Robert made his way to the Liberty Tree at the hour appointed. A great crowd had assembled. Somebody had nailed a board to the tree, upon which were painted texts from the Bible:—
“Thou shalt take no satisfaction for the life of a murderer. He shall surely be put to death.”
“Though hand join in hand, the wicked shall not pass unpunished.”
The clock was striking three when the bearers brought the coffin from the home of the mother in Frog Lane to the Liberty Tree. While the procession was forming Robert had an opportunity to look at the inscriptions upon the black velvet pall. They were in Latin, but a gentleman with a kindly face, Master Lovell, translated them to the people.
“Latet Anguis in Herba.”“Hœret Lateris lethalis Armada.”“Innocentia nusquam in tuta.”The serpent is lurking in the grass.The fatal dart is thrown.Innocence is nowhere safe.
“Latet Anguis in Herba.”“Hœret Lateris lethalis Armada.”“Innocentia nusquam in tuta.”The serpent is lurking in the grass.The fatal dart is thrown.Innocence is nowhere safe.
Lord North.Lord North.
All the bells were tolling. Mothers and maidens along the street were weeping for the mother following the body of her boy. Old men uncovered their heads, and bared their snow-white locks to the wintry air, as the pall-bearers with slow and measured steps moved past them. Schoolboys, more than six hundred, two by two, hand in hand; apprentices, journeymen, citizens, three thousand in number; magistrates,ministers, merchants, lawyers, physicians in chaises and carriages,—composed the throng bearing the murdered boy to his burial.
Listen, my Lord Frederick North, to the mournful pealing of the bells of Boston! Listen, King George, to the tramping of the schoolmates of Christopher Snider, laying aside their books for the day to bear witness against your royal policy,—boys now, men ere long,—protesting with tears to-day, with muskets by and by! Listen, ye men who have purchased seats in parliament to satisfy your greed!
The assembled multitude, the tolling bells, the tramping feet, the emblems of mourning, are the indignant protest of an outraged community against tyranny and oppression,—the enforcement of law by the show of force,—by musket, sword, and bayonet. Listen, and take warning.[41]
Although March had come, the snow was still deep upon the ground. Robert and Rachel could prolong their stay in Boston and enjoy the hospitality of their friends. It was Monday evening the 5th of the month. Berinthia had invited Ruth Newville to tea.
“The soldiers and the ropemakers are at loggerheads,” said Tom, as he came in and laid aside his coat.
“What is the trouble?” Robert asked.
“It seems that a negro hemp-stretcher, down in Gray’s ropewalk[42], last Friday asked a soldier if he wanted to work, and the redcoat replied he did. What the ropemaker told him to do wasn’t very nice, and they had a set-to. The soldier got the worst of it, and swore vengeance. The redcoat went to the barracks, but was soon back again with eight others, armed with clubs, swearing they’d split the skulls ofthe beggars. The ropemakers seized their woolding-sticks, and they had it hot and heavy, but the lobsters got a licking. You’d better believe there was a buzzing in the barracks. Pretty soon between thirty and forty of the hirelings, armed with bayonets, clubs, and cutlasses, rushed down to the ropewalk. The ropemakers rallied, but all told they were only fourteen. They showed what stuff they were made of, though, and proved themselves the better men. They whacked the lobsters’ skulls and drove them.”
“Good for the ropemakers,” said Berinthia, clapping her hands.
Robert saw a lighting up of Miss Newville’s eyes, but no word fell from her lips.
“I fear,” said Mr. Brandon, “there will be an outbreak between the soldiers and the people. Since the funeral of Snider, the soldiers have been growing more insolent. The long stay of the troops with nothing to do except the daily drill and parade, and drinking toddy, has demoralized them. The under-officers are but little better than the men, spending most of their time in the taverns playing cards. Discipline is lax. I shall not be surprised at whatever may happen.”
Miss Newville and Robert sat down to a game of checkers. He debated with himself whether or not he would let her win the first game. Would it be gentlemanly to defeat her? Ought he not to allow her to win? But almost before he was aware of what had happened she was victor, and he was making apology for playing so badly. Again the men were set, and again, although he did his best to win, his men were swept from the board.
“I see I’m no match for you,” he said.
“I am not so sure about that. I saw your mistake. You would soon learn to correct it,” she said with a smile.
Although yet early in the evening, Miss Newville said she must be going home, as her parents might be concerned for her.
“I trust the soldiers will not molest you,” said Mrs. Brandon, bidding Miss Newville farewell.
“I am sure I shall be safe with Mr. Walden,” she replied. There was a meaning in her eyes which he alone understood, the silent reference to their first meeting.
The moon was at its full, its silver light gleaming upon the untrodden snow. There was no need for them to hasten their steps when the night was so lovely.
