3: "Clean My Sh*t House!" The Boston Massacre

[Music] It's the night of March 5th, 1770. Captain Thomas Preston and just over half a dozen of his red clad troops charged through the snow-covered streets of Boston. "Make way!" The Danielle at Innocent Bostonians between them and the Custom House over on King Street. Upon arriving, they find a group of people, perhaps 30, 40 at most, mostly lads even, and immediately accost them. Moonlight glistens on the soldiers bayonets as they thrust their menacing weapons at these youngsters. Pricked in several places, the lads naturally grow clamorous. They answer this violence with the only thing they have on hand on a biting cold night in Boston. Snowballs. But the well-armed menacing captain won't abide this small, far from violent response. On this, he commands his soldiers to fire, and as more snowballs keep coming, the Irish-born captain exclaims, "Damn you! Fire! Be the consequences what you will!" The fire is one brave fellow, manages to strike down a red coat gun, and graze the captain's head with a club. Three Bostonians lie dead. Two gasped for life. If anyone tries to help the wounded, the soldiers poke at them with their bayonets. Okay, that's one take. Specifically, one based on the Boston Gazette and Country Journal. But let's get another version. This time, based on a pamphlet called, a fair account of the late unhappy disturbance in Boston. Let's try that again. It's the night of March 5, 1770. Captain Thomas Preston and seven of his faithful soldiers make their way through the snow-covered streets of Boston. They're heading to the Custom House on King Street to save private queue white. A large crowd of people have insulted, accosted, impressed this lone brave Sentinel of the night right up to the Custom House door, and now, the captain and his men will risk their own lives for his. "I hope you do not intend this, I'll fire upon the inhabitants." One man, Mr. Palms, asks Thomas Preston as his men take formation before there be leagard brother and arms. "By no means." The concerned Irish commander quickly answers. But this massive crowd won't let up. They continue to insult and defy this party of soldiers in the same manner as they had the single Sentinel, pelting them with sticks and ice chunks, calling out to them, "Damn you, you rascals, fire! You dare not fire! Fire and be damned!" To all of this, the captain only responds by requesting that they quiet down and disperse. If they don't, he warns, this soldier's will be obliged to fire upon them. But his humane endeavors are to no purpose. The crowd of men and men continue to attack, striking the beautiful soldiers with clubs and jagged hard chunks of ice, all while taunting them to fire, screaming, "Fire, fire and be damned!" Finally, the projectile strikes one soldier so hard, he slips on the icy ground and falls. It's after his gun goes off that the other confused, terrified soldiers panic and fire. In the moment of shock that follows, Thomas Preston leaps in front of his men. "Damn you rascals!" "He laments. What did you fire for?" Three men are dead and two more lying, mortally wounded in the moonlight. Yet the accounts to come, like these two, will differ greatly. So who's right? Who's lying? Did the soldiers merely defend themselves or perpetrate a massacre? These are the questions a jury must answer, a jury of new Englanders. [Music] Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you the story. [Music] The Boston Massacre. That, or the unhappy disturbance in Boston, as the pamphlet puts it, is our subject today. Trying to make sense of it will begin with why the soldiers are even in Boston in the first place. To that end, I'll start by telling you about Parliament's second attempt to tax the American colonies in the wake of the Seven Years War, the Townsend Acts. We'll see how these acts lead to defiance and even a riot that contributes to Boston's military occupation. But that background will then follow the rising tension and ongoing fights building up to the shooting, which will then revisit in far greater detail, and from both sides, of course. Once we've done all that, we'll take note of the evolving legacy of one of the most famous men killed in the shooting, an African-American named Crispus Attics. Finally, we'll finish up by finding out what a new England jury makes of these British soldiers' actions. Perhaps the soldier's lawyers, including a young lawyer named John Adams, can come through. Ready? Good. Let's head back a few years and do this. Rewind. It's 1767 and time for Parliament's second major attempt at taxation in colonial America. The Townsend Acts. See, Parliament may have repealed the sugar and standbacks, but it's not like Britain's financial troubles ended. It's still expensive to run the colonies and all that new territory gained in the Seven Years' War. So what can Parliament do? Well, it's as the saying goes. If at first you don't succeed, tax tax again. Yeah, I think that's how it goes, right? Well, enter our new Chancellor of the X Checker, Charles Townsend. Ah, yes, we met Charles, or Champagne Charlie, in the last episode, as he addressed