Chapter Seventeen

Boston March 5, 1770

Colin approached the sentry standing guard outside the Custom House. "It is certainly a cold night, isn't it Private?"

"Private Hugh White, sir, and yes it is freezing sir, thank you, sir." The soldier stuttered from the cold.

"Keep an eye open Private White. I crossed in front of the tavern up the street, and the lot of them are in a foul, drunken mood. I heard a couple of them mention they were on their way here. They said something about a grudge about an unpaid bill for Captain Goldfinch's wig. Imagine that. I was with the captain when he paid for the wig."

Two men hurried down King Street, one carrying a stick. Sloshing through the snow, they came within a few yards of Private White and Colin. "Where is that son-of-a-bitch Goldfinch?"

Colin stepped forward, "Might I help you Mr...?"

"Edward Gerrish.” He pointed the stick at Colin. “Captain Goldfinch purchased a wig from us and refused to pay. You lobster bellied Redcoats are all a bunch of thieving bastards."

"I assure you that you were paid for your services. I was with the captain when he paid you." Colin stated, stepping in front of the angry man and his sentry.

"You lie like the rest of your kind." Gerrish swayed back and forth reeking of bourbon.

Private White pushed in front of Colin, striking Gerrish in the gut with the butt of his musket, "It would pay you to be more respectful to a British Officer."

Gerrish dropped to the ground clutching his stomach. His companion picked up a piece of ice and tossed it at the private, hitting him on the forehead. Colin stepped forward to intervene.

"Private, I think it might be prudent to seek refuge in the doorway." Colin noticed a small group of angry men had gathered.

Over fifty townspeople pelted White and Colin with snowballs, which had rocks and ice mashed in the middle. They taunted White to fire at them.  Henry Knox appealed to White. "If you fire, then you must die. Think before you act, private." He then turned to the mob and extolled them, “Enough! Return to your homes at once! This is not solving anything!”

"Bloody lobster-back," a voice came from the back followed by a volley of snowballs. The crowd grew in size and anger. The chimes of church bell rang out which usually signified fire. The church bells brought out more townspeople to the mob and a dozen well-armed soldiers from the 29th Regiment of Foot Soldiers under the leadership of Captain Preston. With bayonets fixed, the soldiers drove their way through the mob.

Upon seeing Captain Preston, Henry Knox, who was trying to relieve the tension said, "For God's sake, take care of your men, Captain. If they fire their guns, they must die."

"I know of that," the captain responded as he reached White and Colin. Preston shouted at the crowd which had ballooned to three hundred people, to disperse without success.

The crowd was in a foul mood. Years of pent-up anger finally found release, “Fire,” they kept yelling repeatedly.

A man carrying a cudgel that Colin knew as local innkeeper Richard Palmes asked the captain, “Are the weapons loaded?”

“I can assure you the weapons are loaded but will not be fired unless I give the orders.” He stood his ground with his hand resting on his saber. “I am unlikely to make such an order.”

A large object pelted the private to Preston’s right in the chest causing him to drop his musket. The private recovered his weapon, and shouted, “Damn you. Fire.”

The private discharged his weapon into the crowd. The innkeeper took a mighty swing of his cudgel at the private, hitting him in the arm. Then he took aim at Preston narrowly missing his head and hit the captain in the arm instead.

Colin’s face paled, his stomach turned.  He swallowed his vomit. An eerie pause followed the first shot. To Colin, the pause felt like an eternity, but it was only a matter of seconds. After the pause, soldiers fired into the crowd. It wasn’t a disciplined volley. Preston never gave orders to fire.

                                                                   

“The volley into the crowd was more or less a ragged series of shots.  Eleven men were struck by the shots. Three died instantly, rope maker Samuel Gray, Mariner James Caldwell and sailor Crispus Attucks. Two others died shortly afterward.”

“You remember the names of the victims after all this time?” asked Grant.

“I cannot forget those names, General. They are forever etched in my memory,” Colin said with his head held down. “The mob moved away from the Custom House but continued to mill around the area. Captain Preston called for the remainder of the 29th Regiment to patrol the area. The crowd finally dispersed when acting Governor Hutchison promised an honest inquiry into the shooting.”

“We were awoken from our beds a little after midnight. Justices Richard Dumia and John Tudar handed the sheriff a warrant for the arrest of Preston and me as we were the officers on duty during the shootings. We were taken to the Town House where the justices interrogated us for over an hour,” Colin poured himself a glass of water. “Bookseller Knox and Wigmaker's Apprentice Gerrish both testified that I had little to do with the shooting and I was released. The justices were not interested in the cause of the altercation, just the ending. They turned a deaf ear when I told them that Mr. Gerrish came looking for a fight. The justices found there was sufficient evidence to charge Captain Preston with murder along with eight other soldiers in his charge. He was escorted to the jail where he spent the next seven months awaiting his trial.”

“I remember reading about that trial,” Grant said. “The defendants were defended by John Adams.”