“Oh, look, Mr. Walden! see Christ Church!” Miss Newville exclaimed. “Tower, belfry, turret, and steeple are glazed with frozen sea-mist and driven snow.”
The church loomed before them in the refulgent light, a mass of shining silver. Above all was the tapering spire and golden vane.
“It is the poetry of nature. Such beauty thrills me. I feel, but cannot express, my pleasure,” she said.
“It is indeed very beautiful,” he replied. “The snow, the silver, gold, light and shade, the steeple tapering to a point, make it a wonderful picture. Would that you could see on such a night as this the view from my own home,—upland and valley, meadow and forest, walls and fences, leafless oaks, elms, and maples in fields and pastures, pure white andshining like polished silver in the moonlight, and all the twigs and branches glittering with diamonds. On such nights, when the crust is hard and firm, we boys and girls pile ourselves on a sled and go like the wind from the top of the hill in the pasture down to the meadow, across the intervale, over the river bank, and out upon the gleaming ice. We wake the echoes with our laughter and have a jolly time.”
“Oh, how I should enjoy it,” she said.
Suddenly they heard other voices, and as they turned the corner of the street came upon a group of men and boys armed with cudgels.
“We’ll give it to the lobsters,” they heard one say.
“I fear there may be trouble,” Robert remarked, recalling the conversation at the supper-table.
Passing the home of Doctor Warren, they saw a light burning in his office, and by the shadow on the window curtain knew he was seated at his writing-desk. Turning from Hanover towards Queen Street, they found several soldiers in earnest conversation blocking the way.
“I’d like to split the heads of the blackguards,” said one, flourishing a cutlass.
“Will you please allow me to pass?” said Robert.
“When you take off your hat to us,” the answer.
“This is the king’s highway,” said Robert.
He felt Miss Newville’s arm clinging more firmly to his own.
“You can pass if your wench gives me a kiss,” said the soldier with the cutlass.
Swiftly Robert’s right arm and clenched fist sent the fellow headlong into the snow. He faced theothers a moment, and then with Miss Newville walked leisurely away. He could feel her heart palpitating against his arm. He cast a glance behind, but the redcoats were not following him.
“It seems we are fated to meet ill-bred men,” he said.
“Oh, Mr. Walden, how resolute and brave you are!”
“It is not difficult to be courageous when you know you are right.”
“But they are so many.”
“We are more than they,” he replied, smiling.
“More than they! We are only two.”
“He who is in the right has all of God’s host with him. They knew they were in the wrong; that made them cowards.”
Again he felt the warmth and pressure of her arm, as if she would say, “I know I shall be safe with you to protect me.”
They were passing King’s Chapel. Its gray walls never had seemed so picturesque as on that evening with the moon casting the shadows of pillar, cornice, roof, and tower upon the pure white snow that had fallen through the day. Beyond it were the young elms of Long Acre, twig and limb a mass of glittering diamonds. They stood at last beneath the portico of her home.
“I have been thinking,” she said, “of the strange happenings that have come to us—how you have been my protector from insult. I cannot express my gratitude, Mr. Walden.”
“Please do not mention it, Miss Newville. Ishould indeed be a poltroon did I not resent an indignity to a lady, especially to you. I esteem it an honor to have made your acquaintance. May I say I cannot find words to express the pleasure I have had in your society? I do not know that I shall see you again before we start on our homeward journey.”
“Must you go? Can you not prolong your stay?”
King’s Chapel, 1895.King’s Chapel, 1895.
“We have already overstayed our time; but not to our regret. I never shall forget, Miss Newville, these days and evenings which you, with Berinthia, Tom, Miss Shrimpton, and Roger Stanley have made so enjoyable.”
“I trust we shall not be like ships that signal each other in mid-ocean, then sail away never to meet again,” she replied.
She reached out her hand to bid him farewell. It rested willingly in his.
“I hope,” she said, “I never shall be so ungratefulas to forget what you have done for me. I certainly shall not forget the lesson you have taught me—to stand resolutely for the right. I shall always be pleased to see you.”
“You may be sure, Miss Newville, I never shall fail to pay my respects to one whose very presence makes life more beautiful and worth the living.”
The full moon was falling upon her face. Her eyes seemed to be looking far away. He saw for a moment a shade of sadness upon her countenance, succeeded by a smile. Her hand was still resting in his.
“Good-by till we meet again,” her parting words.
Never before had he felt such an uplifting of spirit. “Till we meet again” would ever be like a strain of music. He lingered awhile, loath to leave the spot. A light was soon shining in her chamber. The curtains revealed her shadow. It was something to know she was there. Would she think of him when lying down to sleep? When would he again behold those loving eyes, that radiant face, that beauty of soul seen in every feature? What had the future in store for them? Ah! what had it? The light in the chamber was extinguished, and he turned away. Once more he lingered by the gray walls of King’s Chapel to take a parting look at the white-curtained window, and then walked to Queen Street, past the jail and printing office. It would be a pleasure to stand once more upon the spot where first he met her.
