Some
parts of the tale of the so-called Boston Massacre, an iconic moment in pre-Revolutionary Colonial history that used to be familiar to any school child echo in today’s world. All of the ingredients—a rowdy protest boiling spontaneously up from streets where outrage over
long-time grievances sparked into violence over a trivial incident and was met by either firm and appropriate action by
responsible authorities or was a vicious and violent over reaction depending on the political bias of the observer.
And not only was the first victim
a Black man who became a symbol of rebellion but his uniformed killers
were let off virtually scot free at a trial on the flimsiest and
most arcane of grounds. Sounds like the familiar arc of a police
slaying of an unarmed youth, the
kind of all-to-common occurrence that
has fed the Black Lives Matter movement.
It
was a miserable night in Boston in 1770.
What else would you expect on March 5 in the midst of the Little Ice Age which chilled Europe and the Eastern seaboard of North
America for nearly two centuries? A nasty wind whipped across the harbor, a
few flakes of snow would sting exposed fresh. Old snow and ice was pushed up against
buildings turning gray with the soot from
a few thousand hearth fires.
A lone English soldier, Private Hugh White of the 29th
Regiment of Foot had the bad luck
to draw sentry duty outside of the Customs House on King’s Street that night.
The building was a symbol of unfair taxation
without representation and oppression to the people of the city. Customs
collectors had been harassed for
attempting to enforce the unpopular Townsend Duties and for seizing ships of leading merchants like John
Hancock for smuggling, a mainstay of the local economy. The building needed protection.
The
bright red coat of an English private soldier, while colorful, was entirely
unsuitable for the harsh New England winter. Private White undoubtedly shivered in misery. His life was made worse
by the taunting by local toughs, mostly apprentices and day laborers loitering about.
One of them, a wig maker’s
apprentice, Edward Garrick
mocked a passing British officer, Captain-Lieutenant John Goldfinch, for not
paying a bill due his master. Goldfinch ignored the jeers and in fact had settled his account that very afternoon.
But White scolded Garrick for
insulting an officer. The two exchanged heated words. White struck Garrick with the butt of his musket. A small crowd gathered
and began pelting the soldier with snow and ice balls.
When
White leveled his musket against his
taunters, Henry Knox, a corpulent 19
year old bookseller warned him not
to shoot because, “if he fire, he must die.”
White refrained from shooting
but the crowd on the street grew as church
bells rang in alarm. Someone thought to send to nearby barracks for reinforcements for the now besieged White who had retreated to the steps of the Custom House with the door at
his back.
Things
were about to go from bad to worse.
Four regiments of troops were sent to
Boston in 1768, more than were ever stationed there when its very existence was threatened by possible
invasion during the French and
Indian Wars, after the Massachusetts
House of Representatives petitioned the Crown for relief from
the Townsend Duties and circulated
letters of other colonial
legislatures asking for support
in the protest. The Collector of Customs for the Port
of Boston officially asked for troops to protect him after some of his
officers were manhandled and abused.
Four
regiments were dispatched as a show of
force. That was about 4,000 men plus
the wives and children of many of them, officers and enlisted alike, servants, and the inevitable hangers-on to any army. The city of Boston boasted only 16,000 residents and a few thousand more resided in nearby villages. Such a large
force deployed among so few civilians, most of them hostile to their
presence, led to inevitable friction.
Although
two of the regiments had been withdrawn,
soldiers of the remaining two were involved in a number of incidents over that
winter. In addition to hostility to the
policy that dispatched them, minor personal
disputes like the Captain’s late payment to a wig maker, irked the
population. So did the inevitable attention to the local girls by the soldiers, which was often returned by lasses enamored of a dashing uniform.
A serious
bone of contention was the employment of off-duty soldiers at the rope
walk, Boston’s biggest industrial
concern and a main employer of unskilled and casual labor. The soldiers
were working for less than locals and costing many of them jobs. Wives
of several soldiers publicly scolded colonists.
That very afternoon one had promised that the troops would wet their bayonets on trouble makers.
Back
at the Customs House, White was finally relieved
by a corporal and six private soldiers under the personal command of Captain
Thomas Preston, the officer of the
watch who declined to trust a junior
lieutenant with the sensitive
assignment. As they drew close to
the Customs House where the angry crowd had grown to over a hundred, Knox again
warned the Captain of the awful
consequences if his men fired.
Preston reportedly told him, “I am aware of it.”
Once
at the Customs House Preston had his men load
and prime their muskets and form
a semi-circle in front of Private
White and the door. They faced a crowd
now swollen by further reinforcements, many of them armed with cudgels and brick bats. In the very
front of the mob, just feet away from Captain Preston who took up a position in
front of his men, was a dark skinned man
named Crispus Attucks.
Not
much is known about Attucks, not even whether he was a slave, an escaped slave,
or a freeman. He worked as a sailor on coastal traders and
on the docks. He was described as mulato but was known to have
both African and Native American Wampanoag
ancestry. Although there were not many
Blacks in Boston, their presence was not that unusual. They mixed casually and freely with the lowest
classes of White Bostonians—the day laborers, indentured servants, and apprentice boys.
As
Attucks and the crowd pressed forward, Preston had his men level their muskets
but ordered them to hold their fire. He ordered the mob to disperse. They responded
with taunts of “go ahead and fire.”