Parliament, speaking in favor of the Stamp Act and be moaning colonial ingratitude. He pushes a few acts through Parliament meant to show America who's boss, particularly when it comes to taxes. I'll save one of these acts for the next episode, but here are three of them. First, his New York Restraining Act is intended to punish this colony's legislature for not complying with the 1765 Coordering Act. It never takes effect, but still, this irks New Yorkers. Second, since Parliament sees Boston as America's Moss Isle, Townsend's commissioners of Customs Act establishes a board of customs in this colonial hive of scum and villainy, and further acts to reinforce the collection of duties that we'll follow later. Finally, we have taxation. The Townsend Revenue Act should raise about 40,000 pounds per year to pay the salaries of royal officials in the colonies by placing duties on lead, painters' colors, five different types of glass, all sorts of different kinds of paper, and, of course, tea. Now, that amount itself is token, but that's fine. More revenue can come later. For now, Charles is more concerned with demonstrating that Parliament can and will tax the colonies. I mean, despite financial needs, it can't really be about the money considering that his indemnity act is lowering the taxes on tea in England. So clearly, this is more a show of power over the colonies. Now, why would Charles Townsend think he can get away with taxing some of the same goods as the first failed attempt at taxation since the seven years war? Well, as we talked about in episode two, Parliament thinks Americans will be okay with it because this is an external tax, as in a duty on imports. Huge mistake. Americans are divided in their response, but some call for a boycott of British goods. Massachusetts' House of Representatives issues a circular letter. While John Dickinson is making a name for himself by writing a pamphlet, letters from a farmer in Pennsylvania, which denounces any taxes by Parliament, internal or external, as unconstitutional. Meanwhile, the external nature of these taxes means merchants like John Hancock feel the steam as they ship goods into the Americas. And John's not taking that lightly. Now, you probably know my man, John. He's the guy who will later sign his name on the Declaration of Independence so big, Legend will claim he did so to make sure King George could read it without his spectacles. That's apocryphal, though. Well, his reason for doing so is, his signature will be massive. That's true. He'll also serve as the president of the Continental Congress, become a major general during the Revolutionary War, and serve as Massachusetts' first state governor, getting reelected over and over. But that's ahead. Right now, John has to settle for merely having a degree from Harvard serving in the Massachusetts' House of Representatives and being Boston's ridiculously popular, immaculately dressed, good-looking, eligible bachelor. Oh, he's also the city's richest resident. John runs a massive merchant empire that he inherited upon the death of his uncle who raised him, raised him because John's own mother couldn't afford to do so after his father died when John was just a boy. Hold up. Good-looking, eligible bachelor with a massive fortune who's going to throw in with the vigilante sons of Liberty and has a dead parent situation. You know what? I just realized John Hancock is colonial Batman. Anyhow, like many Boston merchants, John isn't okay with absorbing these taxes. Although never proven in a court of law to have smuggled goods, chances are he is a fan of skimping on duties, like so many other Boston merchants. Like his uncle was, God rest his soul. And John's been making his opposition to the town's syntax known loudly ever since they went in the play last year. He's also annoyed with the new customs commissioners, fresh in from Britain. These fellas think they can get by Austin's merchants to pay up on the Townsend duties. We'll screw that. John says he isn't even going to permit them on his ships. And he stands by that on April 9th, 1768, the day after one of his ships, a brig called the Lydia, tied up at Hancock Wharf. Yeah, Hancock Wharf. He owns a freaking Wharf. I told you he's a big deal. John Hancock doesn't get out of bed in the morning for participation trophies, but back to the Lydia. That night, customs agent Owen Richards, suspecting John a smuggler, sneaks on board to check out the ship's hold. And he does so without a proper warrant. When he gets below deck, he finds John with a group of eight or so men, including the Hancock family slave, Kato, waiting for him. Owen must have cracked his bridges at that site. They take Owen back up on deck. Two of the men seize and hold the customs agent aloft in the cool night's air, while John asks the suspected customs agent, "Do you want to search the vessel?" "Wait, let me do that in my best Batman voice." "Do you want to search the vessel?" Owen swears he doesn't. "I'm sure he got lost, you know? Just wandered onto the ship." Well, Owen's learned his lesson and John lets him go. As this story gets around town, it only makes the