He heard a commotion in the direction of Dock Square,—oaths and curses; and suddenly beheld citizens running, followed by soldiers, whose swords were flashing in the moonlight. They followed the fleeingpeople nearly to the town pump, then turned and disappeared in an alley.
“What has happened?” Robert asked of a man who had a pail of oysters in his hand.
“What? Just see what I’ve got from the hellish rascals,” the man replied, setting down the pail and pointing to a gash on his shoulder. “The red-coated devils are cutting and slashing everybody. They are ripping and swearing they’ll kill every blasted Son of Liberty.”
While the oysterman was speaking, a little boy came along, piteously crying.
“What’s the matter, my boy?” Robert asked.
Amid his sobs it was learned that the boy’s father sent him on an errand; that while peacefully walking the street, a soldier rushed upon him swearing, aiming a blow, felling him to the ground with his sword.
“I’ll kill every Yankee whelp in Boston,” said the redcoat.
Again there was a commotion—soldiers rushing towards Dock Square.
“Where are the blackguards? let’s kill ’em,” they shouted.
“Come on, you dirty cowards; we are ready for ye,” the answering shout.
Robert could hear oaths and vile words, and then the whacking of clubs, and saw the soldiers fleeing towards their barracks followed by the people. A man with a stout club came along the street.
“What’s going on?” Robert asked.
“We are giving it to the poltroons. We’ll drive ’em off Long Wharf. They rushed out upon us justnow, with shovels, tongs, swords, and baggernets, and called us cowards. We whacked ’em with our clubs and drove the ruffians—blast their picters.”
The commotion was increasing. Robert walked towards the barracks to learn the meaning of it. Reaching an alley, he saw a crowd of soldiers, and that the officers were trying to get them within the barrack gates. Towards Dock Square was a group of young men flourishing cudgels, and daring the lobsters to come on.
“Let’s set the bell ringing,” he heard one say, and two apprentices rushed past him towards the meetinghouse.
The officers, the while, were closing the barrack gates.
“To the main guard! Let us clean out that viper’s nest,” shouted one; and the apprentices moved towards King Street.
The bell was ringing. Robert walked back to the pump, and past it to the meetinghouse. Citizens were coming with fire-buckets. He could see by the clock above him that it was ten minutes past nine. Mr. Knox, the bookseller, came, out of breath with running.
“It is not a fire, but there is trouble with the soldiers,” said Robert.
Together they walked down King Street, and saw the sentinel at the Custom House loading his gun. Robert learned that a boy had hurled a snowball at him.
“Stand back, or I’ll shoot,” said the soldier to those gathering round him.
“If you fire, you’ll die for it,” said Mr. Knox.
“I don’t care if I do,” the sentinel replied with an oath.
“You daren’t fire,” shouted a boy.
The redcoat raised his gun, and pulled the trigger. The lock clicked, but the powder did not flash.
“Spit in the pan!” said another boy, chaffing him.
“Guard! Guard!” shouted the sentinel, calling the main guard.
Captain Preston, with a file of men, came from the guardhouse upon the run, in response to the call. The meetinghouse bell was still ringing, and other bells began to clang. The soldiers, nine in number, formed in front of the Custom House with their bayonets fixed, and brought their guns to a level as if to fire. Robert thought there were thirty or more young men and boys in the street. Among them was a burly negro leaning on a stick, and looking at the soldiers. The others called him Crisp.
“Are your guns loaded?” asked a man of Captain Preston, commanding the soldiers.
“Yes.”
“Are they going to fire?”
“They can’t without my orders.”
“For God’s sake, captain, take your men back again, for if you fire your life must answer for it,” said Mr. Knox, seizing the captain by the coat.
“I know what I’m about,” Captain Preston replied.
The bayonets of the soldiers almost touched the breasts of Crispus Attucks and Samuel Gray. The negro was still leaning upon his cudgel, and Gray stood proudly before them with folded arms, a freecitizen, in the dignity of his manhood protesting against the system of government instituted by King George and his ministry.
“You don’t dare to fire,” he said.
Why should they fire? The jeering apprentices before them had no guns, only sticks and clubs; they were not fifty in number. What had they done? Thrown a snowball at the sentinel; called him names; pointed their fingers at him; dared him to fire. It was not this, however, which had brought the guns to a level; but the drubbing the ropemakers had given them, and the funeral of Christopher Snider. These were not the beginning of the trouble, but rather the arrogance, greed, selfishness, and intolerance of the repressive measures of a bigot king, a servile ministry, and a venial Parliament.