Colin nodded. “That’s correct. He had an office near the stairs at the Town Office. I remember the trial and the time as if it were yesterday…”

Colin sat alone at a table in the far corner of The Green Dragon Inn listening to the overly drunk men at the table. It’s not that he intended to eavesdrop on the conversation. He had no other choice the men were obnoxiously boisterous. Colin was not in uniform. The mood in the tavern was anti-British. He would pay the consequences for not wearing his uniform, but frankly, he couldn’t care less. He needed time to think about the incident which the papers already called “The Boston Massacre.” There were thoughts he needed to sort out. He knew very well that he could be in the jail with Captain Preston. The townspeople wanted blood. It didn’t matter if the captain was innocent. He never gave the order to fire into the crowd. They set the trial date for October 24th at the Queen Street Courthouse. The date, a little over seven months away was set so Bostonians could have enough time to lose their furor. In the meantime, the captain and the eight soldiers would remain in jail.

“It is beyond my comprehension why a good patriot like John Adams would defend lobster-backed asses,” a boisterous slur came from the next table.

“It is indeed a travesty. James Forest should have looked for a Tory attorney to defend the red-coated apes. Why he chose, Adams is beyond my comprehension. I hear the merchant even threw in some theatrics to convince Adams to take the case.” The drunken man lifted his tankard, signaling for more beer.

“Theatrics?”

He leaned closer to his friend, slurring every word. “Forest burst into Adam’s office, tears flowing down his cheeks and begged for his help.”

Looking into his empty tankard, the man slurred, “I, for one will never step foot into Forest’s establishment again. As for Adams, well I fear the trial will spell doom for his career. Pity, he seemed like a competent attorney.”

“I believe you to be dead-on. From all accounts, he had a bright future ahead of him. He has given up his career. Future Patriots will look upon the name of John Adams with contempt if they remember the name at all.” He took another long pull from his tankard.

“The trial took place from October 24th thru the 30th. The main issue was whether Captain Preston gave the order to fire, which he steadfastly denied.”

“What about the other soldiers? Did they deny the order also?” asked James.

“It had been decided that the soldiers be tried separately. That trial was much more interesting. As for the captain’s trial, the prosecution produced witnesses saying the captain did indeed order his men to fire into the crowd. While Adams produced, witnesses that testified the captain did not order his men to shoot. In the end, the sequestered twelve men of the jury took only two hours to acquit the captain. I overheard one member say that they were tired of biscuits, cheese, and spiritless liqueur provided for them by the court. Other jury members said Mr. Adams had presented enough evidence to provide a reasonable doubt. The trial for the eight soldiers took place eight weeks later. John Adams defended them also.”

“James Forest was a merchant and a Tory. That means he supported the Crown. He is the one to persuade John Adams to represent the soldiers charged with the deaths of those killed during the altercation.”

“You mean the Boston Massacre?” James asked.

“History might have called it a massacre, but I was there, and it was hardly a massacre. Was it a tragedy, yes? Was it unavoidable, possibly? Were my soldiers provoked, yes?” Colin took another drink of water.

Colin placed his empty glass on the side table.

The December day was a cold, gray, and drab. The courtroom was full to the brim. British officers sat on one side of the room while the townspeople sat on the other side. Prosecuting attorney Samuel Quincy paced the floor with his hands clasped firmly behind his back. “Tell the court the conversation you overheard from Private Mathew Killroy. I do not need to remind you that the private has already been identified as the soldier that shot and killed Citizen John Gray.”

The witness, Samuel Hemmingway, stood before the judge and jury and cleared his throat. “I overheard the private tell another soldier that he would never miss an opportunity if he had one, to fire on the inhabitants and he had wanted to have the opportunity ever since he landed.”

“Thank you, Dr. Hemmingway. I have no further question. The witness is yours, Mr. Adams.” He tapped his fingers together.

Adams adjusted his coat and approached the witness. “Dr. Hemmingway, were you the same Dr. Hemmingway that was Patrick Carr’s surgeon?”

“I was.” Breaking the gaze, he bit his bottom lip.

“Would that be the very same Patrick Carr that died from wounds he sustained on the night of March 5th?” Adams gripped the edge of the desk and leaned toward him. “Tell me, Doctor, did Mr. Carr mention he was apprehensive of any danger on that night?”

The witness had rubbed his forehead before he continued. “He told me he was from Ireland and that he had frequently seen mobs and soldiers called to quell them. He said he had seen soldiers fire on the people of Ireland but had never seen them bear half so much abuse from the mob as on the night of March 5th before they fired into the crowd.”

“When had you the last conversation with him?” Mr. Adams moved closer to him. His face inches away from his.

“About four o’clock in the afternoon, proceeding the night on which he died. He mainly said he forgave the man, whoever he was. That shot him.” Dr. Hemmingway met his gaze. “He was satisfied he had no malice but had fired in self-defense.”

“Thank you. You may be seated doctor; the defense would like to call James Bailey.”

A well-dressed man stepped into the witness stand.

“You were there, but did not take part on that fateful night, correct Mr. Bailey?”

“Correct.”

Adams peered at the witness with his hand grasping his chin. “Could you tell the court how you perceived the crowd that night?”

Bailey faced the judge. “The crowd was an out-of-control gang of drunken hooligans looking for a fight.”