already insanely popular, sexy, elected legislator, and a wealthiest man in Boston that is John Hancock. That much more amazing than the eyes of his fellow Bostonians. He's a hero. But the beef between John and the customs commissioners is just getting started. A month after this incident on May 9th, another of John's ships returns to Boston. It's a small slupe called the Liberty, and given that it's coming from the Portuguese island of Madera, you'd be forgiven for assuming its hole is filled with America's favorite beverage. Madera wine. After all, that's what the customs agents think. But with the sun setting as the Liberty arrives, our beautiful agents decide against taking inventory in the dark. Hey, it's the 18th century. It's not like these guys have smartphones with built-in flashlights. They'll take care of it tomorrow when they can see well and do it properly. The next morning, the agents get to it. They find the Liberty contains a mere 25 casks of wine. That's less than one-fourth of the slupe's full capacity. I can picture the agents standing on the wharf, the Liberty bobbing in the waters of Hancock Wharf as their blood boils. It's hard to believe a ship would make a transatlantic voyage with a nearly empty hole, especially a ship owned by a businessman as brilliant as John. He must have had the majority of its goods unloaded in the dark of night they decide, but what can they do? They have no proof. John pays the duties for the mere 25 casks and walks free. Oh, but they'll get him. In preparation for the next round, they request naval support, which results in the 50 guns ship of the line HMS Romney coming to Boston. And in case you aren't intimately familiar with 18th century warships, this is a massive man of war. In fact, it's the biggest British warship in the Americas. Now, time out. You can see how this is not going to help the relationship between the Crown and Boston, right? These customs agents may see themselves as just getting the muscle needed to enforce the law, but Bostonians only see a huge man of war hanging around their harbor, ready to enforce more unconstitutional taxation with cannons. Oh, man. And next month, that muscle is going to flex. Hard. It's now June 10th, 1768, and the customs agents are ready to act. One of them is now claiming that, contrary to his prior report, he was forcibly detained on the liberty for three hours on the night it tied up at the warf. And while locked up, he heard, quote, "A noise as of many people upon deck at work, hoisting out goods," closed quote. Furthermore, while it's common practice for merchants to load their ships prior to getting permits, this technically means they lack a necessary permit for a brief moment. Well, now loaded with whale oil and tarfer export, the liberty is in that very state. And the customs agents are going to take advantage of that. Time to call in the big guns and have the Romney tow John Hancock's ship for this permanent violation. But as men from the Romney prepare the liberty for towing that evening, Bostonians passing by take notice. From their perspective, they aren't about to let these oppressive customs agents or that evil gang pressing captain of the Romney tow an American ship, much less one belonging to local legend John Hancock. The crowd quickly forms on the wharf and confronts the British sailors. Armed Marines are on hand and at the ready. "You would better let the vessel lie at the wharf," calls out Daniel Malcolm, himself a ship's captain who's had some run-ins with the customs commissioners. "No, damn you, cast her off," replies the comptroller, Benjamin Hallowell. "I'll split the brains of any man that offers to riva fast or stop the vessel." Screams the master of the HMS Romney at the Bostonians. He then tells the Marines to fire. "What rascal is that? Who dares to tell the Marines to fire?" The owner has been sent for. "You would better let the vessel lie at the wharf till he comes down." calls out a voice somewhere from the sea of Bostonians present. "No, she shall go," the comptroller rejoins. "Kill the damned scoundrel," the master pipes in again. "We will throw the people from the Romney overboard," Daniel Malcolm answers. "By God, she shall go!" the master yells, also overcome by rage. "Train to the Marines again." He adds, "Why don't you fire?" With that, they cut the ropes holding Liberty at the wharf, drive the Bostonians at a cum aboard, off its stack, and the Romney and Toes' John ship away. The customs commissioners have shown their strength, the crown strength. They also just confirm Boston's greatest fears and unleashed its rage. And as customs collector Joseph Harrison, his 18-year-old son, the comptroller Benjamin Hallowell, walked from the wharf back to town. They get a taste of that rage starting around 7pm. Here's how Joseph will later recount the start of this horrific night and a letter to the Marquilla Rocking Hill. We had scarce got into the street before we were pursued by the mob, which by this time was increased to a great multitude. The onset was begun by throwing dirt at me, which was presently succeeded by volleys of stunges, brick bats, sticks, or