Robert heard the clicking of gun-locks. He did not hear any order from Captain Preston, but a gun flashed, and then the entire file fired. He saw the negro, Samuel Gray, and several others reel to the ground, their warm blood spurting upon the newly fallen snow. There was a shriek from the fleeing apprentices. Robert, Mr. Knox, and several others ran to those who had been shot, lifted them tenderly, and carried them into a house. Doctor Warren, hearing the volley, came running to learn the meaning of it. He examined the wounded. “Crispus Attucks has been struck by two balls; either would have been fatal. He died instantly,” the doctor said.
By the side of the negro lay Samuel Gray, who had stood so calmly with folded arms, the bayonetswithin a foot of his heart. In the bloom of youth, Samuel Maverick, seventeen years old, who had come to find the fire, was lying upon the ground, his heart’s blood oozing upon the snow. Patrick Carr and Samuel Caldwell, who also had come to put out a fire, were dying, and six others were wounded. The soldiers were reloading their guns, preparing for another volley. Robert heard the rat-a-tat of a drum, and saw the Twenty-Ninth Regiment march into the street from Pudding Lane, the front rank kneeling, the rear rank standing, with guns loaded, bayonets fixed, and ready to fire.
“To arms! To arms!”
He could hear the cry along Cornhill, and down in Dock Square. All the meetinghouse bells were clanging and people were gathering with guns, swords, clubs, shovels, crowbars, and pitchforks.
Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson came.[43]
“Are you the officer who was in command of the troops?” he asked, addressing Captain Preston.
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know you have no power to fire upon the people except by order of a magistrate?”
“I was obliged to fire to save the sentry.”
“That’s a lie,” shouted the crowd.
The surging multitude compelled the lieutenant-governor to enter the Town House. A few moments later he appeared upon the balcony overlooking King Street.
“I am greatly grieved,” he said, “at what has happened. I pledge you my honor that this unhappy occurrence shall be inquired into. The law shall have its course. Now, fellow-citizens, let me urge you to retire to your homes.”
“No, no! Send the troops to their barracks. We won’t go till they are gone!” the shout from the people.
“I have no power to order them.”
The Town House.The Town House.
“The troops to their barracks! to their barracks!”
“I cannot do it; I have no authority.”
“Arrest Preston! Hang the villains! To the barracks!” shouted the angry multitude.
“I will consult with the officers,” said Hutchinson.
He went into the council chamber. Louder the outcry of the indignant people. The troops were as they had been, drawn up in two lines, the front rank kneeling, ready to fire upon the gathering multitude. Robert felt that it was a critical moment. If the troops were to fire into the surging throng, the gutters would run with blood.
“The troops to their barracks! Away with them!” the cry.
“I will order them to their barracks,” said Colonel Dalrymple, who recognized the danger of the moment.
Robert breathed more freely when the front rank rose, and the troops filed once more through Pudding Lane to their quarters.
Tom Brandon had come with his gun ready to fight. A great crowd gathered around the Town House where the governor was holding a court of inquiry. Robert and Tom edged themselves into the room, and heard what was said and saw what was going on. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning when the magistrates directed the sheriff to put Captain Preston and the soldiers who had fired the volley in jail. It was a great satisfaction to Robert and Tom to go up Queen Street and see the redcoats enter the jail and hear the key click in the lock behind them. Civil law was still supreme.
The night was far gone when Robert reached the Brandon home. Although retiring to his chamber, he could not compose himself to sleep. He was looking into the future, wondering what would be the outcome of the massacre.
Long before the rising of the sun the following morning, the streets were swarming with people, hastening in from the country, with muskets on their shoulders, with indignation and fierce determination manifest in every feature, assembling in Faneuil Hall; but only a few of the multitude could get into the building.
“The Old South! Old South!” cried the people,and the crowd surged through Dock Square and along Cornhill to the Old South Meetinghouse. Samuel Adams, John Hancock, Joseph Warren, and others were chosen a committee to wait on the governor in the council chamber.
“The inhabitants and soldiery can no longer live together in safety; nothing can restore peace and prevent further carnage but the immediate removal of the troops,” said Mr. Adams, speaking for the committee.
Colonel Dalrymple informed Governor Hutchinson that, as the Twenty-Ninth Regiment had done the mischief, he was willing it should be sent down the harbor to Fort William, and he would direct its removal.
“The people,” said Mr. Adams, “not only of this town, but of all the surrounding towns, are determined that all the troops shall be removed.”
“To attack the king’s troops would be high treason, and every man concerned would forfeit his life and estate,” said Hutchinson.
“The people demand their immediate withdrawal,” Mr. Adams replied, bowing, and taking his departure.
Cornhill, all the way from the Town House to the Old South, was crowded with resolute and determined citizens, equipped with muskets and powder-horns. They saw Samuel Adams, loved and revered, descend the steps of the Town House, followed by the other members of the committee.