Adams paced the floor. “Did you observe the actions of this gang of hooligans, as you put it?”

Bailey scratched his ear and meekly said, “They pelted the soldiers with large chunks of ice and other objects.

“Anything else Mr. Bailey?” asked Adams.

Bailey squirmed in the chair. “I saw Crispus Attucks knock down Private Montgomery with a large stick.”

“Crispus Attucks,” Adams pointed to a soldier sitting at the defense table. “The victim struck Private Montgomery, the defendant, with a stick?”

“Yes, sir.”

Adams removed his glasses and cleaned them with his frilly handkerchief as he turned to face the jury. “Consider whether it had been a prudent resolution for them,” he pointed at the defendants, “or anybody in their situation to have stood still, to see if the mob would knock their brains out or not.” Returning to his desk, he said, “The defense rests. I will proceed to closing arguments if it so pleases the prosecution.”

“By all means, Mr. Adams, do continue.” Prosecuting Quincy stood and bowed.

“I will enlarge no more on the evidence, but submit it to you.-Facts—are stubborn things. And whatever may be our wishes, our inclinations, or the dictates of our passions. They cannot alter the state of facts and evidence. Nor is the law less stable than the fact. If an assault was made to endanger their lives, the law is clear. They had a right to kill in their defense. If it was not so severe as to endanger their lives, yet if they were assaulted at all, struck and abused by blows of any sort, by snowballs, oyster-shells, cinders, clubs, or sticks of any kind in consideration of those passions in our nature, which cannot be eradicated. To your candor and justice, I submit the prisoners and their cause.” Adams finished with a curt nod and returned to his seat.

After the closing arguments from the prosecution, Judge Trowbridge addressed the jury, “Malice is the grand criterion that distinguishes murder from all homicides, be clear of intent.”

Justice Oliver glanced at the papers before him, “I must bring up Patrick Carr’s dying statement. This Carr was not upon oath. It is true, but you will determine whether a man just stepping into eternity is not to be believed, especially in favor of a set of men to whom he lost his life.”

“It took the jury less than three hours to acquit six of the eight soldiers of all charges. The jury convicted Private Montgomery and Private Killroy of manslaughter. A few days later the courtroom was full once again.” Colin stood and stared out the window.

Justice Oliver glanced at the verdict. “Hugh Montgomery and Matthew Killroy you have been found guilty of manslaughter, is there any reason why the sentence of death should not be passed?”

“We invoke the benefit of clergy,” Adams said, knowing the plea would shift their punishment from prison to that of thumb branding.

“Very well, judgment shall be thumb branding,” Justice Oliver turned to the two soldiers, “From this day forth you will be branded as cowards and murderers. Mr. Adams, you must look at the punishment as the sheriff carries out the order. Prepare your clients to present their thumbs to Sherriff Greenleaf for the brand.” Justice Oliver banged his gavel. “Case is closed.”

“You met former President John Adams?” Sally asked with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Yes Sally, however, he had not yet been the president. There wasn’t the United States, and Mr. Adams’ extraordinary congress was still months from becoming history.”

“You amaze me, Colin,” Sally’s mother smiled. “My husband was an attorney before the war began, I wish he were here. He would have liked to listen to what you remember of that particular trial.”

“I never could understand why a man like Adams could defend British soldiers. His politics were well-known at the time,” James said.

Colin clapped his hands together. “I asked him the same thing when I met him in Philadelphia a few years later.”

“My good man,” John Adams said to the Colin sitting at the tavern’s table. “You ask why I did not hesitate to defend those soldiers back in ’70. I knew at the time that I would be open to criticism, jeopardize my legal career, or worse. I got anonymous threats on my life and the safety of my family. I have a sincere belief that every man deserves a decent defense. I had no other choice.” Adams stared at Colin. “You were there, in the uniform of a British officer? Were you not?”

“You are mistaken,” Colin replied. “The trial was years ago. Congress is in Philadelphia and has the responsibility for a far more formidable task than reminiscing over a trial.”

Adams raised an eyebrow. “Sir, I am seldom mistaken. I have noticed you have gained the ear of Doctor Franklin. There have been rumors that Ben has asked you to be his second for the upcoming Congress. These are trying times. We must proceed with level heads and tongues that do not wag. I, for one, will not stand for a liar amongst our ranks. Our necks will soon be targets for the Crown’s noose. A British spy will not be taken kindly.” Adams stood before Colin’s table clutching the sides, his face turning red.

Colin cleared his throat, “Please forgive me, Mr. Adams.  I attended the trial, and yes, I was a British officer. I have changed my allegiance. I am now behind your cause.”

“My cause?” asked Adams surprised.

“Independence, sir.”

Adams looked as if Colin had slapped him with a brick. He released the table, turned away, and then turned to face Colin again. In a hushed voice, he said, “I do intend to ask the upcoming Congress to press for independence, but this is not the place or time to discuss such a thing. The Crown has ears, even in Philadelphia. I would like to stay and discuss your change of heart, but I am already late for a meeting with Mr. Hancock,” Adams said as he stood to leave. “By the by, Captain, you look as I remember. I agree with Franklin. Your story might be worth the time. Goodnight, Captain.”