he would "grant nothing to Americans except what they might ask
with a halter round their necks"; and the great Samuel Johnson did not
scruple to add that "they are a race of convicts, and ought to be
thankful for anything we allow them short of hanging." Against such
intemperate vaporings are to be set the noble resolutions of the
Virginia assembly, of which Jefferson, Patrick Henry and Washington
were members, extending its sympathy and support to Massachusetts,
warning King George against carrying Americans beyond seas for trial,
and advocating colonial union. This was the more admirable, because
England had treated Virginia with especial tenderness and
consideration. Similar resolutions in other colonies followed, and a
regular correspondence between the assemblies was agreed to. The folly
of English oppression had already created a united America.
At length the English government, weakened by the opposition, and by
the badness of their cause, agreed to abolish all duties except that on
tea, which was now bought cheaper in Boston than in London; and to
withdraw two at least of the regiments. But Boston was contending for a
principle, not for a few hundred pounds, and refused to accept the tea
as a compromise. Much more conducive to good feeling was the recall of
Governor Bernard, just as he was making himself comfortable for a long
tenure of office under the protection of British soldiers. This man's
character is as contemptible as any in colonial history. It was not
merely or chiefly that he was an abject miser and a foe to liberty. He
was a convicted liar, a spy, and a double-dealer; and his cowardice
made him despised even by the British. He scrupled not to swindle the
British government, by conniving at smuggling, while assuring them of
his zeal in putting it down. While smiling in men's faces, he was
covertly laying plots for their destruction. His last thought, after
receiving the crushing news of his recall, was to try to beguile the
assembly into voting him his salary for the coming year. The attempt
failed, and he retreated in disgrace, with joy-bells ringing in his
ears. His only consolation was that he left Hutchinson in his place, as
ill-disposed toward liberty and honor as himself, and his superior in
intelligence. His recall had been due to the desire of London
merchants, who believed that his presence was destructive of their
commercial interests. The ministers for whom he had incurred so much
ignominy would do nothing for him; for the dishonorable are always
ready to sacrifice their instruments.
Hutchinson immediately began the system of secret conspiracy against
the lives and liberties of the chief citizens of Boston which marked
his administration; flattering them in their presence, while writing
letters of false accusations to the English ministry, which he begged
them never to disclose. But his cowardice was equal to Bernard's; so
that when the people detected an informer, and tarred and feathered
him, he dared not order the English regiments to interfere, and no one
else was qualified to give the word. But the hatred between the
soldiers and the citizens was inflamed. A British officer told his men,
if they were "touched" by a citizen, to "run him through the body."
Many young men went armed with oaken cudgels.
Two sons of Hutchinson, worthy of their sire, were guilty of felony in
breaking a lock to get at a consignment of tea, which had been locked
up by the committee of merchants. The merchants called Hutchinson to
account; he promised to deposit the price of what tea had been sold and
to return the rest. Dalrymple, the commander, issued twelve rounds of
ammunition, with which the soldiers ostentatiously paraded the streets.
But inasmuch as no one but the governor was authorized to bid them
fire, and the citizens knew Hutchinson's timidity too well to imagine
that he would do such a thing, this only led to taunts and revilings;
and such epithets as "lobster-backs" and "damned rebels" were freely
bandied between the military and the young men. The officers made
common cause with their men, and the custom house people fomented the
bitterness. A vague plan seems to have been formed to provoke the
citizens into attacking the military, who were then to fire, and plead
self-defense.
On Friday, March 2, 1770, some soldiers came to blows with men employed
on a rope-walk. The affair was talked over in the barracks, and nothing
was done to restrain the desire of the soldiers for revenge, or to keep
them off the streets at night. On the 5th, squads of them were forging
about, armed with bludgeons, bayonets and cutlasses, boasting of their
"valor," challenging the people they met, and even striking them. Their
officers openly encouraged them. Their regiments were the Fourteenth
and the Twenty-ninth, notorious for their dissoluteness and
disorderliness. The night was cold, and a few inches of snow fell.
Other groups of soldiers came out, with their flintlocks in their
hands: a boy was struck on the head; several times the guns were
leveled, and the threat was made to fire. One youth was knocked down
with a cutlass. Knots of angry young men began to range hither and
thither with staves:--"Where are they?--Cowards!--Fire if you
dare!--Lobster-scoundrels!" The soldiers, on the other hand, were
giving way to fury, striking persons in the doors of their houses,
calling out that they would kill everybody, and shouting "Fire--fire!"
as if it were a watchword. But as yet no irrevocable act had been done.