“Make way for the committee!” the cry.
“Hurrah for Sam Adams!” the shout.
They saw the man they loved lift his hat. Theyknew King George wanted him sent to England to be tried for treason; that Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson was ready to aid in such a plan; but there he was, more determined than ever to maintain the rights of the people.
Tom worked his way into the meetinghouse and heard Mr. Adams say the lieutenant-governor’s answer was unsatisfactory.
“All the troops must go,” shouted the citizens.
Once more Mr. Adams and six of his fellow-citizens made their way to the Town House. The lieutenant-governor and the council were assembled together with Colonel Dalrymple, Admiral Montague, and other officers in their scarlet uniforms. Robert edged his way into the building.
“It is the unanimous opinion,” said Mr. Adams, “that the reply of your excellency is unsatisfactory. Nothing will satisfy the people other than the immediate removal of all the troops.”
“The troops are not subject to my authority; I have no power to remove them,” said Hutchinson.
Robert saw Mr. Adams raise his right arm towards Hutchinson. His words were clear and distinct:—
“Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson, if you have power to remove one regiment, you have power to remove both. It is at your peril if you do not. The meeting is composed of three thousand people. They are impatient. One thousand men have arrived from the surrounding towns. The country is in motion. The people expect an immediate answer.”
A whiteness came into the face of the lieutenant-governor. His hands began to tremble. One hundredyears before, the people in their majesty and might had put Edmund Andros in prison. Might they not do the same with him?
“What shall be done?” he asked of the council, with trembling lips.
“It is not such people as injured your house who are asking you to remove the troops,” said Councilman Tyler; “they are the best people of the town, men of property, supporters of religion. It is impossible, your excellency, for the troops to remain. If they do not go, ten thousand armed men will soon be here.”
“Men will soon be here from Essex and Middlesex,” said Councilman Bussell of Charlestown.
“Yes, and from Worcester and Connecticut,” said Mr. Dexter of Dedham.
Every member said the same, and advised their removal. Colonel Dalrymple had consented that the regiment which began the disturbance should leave, but it would be very humiliating if all the troops were to go. The instructions from the king had put the military as superior to the civil authority.
“I cannot consent, your excellency, voluntarily to remove all the troops,” said Dalrymple.
“You have asked the advice of the council,” said Councilman Gray to Hutchinson; “it has been given; you are bound to conform to it.”
Robert felt it was a home-thrust that Councilman Gray gave, who said further:—
“If mischief shall come, your excellency, by means of your not doing what the council has advised, youalone must bear the blame. If the commanding officer after that should refuse to remove the troops, the blame then will be at his door!”
“I will do what the council has advised,” said Hutchinson.
“I shall obey the command of your excellency,” said Dalrymple.
The victory was won. “The lobsters have got to go,” the shout that went up in the Old South, when Mr. Adams informed the people.
Very galling it was to the king’s troops to hear the drums of the citizens beating, and to see armed men patrolling the streets, while they were packing their equipments. It was exasperating to be cooped up in Fort William, with no opportunity to roam the streets, insult the people, drink toddy in the tap-rooms of the Tun and Bacchus and the White Horse taverns. No longer could the lieutenants and ensigns quarter themselves upon the people and be waited upon by negro servants, or spend their evenings with young ladies. They who came to maintain law and order had themselves become transgressors, and were being sent to what was little better than a prison, while Captain Preston and the men who fired upon the unarmed citizens were in jail as murderers. It was a humiliating, exasperating reflection.
His majesty’s commissioner of imposts, Theodore Newville, being an officer of the crown, dispensed generous hospitality. Gentlemen of position or culture arriving in town were cordially entertained. His table was abundantly supplied with meats and with wines mellowed by age. He was loyal to his sovereign; gloried in being an Englishman, gave reverence to King George, and was respected and honored by his fellow-citizens. On Sunday, in King’s Chapel, he repeated with unction the prayer for their majesties the king and queen, and for his royal highness the Prince of Wales. Not only as a servant of the crown but as a citizen it was his duty to be loyal to the king. He was kind, courteous, and tolerant towards those who did not agree with him in political affairs. He thought Sam Adams, James Otis, and Doctor Warren were rather hot-headed, but they were nevertheless frequent guests at his table.
Mrs. Newville took pride in making her home attractive. Whether as hostess at the dinner-table or in the parlor, she displayed tact and grace in conversation. She was ever solicitous for the welfare and happiness of Ruth, her only child, and fondly hoped a kind Providence would bring about an alliance withsome worthy son of an ancient and honorable family. Her day-dreams pictured a possible marriage of her beloved daughter to some lord, earl, or baronet from the mother country, owner of a great estate, a castle, or baronial hall.
