True Stories From History and Biography (17 page)

The lieutenant-governor's favorite daughter sat by his side. She leaned on
the arm of our great chair, and looked up affectionately into her father's
face, rejoicing to perceive that a quiet smile was on his lips. But
suddenly a shade came across her countenance. She seemed to listen
attentively, as if to catch a distant sound.

"What is the matter, my child?" inquired Hutchinson.

"Father, do not you hear a tumult in the streets?" said she.

The lieutenant-governor listened. But his ears were duller than those of
his daughter; he could hear nothing more terrible than the sound of a
summer breeze, sighing among the tops of the elm trees.

"No, foolish child!" he replied, playfully patting her cheek. "There is no
tumult. Our Boston mobs are satisfied with what mischief they have already
done. The king's friends need not tremble."

So Hutchinson resumed his pleasant and peaceful meditations, and again
forgot that there were any troubles in the world. But his family were
alarmed, and could not help straining their ears to catch the slightest
sound. More and more distinctly they heard shouts, and then the trampling
of many feet. While they were listening, one of the neighbors rushed
breathless into the room.

"A mob!—a terrible mob!" cried he: "they have broken into Mr. Storey's
house, and into Mr. Hallowell's, and have made themselves drunk with the
liquors in his cellar, and now they are coming hither, as wild as so many
tigers. Flee, lieutenant-governor, for your life! for your life!"

"Father, dear father, make haste!" shrieked his children.

But Hutchinson would not hearken to them. He was an old lawyer; and he
could not realize that the people would do any thing so utterly lawless as
to assault him in his peaceful home. He was one of King George's chief
officers; and it would be an insult and outrage upon the king himself, if
the lieutenant-governor should suffer any wrong.

"Have no fears on my account," said he; "I am perfectly safe. The king's
name shall be my protection."

Yet he bade his family retire into one of the neighboring houses. His
daughter would have remained, but he forced her away.

The huzzas and riotous uproar of the mob were now heard, close at hand.
The sound was terrible, and struck Hutchinson with the same sort of dread
as if an enraged wild beast had broken loose, and were roaring for its
prey. He crept softly to the window. There he beheld an immense concourse
of people, filling all the street, and rolling onward to his house. It was
like a tempestuous flood, that had swelled beyond its bounds, and would
sweep every thing before it. Hutchinson trembled; he felt, at that moment,
that the wrath of the people was a thousand-fold more terrible than the
wrath of a king.

That was a moment when a loyalist and an aristocrat, like Hutchinson,
might have learned how powerless are kings, nobles, and great men, when
the low and humble range themselves against them. King George could do
nothing for his servant now. Had King George been there, he could have
done nothing for himself. If Hutchinson had understood this lesson, and
remembered it, he need not, in after years, have been an exile from his
native country, nor finally have laid his bones in a distant land.

There was now a rush against the doors of the house. The people sent up a
hoarse cry. At this instant, the lieutenant-governor's daughter, whom he
had supposed to be in a place of safety, ran into the room, and threw her
arms around him. She had returned by a private entrance.

"Father, are you mad!" cried she. "Will the king's name protect you now?
Come with me, or they will have your life."

"True," muttered Hutchinson to himself; "what care these roarers for the
name of king? I must flee, or they will trample me down, on the door of my
own dwelling!"

Hurrying away, he and his daughter made their escape by the private
passage, at the moment when the rioters broke into the house. The foremost
of them rushed up the stair-case, and entered the room which Hutchinson
had just quitted. There they beheld our good old chair, facing them with
quiet dignity, while the lion's head seemed to move its jaws in the
unsteady light of their torches. Perhaps the stately aspect of our
venerable friend, which had stood firm through a century and a half of
trouble, arrested them for an instant. But they were thrust forward by
those behind, and the chair lay overthrown.

Then began the work of destruction. The carved and polished mahogany
tables were shattered with heavy clubs, and hewn to splinters with axes.
The marble hearths and mantel pieces were broken. The volumes of
Hutchinson's library, so precious to a studious man, were torn out of
their covers, and the leaves sent flying out of the windows. Manuscripts,
containing secrets of our country's history, which are now lost forever,
were scattered to the winds.

