VIII.
CHRISTOPHER SNIDER.
The night-watchman of the North End of Boston, with overcoat buttonedto the chin and a muffler around his neck, a fur cap drawn down overhis ears to exclude the biting frost of midwinter, was going hisrounds. He saw no revelers in the streets, nor belated visitorsreturning to their homes.
If suitors were calling upon their ladies, the visits were ended longbefore the clock on the Old Brick struck the midnight hour. No voicebroke the stillness of the night. The watchman scarcely heard his ownfootsteps in the newly fallen snow as he slowly made his way alongMiddle Street,[37] with his lantern and staff. He was not expecting toencounter a burglar, breaking and entering a shop, store, orresidence. He heard the clock strike once more, and was just pursinghis lips to cry, "Two o'clock, and all's well," when he caught aglimpse of a figure in front of Theophilus Lillie's store.[38] Was ita burglar? The man was standing stock-still, as if scanning thepremises. The watchman dodged back behind the building on the cornerof the street, hid his lantern, and peered slyly at the thief, who wasstill looking at the store. What was the meaning of such mysteriousinaction? The watchman, instead of waiting to catch the culprit in theact of breaking and entering, stepped softly forward. Grasping hisstaff with a firm grip, to give a sudden whack, should the villainturn upon him,--"What ye 'bout, sir!" he shouted.
[Footnote 37: The section of the present Hanover Street east ofBlackstone Street was called Middle Street.]
[Footnote 38: Mr. Theophilus Lillie was one of the six merchants whorefused to sign the association paper not to import goods fromEngland, thereby making himself exceedingly obnoxious to the people.Other merchants had agreed not to make any importation, and hadviolated the agreement.]
The burglar did not reply, neither turn his head.
"Is the fellow dead, I wonder--frozen stiff, this bitter night, andstanding still?" the question that flashed through the watchman'sbrain.
"Bless my soul! It's Mr. Lillie's head,--his nose, mouth, chin. Looksjust like him. And the post is set in the ground. I'll bet thatcarving is Abe Duncan's work. Nobody can carve like him. But what isit here for? Ah! I see. Lillie has gone back on his agreement not toimport tea. The Sons of Liberty have rigged it up to guy him. Ha, ha!"
The watchman laughed to himself as he examined the figure.
"Well, that's a cute job," he said reflectively. "The ground is frozenstiff a foot deep. They had to break it with a crowbar, but not asound did I hear. Shall I say anything about it? Will not theselectmen make a fuss if I don't notify 'em at once? But what's theuse of knocking 'em up at two o'clock in the morning? The thing'sdone. 'Taint my business to pull it up. The post won't run away. I'llreport what time I found it."
Remembering that he had not cried the hour, he shouted:--
"Two o'clock, all's well!"
He secreted himself in a doorway awhile, to see if any one wouldappear, but no one came.
The early risers--the milkmen and bakers' apprentices going theirrounds, shop boys on their way to kindle fires in stores--all stoppedto look at the figure. The news quickly spread. People left theirbreakfast-tables to see the joke played on Mr. Lillie. EbenezerRichardson, however, could not see the fun of the thing. Theschoolboys called him "Poke Nose" because he was ever ready to pokeinto other people's affairs.[39] The officers of the Custom Houseemployed him to ferret out goods smuggled ashore by merchants, who,regarding the laws as unjust and oppressive, had no scruples incircumventing the customs officers. Richardson hated the Sons ofLiberty, and haunted the Green Dragon to spy out their actions.
[Footnote 39: The offensive and unjust laws and acts and ordinances ofthe Board of Trade in enforcing the collection of customs dues hadbrought about systematic effort to circumvent the Custom Houseofficials, who employed spies and informers to ferret out fraudulenttransactions. Smuggling was regarded as a virtue, and outwitting theofficials a duty rather than an offense. Ebenezer Richardson, by hisservice to the Custom House officials, made himself obnoxious to thecommunity. An account of the incidents that led to the shooting ofChristopher Snider may be found in the newspapers of March, 1770.]
"This is their work," he said to those around the figure. "It'soutrageous. Mr. Lillie has just as good a right to sell tea asanything else, without having everybody pointing their fingers at him.It's an insult. It's disgraceful. Whoever did it ought to betrounced."
"Charcoal! Charcoal! Hard and soft charcoal!"
It was the cry of the charcoal-man, turning from Union into MiddleStreet.
"I'll get him to run his sled against it and knock it over," said Mr.Richardson to himself.
Slowly the charcoal vender advanced.
Seeing the post and the group of people around it, he reined in hisold horse and looked at the figure.
"See here," said Mr. Richardson. "Just gee a little and run the noseof your sled agin it and knock it over, will ye? It's a tarnalfiendish outrage to set up such a thing in front of a gentleman'sstore."