It was an agreeable announcement which Mr. Newville made to Mrs. Newville, that the ship Robin Hood, sent out by the Admiralty to obtain masts, had arrived, bringing as passengers young Lord Upperton and his traveling companion, Mr. Dapper. His lordship had recently taken his seat with the peers, and was traveling for recreation and adventure in the Colonies. Not only was he a peer, but prospective Duke of Northfield. He was intimate with the nobility of the realm, and had kissed the hands of the king and queen in the drawing-room of Buckingham Palace.
Mr. Dapper was several years the senior of Lord Upperton, so intelligent, agreeable, polite, courteous, and of such humor, that he was ever welcomed in the drawing-room of my lady the Countess of Epsom, the Marquise of Biddeford, and at the tables of my Lady Stamford, and of her grace the Duchess of Alwington. The doors of the London clubs were always wide open to one who could keep the table in a roar by his wit. Lord Upperton had chosen him as his companion during his visit to his majesty’s Colonies.
“It will indeed be an honor to entertain Lord Upperton and his friends,” said Mrs. Newville, with sparkling eyes. It was not only the anticipated pleasure of their company at dinner that set her pulses throbbing, but the thought that it might in the end make her day-dreams a reality.
Mr. Newville thought it would be eminently fitting to invite the commander of his majesty’s fleet, Admiral Montague, and also the rector of King’s Chapel, Reverend Mr. Coner; together they would represent the crown and the church.
Mrs. Newville did not intend that any bevy of beautiful girls should assemble around her table and be a cluster of diamonds to dazzle his lordship by their brilliancy. She would have but one brilliant, her own daughter. The other ladies should be of mature years. She would invite Miss Milford, who made it a point to read every new book; Miss Artley, who could paint in oils, and Miss Chanson, who would sing a song after dinner, and accompany herself upon the harpsichord; Mr. John Adams, the able lawyer, and his accomplished wife.
From her chamber window, Ruth saw a lumbering coach drive up the street. The footman in blue livery opened the coach door, and a young man, tall, handsome, wearing a blue velvet coat, the sleeves slashed with gold, an embroidered waistcoat, buff breeches, lace ruffles, and powdered wig, walked up the path accompanied by a gentleman several years his senior, faultlessly dressed, with crimson velvet coat and costly ruffles. The other guests had previously arrived. Ruth, in accordance with her mother’s wishes, wore a rich brocaded silk of pure white. She needed no adornment of silver, gold, or precious stones to set forth her loveliness as she entered the parlor.
“My lord, shall I have the pleasure of presenting my daughter?” said her mother.
Lord Upperton bowed. Mrs. Newville saw a look ofsurprise upon his face, as if he had not expected to find so sweet a flower in the wilderness of the Western world. He bowed again, very politely, and expressed his pleasure at making her acquaintance.
Pompey, bowing low, informed Mr. Newville that dinner was ready to be served.
“My lord, may I presume to assign my daughter to you?” said Mrs. Newville, giving her own arm to Admiral Montague.
Mr. Dapper solicited the favor of Mrs. Adams’s company. As Miss Chanson sang in the choir at King’s Chapel, Reverend Mr. Coner thought it becoming to offer her his arm, leaving Miss Artley to Mr. Newville, and Miss Milford to Mr. Adams.
“I presume, my lord, you find things quite different here from what you do in England,” Ruth remarked, feeling it was incumbent upon her to open the conversation.
“Yes, Miss Newville, very different; for instance, in London, and in almost all our towns, the houses are mostly brick, with tiles or thatch; but here, they are built of wood, covered with shingles. Your churches are meetinghouses. Queer name.” Lord Upperton laughed.
“Ha, ha! I had a funny experience the other day. I told the landlord of the Admiral Vernon I would like a chair for myself, and another for Mr. Dapper,—that we wanted to see the town. Well, what do you think happened? A little later, in came two niggers, each bringing a big rocking-chair. ‘Dese be de cheers you axed for, Massa,’ they said.”
Miss Newville laughed heartily.
“The landlord evidently did not know you meant sedan-chairs; we do not have them here,” she said.
“More than that, I told him I should want some links for the evening, as I was to be out late. He said I could get ’em in Faneuil Hall Market, if it was sausages I wanted.”
Again Miss Newville gave way to laughter.
“I do not suppose,” she said, “that the landlord ever had heard that a link-boy is a torch-bearer.”
“I had the pleasure of attending services at your church last Sunday,” said Lord Upperton to the rector, when they were seated at the table. “I noticed that you have a substantial stone edifice.”
“Yes, my lord, and we regard it with what, I trust, is reverential pride. The Church of God is enduring, and the church’s edifice should be firm and solid, and of material that the tooth of time will not gnaw,” the rector answered.
“Ought it not to be beautiful as well?” Miss Newville inquired.
“Most certainly.”