The old ancestral portraits, whose fixed countenances looked down on the
wild scene, were rent from the walls. The mob triumphed in their downfall
and destruction, as if these pictures of Hutchinson's forefathers had
committed the same offences as their descendant. A tall looking-glass,
which had hitherto presented a reflection of the enraged and drunken
multitude, was now smashed into a thousand fragments. We gladly dismiss
the scene from the mirror of our fancy.

Before morning dawned, the walls of the house were all that remained. The
interior was a dismal scene of ruin. A shower pattered in at the broken
windows, and when Hutchinson and his family returned, they stood shivering
in the same room, where the last evening had seen them so peaceful and
happy.

"Grandfather," said Laurence indignantly, "if the people acted in this
manner, they were not worthy of even so much liberty as the king of
England was willing to allow them."

"It was a most unjustifiable act, like many other popular movements at
that time," replied Grandfather. "But we must not decide against the
justice of the people's cause, merely because an excited mob was guilty of
outrageous violence. Besides, all these things were done in the first fury
of resentment. Afterwards, the people grew more calm, and were more
influenced by the counsel of those wise and good men who conducted them
safely and gloriously through the Revolution."

Little Alice, with tears in her blue eyes, said that she hoped the
neighbors had not let Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson and his family be
homeless in the street, but had taken them into their houses, and been
kind to them. Cousin Clara, recollecting the perilous situation of our
beloved chair, inquired what had become of it.

"Nothing was heard of our chair for sometime afterwards," answered
Grandfather. "One day in September, the same Andrew Oliver, of whom I
before told you, was summoned to appear at high noon, under Liberty Tree.
This was the strangest summons that had ever been heard of; for it was
issued in the name of the whole people, who thus took upon themselves the
authority of a sovereign power. Mr. Oliver dared not disobey. Accordingly,
at the appointed hour, he went, much against his will, to Liberty Tree."

Here Charley interposed a remark that poor Mr. Oliver found but little
liberty under Liberty Tree. Grandfather assented.

"It was a stormy day," continued he. "The equinoctial gale blew violently,
and scattered the yellow leaves of Liberty Tree all along the street. Mr.
Oliver's wig was dripping with water-drops, and he probably looked
haggard, disconsolate, and humbled to the earth. Beneath the tree, in
Grandfather's chair,—our own venerable chair,—sat Mr. Richard Dana, a
justice of the peace. He administered an oath to Mr. Oliver, that he would
never have any thing to do with distributing the stamps. A vast concourse
of people heard the oath, and shouted when it was taken."

"There is something grand in this," said Laurence. "I like it, because the
people seem to have acted with thoughtfulness and dignity; and this proud
gentleman, one of his Majesty's high officers, was made to feel that King
George could not protect him in doing wrong."

"But it was a sad day for poor Mr. Oliver," observed Grandfather. "From
his youth upward, it had probably been the great principle of his life, to
be faithful and obedient to the king. And now, in his old age, it must
have puzzled and distracted him, to find the sovereign people setting up a
claim to his faith and obedience."

Grandfather closed the evening's conversation by saying that the
discontent of America was so great, that, in 1766, the British Parliament
was compelled to repeal the Stamp Act. The people made great rejoicings,
but took care to keep Liberty Tree well pruned, and free from caterpillars
and canker worms. They foresaw, that there might yet be occasion for them
to assemble under its far projecting shadow.

The next evening, Clara, who remembered that our chair had been left
standing in the rain, under Liberty Tree, earnestly besought Grandfather
to tell when and where it had next found shelter. Perhaps she was afraid
that the venerable chair, by being exposed to the inclemency of a
September gale, might get the rheumatism in its aged joints.

"The chair," said Grandfather, "after the ceremony of Mr. Oliver's oath,
appears to have been quite forgotten by the multitude. Indeed, being much
bruised and rather rickety, owing to the violent treatment it had suffered
from the Hutchinson mob, most people would have thought that its days of
usefulness were over. Nevertheless, it was conveyed away, under cover of
the night, and committed to the care of a skilful joiner. He doctored our
old friend so successfully, that, in the course of a few days, it made its
appearance in the public room of the British Coffee House in King Street."