"Do you own the figger?"
"No."
"Do you own the store?"
"No."
"Anybody ax ye to get it knocked down?"
"No; but it's an outrage which honest citizens ought to resent."
"Think so, do ye?"
"Yes, I do; and everybody else ought to, instead of laughing andchuckling over it."
"That may be, mister, but ye see you don't own it, and may be I'd getmyself into trouble if I were to run my sled agin it purposely. Shouldlike to oblige ye, neighbor, but guess I'd better not. Charcoal!Charcoal! Hard and soft charcoal!" he shouted, jerking the reins forthe old horse to move on.
"Gee, Buck! Haw, Barry!"
It was a farmer driving his oxen drawing a load of wood, swinging hisgoad-stick, who shouted it. The team came to a standstill by thefigure.
"What's up?" the farmer inquired.
"The Sons of Liberty have perpetrated a rascally trick, by settingthis effigy in front of this gentleman's store," said Mr. Richardson.
"What'd they do that for?"
"'Cause he agreed not to sell tea, and then, finding he'd made a badbargain, backed out of it; and now I'd like to have ye hitch yer oxento the thing and snake it to Jericho."
"'Fraid I can't 'commodate ye; got to go down to widow Jenkins's withmy wood. Gee, Buck! Haw, Barry!" said the farmer, as he started on.
"Rich, why don't ye pull it up yourself," said an apprentice.
"Better get an axe and chop it down, if it's such an eyesore to ye,"said another.
"Get a crowbar and dig it up. A little exercise will be good for ye,"said a third.
"Has Lillie engaged ye to get rid of the thing?" another asked.
"Did the Sons of Liberty smuggle it ashore during the night?"
Tom Brandon asked the question, which nettled Mr. Richardsonexceedingly. Possibly the informer could not have said why he was sozealous for the removal of the effigy. He would not have been willingto admit that he was seeking to advance himself in the estimation ofHon. Theodore Newville, commissioner of imposts, and Hon. NathanielCoffin, his majesty's receiver-general. Quite likely he could not havegiven any very satisfactory reason for his activity in attempting toremove the figure. He knew that the selectmen would be obliged toclear the street of the obstruction, but a display of loyalty to theking might possibly inure to his benefit. Boys on their way to schoolbegan to chaff the informer.
"Say, Poke Nose; how much are ye going to get for the job?" shoutedone of the boys.
"You mind your own business."
"That's what you don't do."
"Don't ye call me names, you little imp," shouted the informer,shaking his fist at the boy.
"Poke Nose! Poke Nose! Poke Nose!" the chorus of voices.
"Take that, Poke Nose!" said a boy as he threw a snowball.
Losing his temper, the informer threw a brickbat in return. He was butone against fifty lads pelting him with snowballs, which knocked offhis hat, struck him in the face, compelling him to flee, the jeeringbo
ys following him to his own home.
Tom Brandon accompanied the boys. He saw the informer raise a window.There was a flash, a puff of smoke, the report of a gun, a shriek, andtwo of the boys were lying upon the ground and their blood spurtingupon the snow. He helped carry them into a house, and then ran forDoctor Warren. It was but a few steps. The doctor came in haste.
"Samuel Gore is not much injured, but Christopher Snider is mortallywounded," he said.
Christ Church bells were ringing. Merchants were closing their stores;blacksmiths leaving their forges; carpenters throwing down theirtools,--everybody hastening with buckets and ladders to put out thefire, finding instead the blood-stained snow and wounded schoolboys.
"Hang him! Hang him!" shouted the apprentices and journeymen. But thesheriff had the culprit in his keeping, and the law in its majesty wasguarding him from the violence of the angered people.
"Christopher Snider is dead," said Doctor Warren, as he came from thehouse into which the boy had been carried by Tom Brandon and those whoassisted him.
Thenceforth the widow's home in Frog Lane would be desolate, for anonly child was gone.
An exasperated multitude, among others Tom Brandon and Robert Walden,gathered in Faneuil Hall, Tom as witness, attending the examination ofEbenezer Richardson,[40] charged with the murder of ChristopherSnider. Upon the platform sat the justices, John Ruddock, EdmundQuincy, Richard Dana, and Samuel Pemberton, wearing their scarletcloaks and white wigs. There was a murmuring of voices.
[Footnote 40: John Ruddock, Edmund Quincy, Richard Dana, and SamuelPemberton were the principal magistrates of the town, and unitedly satas a court. Richardson was committed to jail, tried, and condemned todeath. As his crime grew from political troubles, Governor Hutchinsoncaused his execution to be delayed. He was kept in jail till theoutbreak of the war, when he was set at liberty.]