“I cannot say I think King’s Chapel is beautiful in the architecture, with its stump of a tower, and no steeple or spire,” Miss Newville replied.
“Perhaps by and by we shall have money enough to carry out the plan of the architect. I admit it is not as attractive as it might be,” said the rector.
“I never look at the lower tier of windows without laughing over the wit of Reverend Mr. Byles[44]in regard to them,” said Mr. Adams.
“What might it be?” the rector asked.
“He said he had heard of the canons of the church, but never before had he seen the portholes.”
The company laughed.
“Excellent! Excellent!” exclaimed Mr. Dapper.
“The reverend gentleman, Mr. Byles, though dissenting from our Apostolic Church, I am happy to say is loyal to our most gracious King George,” said the rector.
“Reverend Mr. Byles is very witty,” Miss Newville remarked. “He asked the selectmen several times to give their attention to a quagmire in the road near his house. After long delay, they stepped into a chaise and rode to the spot. Suddenly they found themselves stuck in the mud. Mr. Byles opened his window and remarked that he was glad they were stirring in the matter at last.”
Again the company laughed.
“Capital; he must be a genius,” said Mr. Dapper.
Pompey served the oysters, large, fat, and juicy.
“Pardon me, madam, but may I inquire what these may be?” Mr. Dapper inquired.
“They are oysters. I think you will find them quite palatable,” Mrs. Newville replied.
Mr. Dapper put his glasses to his eyes, tilted an oyster on his fork, and examined it.
“Do you mean to say that you swallow these monsters?”
“We think them fine eating,” Mrs. Adams replied.
“My lord,” said Mr. Dapper, turning to Upperton, “I’m going to try one. I’ve made my last will and testament. Tell ’em at Almack’s, when you get home, that Dapper committed suicide by attempting to swallow an oyster.”
“I will send Pompey for the coroner,” exclaimed Mr. Newville, laughing.
“’Pon my soul, madam, they are delicious. Bless me! It is worth crossing the Atlantic to eat one. Try one, my lord, and then you can torment the Macaronies[45]by telling them they don’t know anything about fine eating,” said Dapper, after gulping it down.
Lord Upperton ate one, smacked his lips, and testified his enjoyment by clearing his plate.
“I dare say, my lord, that you find many amusing things here in the Colonies,” remarked Mrs. Adams.
“Indeed I do. Yesterday, as I was smoking my pipe in the tap-room of the Admiral Vernon, a countryman stepped up to me, and said, ‘Mister, may I ax for a little pig-tail?’ I told him I didn’t keep little pigs and hadn’t any tails. I presumed he would find plenty of ’em in the market.”
Lord Upperton was at a loss to know the meaning of the shout of laughter given by the company.
“The bumpkin replied if I hadn’t any pig-tail, a bit of plug would do just as well for a chaw.”
Again the laughter.
“I expect I must have made a big bull, but, ’pon my soul, I can’t make out where the fun comes in.”
“He was asking you first for pig-tail tobacco for his pipe, and then for a bit of plug tobacco for chewing,” Mrs. Adams explained.
“Oh ho! then that is it! What a stupid donkey I was,” responded Lord Upperton, laughing heartily. “He wasn’t at all bashful,” he continued, “but was well behaved; asked me where I was from. I told him I was from London. ‘Sho! is that so? Haow’s King George and his wife?’ he asked. I told him they were well. ‘When you go hum,’ said he, ‘jes give ’em the ’spec’s of Peter Bushwick, and tell George that Yankee Doodle ain’t goin’ to pay no tax on tea.’” Lord Upperton laughed heartily. “I rather like Peter Bushwick,” he said. “I’d give a two-pound note to have him at Almack’s for an evening. He’d set the table in a roar.”
“My lord, shall I give you some cranberries?” Miss Newville asked, as she dished the sauce.
“Cranberries! What are they? I am ashamed to let you know how ignorant I am, but really I never heard of ’em before. Do they grow on trees?”
She explained that they were an uncultivated fruit, growing on vines in swamps and lowlands.
“’Pon my soul, they are delicious. And what a rich color. Indeed, you do have things good to eat,” he added, smacking his lips.
“I trust you will relish a bit of wild turkey,” said Mr. Newville, as he carved the fowl.
“Wild turkey, did you say?”
“Yes, my lord. They are plentiful in the forests.”
Again Lord Upperton smacked his lips.
“By Jove, Dapper, it is superb!” he exclaimed.
“Will you try some succotash, my lord?” Ruth inquired.
“There you have me again. What a name!”
“It is an Indian name, my lord,” said Mrs. Adams.
“Oh ho! Indian. They told me I should find the people lived like the savages. Succotash! what is it?”
“Succotash, my lord, is a mixture of beans and Indian corn.”
“Beans! beans! Do you eat beans over here?” his lordship asked.