Soon after nine o'clock, however, the alarm bell at the top of King
Street was rung hurriedly. Many persons thought it was for fire; and as
Boston had been nearly destroyed by a great fire ten years before, a
large crowd rapidly poured out into the streets. But the frosty air
carried no scent of smoke, and as the bell soon stopped its clangor, a
number returned to their homes; but the younger and more hot-headed
smelled mischief, if not smoke, and drew from various directions toward
the barracks. A party of them came down King Street toward the custom
house. They were halted by the gruff "Who goes there?" of the sentry,
and his bayonet at their breasts.
There were words of defiance: a sudden scuffle: and out of the barrack
gate came pouring the guard, with guns in their hands. Almost in the
same moment a great multitude of citizens came surging in from all
sides, and thronged in front of the custom house, where the fight
seemed to be going on. Those behind pushed against those in front, and
all became wedged in a mass, trying to see what was going forward,
swaying this way and that, uttering broken shouts, threatening,
warning, asking, replying; and hot at heart with that fierce craving to
measure strength against strength which is the characteristic of the
Anglo-Saxon when his blood is up. The soldiers were wholly in the
wrong: they had no right to be where they were; they had no right to
wantonly annoy and provoke citizens in their own town; their presence
in the colony, for the purpose of constraining a peaceful population,
was a crime; but consciousness of this fact did not lessen their
animosity. As for the Boston people, they felt, as they faced the
emissaries of their oppressors on that wintry night, the accumulated
exasperation of generations of injustice, and perhaps a stern thrill of
joy that now, at last, the final, unforgivable outrage was to be
perpetrated.
The great majority of citizens had not even sticks in their hands; none
of them carried guns or cutlasses. Some snowballs were thrown at the
soldiers, who faced the crowd with savage faces, and leveled bayonets.
Then there was a fresh crowding and uproar, for Captain Preston and a
squad of eight men had issued from the guard house and were forcing
their way to their comrades with the point of the cold steel. Their red
coats and black shakos and the glint of the moonlight on their weapons
made them conspicuous in the struggling mass, and the sinister intent
which was manifest in their look and bearing sent a strange thrill
through the multitude.
A tall man in a black cloak, who five years later was a general of
artillery in the American army, laid his hand on Preston's shoulder
forcibly. "For God's sake, sir, get back to your barracks; if you fire,
you must die for it!" exclaimed he, in a deep voice. Preston stared at
him, hardly seeming to see him, and quivering with agitation. "Stand
aside--I know what I'm about," he replied huskily. As the soldiers
reached the sentinel's post and faced about in a semicircle, the crowd
fell back, and there were voices calling "Home--home!" The soldiers
began to load, pouring the powder and ball into the muzzles of their
guns, and ramming the charge home sharply with their ramrods. At this,
a dozen men, with cudgels, advanced upon the soldiers, cheering, and
passed in front of them, striking the barrels of their muskets with
their sticks. "Cowardly rascals!--drop your guns, and we're ready for
you," said some between their gritted teeth. "Fire, lobsters!--you
daren't fire!" cried others. "Down with 'em! drive the cowards to their
barracks!" shouted some. "Are your men loaded?" demanded a citizen,
stepping up to Preston; and when the latter nodded--"Will they fire
upon the inhabitants?"--"Not without my orders," the captain seemed to
say. "Come on, you rascals--fire if you dare--you daren't fire!" yelled
the fiercer spirits, now beside themselves with passion; and one struck
a soldier's piece. He leveled it and fired, at the same moment that
Preston waved his sword and gave the word. A man fell at the shot: the
people gave back; the other soldiers fired deliberately and viciously,
not in a volley, but one after another, taking aim. Some of them
started forward to use the bayonet. It is said that a figure was seen
to come out on the balcony of the custom house, his face concealed by a
veil hanging down over it, and fire into the retreating throng. The
open space in front of the soldiers was overhung with smoke, which
slowly dissolved away, and revealed eleven New Englanders stretched
along the trodden snow of their native town. Some tried to rise; others
lay still. Blood flowed from their wounds, smoking in the icy air, and
tinging the white snow red. The deed had been done.
A sullen muttering of horror, swelling by degrees into a roar of rage,
burst from hundreds of throats as that spectacle was seen; and in a
moment, as it seemed, the town drums had beat to arms, the bells were
clanging, and all Boston was pressing tumultuously into King Street.
The Twenty-ninth regiment was hurriedly marshaled under arms; it
appeared at first as if the populace, thousands strong, and not without
weapons, would rush upon them and tear them in pieces. But by this time
the saner and stronger men had reached the scene, and set themselves
resolutely to withhold the people. "You shall have justice," they told
them, "but let it be by due course of law." And there was Hutchinson,
promising everything in his dismay, hurrying between the soldiers and
the crowd, his feet making blood-stained marks in the snow as he went.
To no man more than to him was due the guilt of that night's work.