anything that came to hand. In this manner, I run the gauntlet near 200 yards. My poor son, following behind, endeavouring to shelter his father, I receiving the strokes of many of the stones thrown at him. Till at length, he became equally an object of resentment, was knocked down, and then laid hold of by the legs, arms, and hair of his head. And in that manner, dragged along the kennel in a most barbarous and cruel manner, till a few compassionate people, happening to see him in that distress, formed a resolution of attempting to rescue him out of the hands of the mob, which with much difficulty they affected and got him into a house. About this time, I received a violent blow on the breast. If I had fallen, I should never have gotten up again. The people to all appearances being determined on blood and murder. Joseph lives. Shortly after receiving this hard blow to the chest, some unnamed good smarritan saves his life by taking advantage of the mob's confusion and disagreement to lead the customs collector down another street to safety. Hiding at a friend's house, Joseph receives news an hour later that his son is OK. Brews and wounded, but OK. As for the comptroller, he received two bad contusions on his cheek and the back of his head. But while they might live, their personal property won't fare so well. Having swollen to what Joseph calls a "prudigious number," the mob goes to the comptroller's home and smashes a few windowpins. The livid Bostonians then headed Joseph's home, as well as that of the inspector general of the customs. They vandalized both of these houses in same manner as well. And still, these angered Bostonians aren't done. Joseph tells us that the mob now finds a new target, his sailboat. They make their way down to the water and harnessing their combined manpower, drag the custom collectors fine, see where the piece of craftsmanship across the rough roads of Boston. I can imagine the vessel's holes, splintering and cracking as the sounds of its suffering would are all but drowned out by the laughter, jokes, and howls of the crowd. Finally, they get to the famous Liberty Tree. This is the same tree where the Stamp Act effigies discussed in episode two were strung up. And now, this favorite gathering point for the sons of Liberty becomes an impromptu court for the sailboat. They condemn the boat to death, then drag it into the Boston common and burn it to ashes. Joseph is heartbroken. He laments, "The destruction of this boat, I must own, is a very sensible mortification. She being a celebrated hear for swift sailing as Bay-Malton is in England." After this, things calm down and the people disperse. This riot, called the Liberty Riot, owing to its start with the towing of John Hancock's ship, the Liberty, is finally over. If you ever make your way to the Boston Commons and enjoy a serene walk around the large grassy area in the middle of an otherwise densely packed city, just imagine this boat and golden flames in the dark of night, delighting the city's inhabitants. Maybe this act of arson occurred close to where some statue will later stand in the common. Maybe they went out to the common's edge to wear the public garden adjoined it today. Perhaps the boat medits in not too far from the public garden sculpture memorializing the children's book Make Way for Ducklings. Well, toward the end of his letter to the marquee, Joseph gives his opinion of the situation in Boston. To quote him once more, "I fear the worst is not over. The people are distracted and liberty mad, and the enthusiasm is spreading fast over the colonies, and if some prudent, judicious, and effectual measures are not immediately taken by the ministry at home to prevent it, I shall not be surprised if something like a general rising of the people should take place." The traumatized customs collector isn't the only one who thinks Boston is liberty mad. After this, Massachusetts governor Francis Bernard wants the commander-in-chief of British forces in the Americas, Thomas Gage, to station troops in Boston. But the governor in general are going to go the rounds on this issue. Here's why. Remember that American colonists are upset because they contend Britain is violating their constitutional rights as British subjects. These include taxation without representation, trial without a jury, or, as could be argued, if General Thomas Gage just went up and made Boston his new home, keeping soldiers around during peacetime. I mean, the only thing more British than the belief that a standing army, Ministers Freedom, might be Earl Grey T. Okay, I'm kidding, the Earl Grey brand doesn't exist yet. But in all seriousness, for troops to enter Boston while respecting British rights and customs, a local magistrate will have to invite them. Now the governor could settle the issue by inviting the army, but he fears drawing Bostonian iron upon himself and doing so. That's why Governor Bernard would love it if General Gage would just bring his troops to Boston without a civilian government invitation. But see, Gage knows better. So he keeps insisting on an invite. Well, while this general versus governor standoff