"I hope the spy will swing for it," Robert heard one citizen say.
"It's downright murder, this shooting of a boy only nine years old,who hadn't even been teasing Poke Nose," said another.
"This is what comes from customs nabobs trying to enforce wickedlaws," said an old man.
"Yes, and keeps two regiments of lobsters here to insult us."
"That's so," responded Peter Bushwick, whom Robert recognized. "If thelaws were just the people wouldn't smuggle. If there was no smugglingthere wouldn't be any spies, and Ebe Richardson, instead of being asneaking informer, would have been earning an honest living. Hewouldn't have been called Poke Nose; there wouldn't have been anysnowballs nor brickbats nor shooting. Ever since I was a little boyParliament has been passing laws to cripple us; that's what's broughton smuggling; that's what keeps the troops here. Ebe Richardson ispart of the system."
There was a louder buzzing as the sheriff entered the hall and madehis way through the crowd with his prisoner, who stood pale andtrembling before the justices while the indictment was read. Witnesseswere sworn and examined, and the sheriff ordered to commit the accusedto the jail for trial.
"No other incident," said Mr. John Adams, "has so stirred the peopleas the shooting of this boy. Nothing has so brought to theconsciousness of the community the meaning of the ministerial system.Instinctively they connect the death of Christopher with the attemptto enforce the unrighteous laws. Richardson is in the employ of thegovernment. There is no evidence that Theodore Newville or NathanielCoffin or any of the officers of the customs engaged him to remove theeffigy; he did it on his own account, and must suffer for it, but theobloquy falls, nevertheless, upon the officers of the crown, andespecially upon the soldiers, who are a constant menace. I fear thisis but the beginning of trouble."
Tom had been called upon to testify as a witness in regard to theshooting. He had heard the informer ask the peddler of charcoal andthe farmer to run against the effigy with their teams; had seen thesnowballs and brickbat fly, the shooting, and had assisted in caringfor the wounded and summoning Doctor Warren.
"Have you any idea, Tom, who placed the effigy there?" Mrs. Brandonasked.
"I might have an idea, which might be correct or which might not be. Asupposition isn't testimony. I don't think I'll say anything aboutit," said Tom.
"Can you guess who carved it?" Berinthia asked earnestly.
"Anybody can guess, Brinth, but the guess might not be worth anything;I'll not try."
"You Sons of Liberty don't let out your secrets," Berinthia said.
"If we did they wouldn't be secrets."
Never had there been such a funeral in the town as that of ChristopherSnider. The schools were closed that the scholars might march inprocession. Merchants put up the shutters of their stores; joiners,carpenters, ropemakers, blacksmiths, all trades and occupations laiddown their tools and made their way to the Liberty-Tree, where theprocession was to form. Mothers flocked to the little cottage in FrogLane to weep with a mother bereft of her only child. Tom Brandon andfive other young men were to carry the bier. The newspaper publishedby Benjamin Edes expressed the hope that none but friends of freedomwould join in the procession.
Robert made his way to the Liberty Tree at the hour appointed. A greatcrowd had assembled. Somebody had nailed a board to the tree, uponwhich were painted texts from the Bible:--
"_Thou shalt take no satisfaction for the life of a murderer. He shallsurely 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 fromthe home of the mother in Frog Lane to the Liberty Tree. While theprocession was forming Robert had an opportunity to look at theinscriptions upon the black velvet pall. They were in Latin, but agentleman with a kindly face, Master Lovell, translated them to thepeople.
"_Latet Anguis in Herba._" "_Hoeret Lateris lethalis Armada._" "_Innocentia nusquam in tuta._"
The serpent is lurking in the grass. The fatal dart is thrown. Innocence is nowhere safe.
All the bells were tolling. Mothers and maidens along the street wereweeping for the mother following the body of her boy. Old menuncovered their heads, and bared their snow-white locks to the wintryair, 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 andcarriages,--composed the throng bearing the murdered boy to hisburial.
Listen, my Lord Frederick North, to the mournful pealing of thebells of Boston! Listen, King George, to the tramping of theschoolmates of Christopher Snider, laying aside their books forthe day to bear witness against your royal policy,--boys now, men erelong,--protesting with tears to-day, with muskets by and by! Listen,ye men who have purchased seats in parliament to satisfy your greed!
Lord North.]
The assembled multitude, the tolling bells, the tramping feet, theemblems of mourning, are the indignant protest of an outragedcommunity against tyranny and oppression,--the enforcement of law bythe show of force,--by musket, sword, and bayonet. Listen, and takewarning.[41]
[Footnote 41: Historians have made little account of the shooting ofChristopher Snider, but there can be no question that it led directlyto the collision between the ropemakers and soldiers one week later,resulting in the Massacre of March 5, 1770.]
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