“We do, my lord,” Mrs. Adams replied, “and we think them very nutritious and palatable, notwithstanding the maxim, ‘Abstincto a fabis.’ Possibly you may be a disciple of Pythagoras, and believe that the souls of the dead are encased in beans, and so think it almost sacrilegious for us to use them as food.”
Lord Upperton looked up in astonishment. Was it possible that ladies in the Colonies were acquainted with the classics?
“In England we feed our sheep on beans,” his lordship replied; “and may I ask what is Indian corn?”
“Possibly you may call it maize in England. When our fathers came to this country they found the Indians used it for food, and so ever since it has been known as Indian corn.”
“Beans for sheep; corn for savages. Pardon me,madam, but I am not a sheep, nor yet quite a savage with a tomahawk. Thank you, but I don’t care for any succotash.”
“Better take some, Upperton. It is positively delicious,” said Mr. Dapper, after swallowing a spoonful.
Lord Upperton poked the mixture with his spoon and then tasted it.
“It isn’t so very nasty,” he said, and took a second spoonful. “By Jove, it isn’t bad at all. Bless me, the more I eat the better I like it.”
His plate was quickly cleaned.
“Pardon me, Miss Newville, but the succotash is so superb that I dare violate good manners, which I am sure you will overlook, and pass my plate for more.”
“You see, my lord, what you have gained by trying it. If you had not tasted it, you would have gone back to England and told the nabobs that the people in the Colonies eat just such nasty things as the sheep-men feed to their flocks; but now you can torment them by describing the dainty delicacies of the Colonies.”
“By Jove! That’s a capital idea, Dapper. It will make the Macaronies mad as March hares.”
“Please fill your glasses, ladies and gentlemen, and we will drink the health of our most gracious sovereign,”[46]said Mr. Newville.
The glasses were filled, and the health of the king drunk.
“Our king is a right royal sovereign,” said Mr. Newville.
“Yes, royal, but stupid now and then,” Mr. Dapper responded, to the amazement of the company, and especially Mrs. Newville. “The fact is, my dear madam, our king, unfortunately, has the reputation of being the dullest sovereign in Europe. Perhaps you know there was not much of him to begin with, as he was only a little pinch of a baby when he was born, so puny and weak the nurses said he wouldn’t stay here long. He sat in their laps, and was coddled till six years old, when he was put under that scheming, narrow-minded bigot, Reverend Doctor Ayscough. And what do you suppose the reverend donkey set him to doing? Why, learning hymns, written by another reverend gentleman, Doctor Philip Doddridge. Very good religious hymns, no doubt, but not quite so attractive as Mother Goose would have been to the little fellow. After learning a few hymns and a few words in Latin, he was set to making verses in that language, when he could not read a story book without spelling half the words.”
“How preposterous!” exclaimed Miss Milford.
“Somewhat absurd, I will admit,” said Mr. Dapper, bowing. “One reverend doctor was not sufficient,” he continued, “to look after the education of the prince, and so my Lord Bishop Hayter of Norwichwas associated with Doctor Ayscough. Then the Old Harry was let loose. My Lord Bishop of Norwich was scheming to be made Archbishop of Canterbury, and Ayscough wanted to become Bishop of Bristol. Both were striving to rival little Jack Horner in putting their thumbs into the pie.”
The ladies were amused—excepting Mrs. Newville, who laid down her knife and fork, folded her hands, and looked earnestly at Mr. Dapper.
“Do you mean to say there is scheming among the reverend prelates of our most holy church?” she asked.
“Why, madam, human nature is pretty much the same in the church as out of it, and there is quite as much intrigue among the prelates of the church as among the politicians at court. His majesty, talking about his early years not long since, said there was nothing but disagreement and intrigue among those who had charge of him during his early years. Mr. Scott, his tutor, did what he could for the little fellow, but it wasn’t much. His father, Fred, Prince of Wales, delighted in private theatricals. He had several plays performed at Leicester House by children, employing Jimmy Quin[47]to teach them their parts. Now, my dear madam, you will see that with three bishops disputing as to how the boy should be instructed in theology; whether politically he should be a Jacobite or Whig; when each was trying to get the biggest piece of pie and the most plums,—theboy, the while, muddling his brains in trying to make Latin verses and learning tragedies, there wasn’t much chance for Master Scott to get him on in other things, especially when my lord the Bishop of Norwich was intriguing to get the master kicked downstairs, that he might put one of his favorites in the position of tutor to the prince.”
“Why, Mr. Dapper!” exclaimed Mrs. Newville.
“Then the prince had a change of governors about as often as the moon fulled,” said Mr. Dapper. “Each, of course, had some directions to give in regard to his education. When Lord Harcourt was governor his chief concern was to have the prince turn out his toes when walking.”