Under the Liberty Tree: A Story of The 'Boston Massacre'

"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."

"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.

"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.3 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.

"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.