"But why did not Mr. Hutchinson get possession of it again?" inquired
Charley.

"I know not," answered Grandfather, "unless he considered it a dishonor
and disgrace to the chair to have stood under Liberty Tree. At all events,
he suffered it to remain at the British Coffee House, which was the
principal hotel in Boston. It could not possibly have found a situation,
where it would be more in the midst of business and bustle, or would
witness more important events, or be occupied by a greater variety of
persons."

Grandfather went on to tell the proceedings of the despotic king and
ministry of England, after the repeal of the Stamp Act. They could not
bear to think, that their right to tax America should be disputed by the
people. In the year 1767, therefore, they caused Parliament to pass an act
for laying a duty on tea, and some other articles that were in general
use. Nobody could now buy a pound of tea, without paying a tax to King
George. This scheme was pretty craftily contrived; for the women of
America were very fond of tea, and did not like to give up the use of it.

But the people were as much opposed to this new act of Parliament, as they
had been to the Stamp Act. England, however, was determined that they
should submit. In order to compel their obedience, two regiments,
consisting of more than seven hundred British soldiers, were sent to
Boston. They arrived in September, 1768, and were landed on Long Wharf.
Thence they marched to the Common, with loaded muskets, fixed bayonets,
and great pomp and parade. So now, at last, the free town of Boston was
guarded and over-awed by red-coats, as it had been in the days of old Sir
Edmund Andros.

In the month of November, more regiments arrived. There were now four
thousand troops in Boston. The Common was whitened with their tents. Some
of the soldiers were lodged in Faneuil Hall, which the inhabitants looked
upon as a consecrated place, because it had been the scene of a great many
meetings in favor of liberty. One regiment was placed in the town house,
which we now call the Old State House. The lower floor of this edifice had
hitherto been used by the merchants as an exchange. In the upper stories
were the chambers of the judges, the representatives, and the governor's
council. The venerable counsellors could not assemble to consult about the
welfare of the province, without being challenged by sentinels, and
passing among the bayonets of the British soldiers.

Sentinels, likewise, were posted at the lodgings of the officers, in many
parts of the town. When the inhabitants approached, they were greeted by
the sharp question—"Who goes there?" while the rattle of the soldier's
musket was heard, as he presented it against their breasts. There was no
quiet, even on the Sabbath day. The pious descendants of the Puritans were
shocked by the uproar of military music, the drum, fife, and bugle,
drowning the holy organ peal and the voices of the singers. It would
appear as if the British took every method to insult the feelings of the
people.

"Grandfather," cried Charley, impatiently, "the people did not go to
fighting half soon enough! These British red-coats ought to have been
driven back to their vessels, the very moment they landed on Long Wharf."

"Many a hot-headed young man said the same as you do, Charley," answered
Grandfather. "But the elder and wiser people saw that the time was not yet
come. Meanwhile, let us take another peep at our old chair."

"Ah, it drooped its head, I know," said Charley, "when it saw how the
province was disgraced. Its old Puritan friends never would have borne
such doings."

"The chair," proceeded Grandfather, "was now continually occupied by some
of the high tories, as the king's friends were called, who frequented the
British Coffee House. Officers of the custom-house, too, which stood on
the opposite side of King Street, often sat in the chair, wagging their
tongues against John Hancock."

"Why against him?" asked Charley.

"Because he was a great merchant, and contended against paying duties to
the king," said Grandfather.

"Well, frequently, no doubt, the officers of the British regiments, when
not on duty, used to fling themselves into the arms of our venerable
chair. Fancy one of them, a red nosed captain, in his scarlet uniform,
playing with the hilt of his sword, and making a circle of his brother
officers merry with ridiculous jokes at the expense of the poor Yankees.
And perhaps he would call for a bottle of wine, or a steaming bowl of
punch, and drink confusion to all rebels."