Preston said that the troops would not fire “except on his order” and made
the point of standing in front of
his men’s guns.
From
out of the crowd someone hit Private Hugh Montgomery in the arm with
a clump of ice or in other accounts he was struck by a cudgel. Montgomery fell to the ground, although he
may simply have lost his footing on the ice, and lost his musket. He grabbed the gun and scrambled to his feet. Enraged, he leveled his gun at the nearest
man, Atticus and fired yelling “Damn you, fire!” to his fellow soldiers.
Attkus
crumpled to the ground mortally wounded. There was a pause of a few seconds and then a
ragged, un-coordinated volley went
off from the troops. The only command
Preston gave was a desperate order to cease
fire.
Eleven
men were hit by fire indicating that some may have been injured by the same
round or that some soldiers had time to
re-load and fire. In addition to Attkus rope maker Samuel Gray and mariner James
Caldwel died on the cobblestones.
Seventeen year old ivory turner
apprentice Samuel Maverick
standing near the rear of the crowd was struck by a ricocheting fragment and died a few hours later. Patrick Carr, an Irish immigrant died of his wounds two weeks later.
The
crowd retreated to near-by streets
but continued to grow. Preston called
out the entire regiment for protection and withdrew his squad to the barracks.
An
angry mob descended on the near-by State
House which was ringed with troops for protection. Massachusetts born Acting Governor Thomas Hutchinson tried
to calm the crowd by addressing them from the relative safety of a balcony. He promised a through and prompt investigation. After a few hours the crowd drifted away.
Local malcontents, becoming known
loosely as Patriots, were quick to
use the slaughter to raise a hue and cry against the Townsend Duties and to the
onerous virtual military occupation of their city. Two virtually identical engravings purporting to accurately portray the shooting were rushed
to publication. The most famous, engraved by Paul Revere, the master silver and
coppersmith, iron foundry man, bell caster, and master
of all trades, after a drawing
by Henry Pelham was published in the
Boston
Gazette and then re-issued in sometimes hand colored prints which made Revere and the printer a good
deal of money.
With
public opinion inflamed, the two regiments in the city were withdrawn to Castle William on an island in the harbor. Had they not been, “they would probably be
destroyed by the people—should it be called rebellion, should it incur the loss of our charter, or be the consequence what it would,” according to Secretary of State Andrew Oliver. By May General
Thomas Gage, in command of all troops in the colonies, decided that the
presence of the 29th Regiment was counterproductive
to good order, had the regiment removed from Massachusetts entirely.
Meanwhile
at the end of March Captain Preston, the men in his rescue squad, Pvt. White
and four civilian employees of the Customs House, who some had fired out the windows of the building were indicted for murder and manslaughter.
Gov.
Hutchinson managed by hook or by crook
to delay the start of the trial for nearly a year to let inflamed passions died
down. Patriots took that time to organize
the publication of an account of the
event, A Short Narrative of the Horrid Massacre, which although banned from circulation in the city, inflamed passions across the Colonies, and
even earned sympathy when it was reprinted
in London.
Patriot lawyer John Adams successfully took up the defense of Captain Preston, the accused soldiers, and civilian employees of the Customs House.
Despite
the delay, it looked like it would be very difficult for Captain Preston and
the soldiers to get a fair trial in
Massachusetts. All of the leading local lawyers had refused to
take their cases. John Adams, a leading Patriot, a man with boundless political ambition, and first cousin to rabble-rouser-in-chief Samuel
Adams, agreed to take on the case, despite howls of protest from his political allies.
It
was a great choice. Assisted by his
cousin Josiah Quincy, another
Patriot, and Loyalist Robert Auchmuty
he quickly obtained a not guilty verdict
in the first trial. Captain Preston was shown
by the testimony of multiple witnesses
to have never ordered the troops to fire and to have tried to get them under
control. That was in October.
In
November the cases of the enlisted soldiers proved dicer. They had, after all, fired lethal rounds
without orders. Adam’s pled straight up self-defense. He told the jury that the men were under attack
by the mob, “a motley rabble of saucy boys, negroes, and molattoes, Irish
teagues and outlandish jack tars.” Appealing
to the class prejudice of the land-owning pool of eligible jurors, Adams won acquittal
on murder charges for all of the defendants, and only two were convicted of manslaughter.
Privates
Montgomery and Kilroy still faced the
death penalty at the sentencing on December 14, they “prayed the benefit of clergy”,
a remnant of Medieval law in which the essentially claimed exemption from punishment on the grounds that they were “clergy”
who could read a Bible verse. The two were branded on
the thumb and released.
By
the time the civilians were up for trial in December, enthusiasm for continuing
the case against them, which was weak and based on the testimony of one servant easily proven to be false, was waning.
Whatever
the outcome of the trials, the
events of March 5 helped set the stage for the American Revolution.
By the way the term Boston Massacre was not applied to the bloody ruckus until long after the fact. Like another iconic event, the so-called Boston Tea Party it got its name during the brief national enthusiasm generated by the 50th anniversaries of important Revolutionary and pre-revolutionary events. And like the Tea Party it was soon imbued with a lot of romantic myth and nonsense.
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