helps exemplify Boston's opposition to the presence of these troops, it proves to be an on issue. Turns out that the Secretary of State for the colonies, the Earl of Hillsboro, is also alarmed at the state of affairs in Boston. Not only does its inhabitants not play nice with the town's index, but they got exceptionally rowdy celebrating the anniversary of the Stamp Acts repeal last March. As such, he has already sent a letter to General Gage asking that military forces go to this rebellious city. It just takes so long for word to get from one side of the Atlantic to the other in the 18th century, the governor and general had no idea such orders were already en route. Still, the Liberty riot hasn't helped. It results in an even greater occupying force heading to Boston. On October 1, 1768, the first several hundred soldiers arrive in Boston. With five in drum, they disembark from their menacing warships at Long Wharf, then march down Keem Street. The crown and its customs agents see them as peacekeepers. But many Bostonians, particularly the sons of Liberty, see them as oppressors here to enforce Parliament's abuses of their rights. As the troops prepare to sleep at Fanuel Hall, or make camp at the Boston Common, they and the Bostonians alike are filled with this trust and dread. From opposite sides, both fear this occupation will lead to violence, to blood, to death, and to the will. The first two regiments of foot in Boston, the 14th and the 29th, came from Halifax. The crown sends two more, the 64th and the 65th regiments from Ireland, when it gets word of the more recent Liberty riot. These, plus a detachment from the royal regiment of artillery, will add up to about 2,000 soldiers in a city of roughly 15,000 civilians. So of course, the presence of these soldiers will be felt. They just upped Boston's population by over 10%. Thus begins the military occupation that leads to the Boston massacre. T-minus 17 months in counting. Shall we set the stage? First, let's meet the troops. These aren't what behind the ears new recruits. Now, in these days, the British military basically brings on new troops when there's a war to fight. That means these guys are veterans. Experience to soldiers. Not the type to get scared to make stupid early career mistakes. You get my drift? Keeping that in mind, let's also mention the 1714 riot act. This law controls how soldiers serving in a policing function, as is the case here in Boston, have to handle themselves when dealing with groups. See, before this law, it was legal for soldiers to break up a violent mob by any means. They could even shoot at them. The purpose of the riot act was to enable soldiers to disperse crowds before they got out of hand, though. First, the soldiers had to read the actual text of the law to the forming mob. At this point, the mob had one hour to take off. Anyone who stuck around after that hour was now a criminal, whether or not they had done anything illegal or violent. It no longer mattered. The soldiers were free to act. But, as can happen, the court's interpretation of the text changed things a bit. Instead of enabling soldiers in policing roles, it bound them. As of 1765, soldiers were told not to get physical with any crowd unless a civil magistrate gave his blessing first. Otherwise, the soldiers could easily end up in court themselves trying to prove their very lives were in danger, that they had acted in self-defense. If, in this scenario, they were found guilty, they could still hope for a royal pardon. But that wasn't a guarantee. This is why many of the leaders of the fourth regiments in Boston feel like they are walking on eggshells. Here they are supposed to keep the peace and reign in Bostonian violence, but they can't do much of anything without a magistrate's okay. And few leaders in Boston will ever give that to them. They know that. And perhaps worse, the Bostonians know it. Things go well enough at first. There are scuffles and incidents between the two sides here and there, but these are sufficiently minimal that, by summer 1769, the crown sees fit to remove some troops and ultimately halves the occupying forces numbers. Still, as the first anniversary of the red coat occupation creeps up, the Bostonians are growing weary of the empowered customs agents. Almost as weary as they are of seen armed soldiers occupying their streets. They know the free people of Britain are not meant to live under occupation. The tension is building, feuds are festering, and the scuffles are increasing. I'll give you an example. Remember our buddy James Otis? Boston's assemblyman from episode two wrote a pamphlet decrying the stamp act and calling for the extension of civil rights African Americans? Well, the evening of September 5th, 1769, nearly a full year into Boston's occupation. James heads to the British coffee house, looking for a customs commissioner with whom he's had a bit of a public spat. A Mr. John Robinson. When the revenue officer arrives, James demands they step outside for a gentleman's satisfaction. Not a duel to the death, but a fight with their fists. John answers by taking the Bostonian by the nose, which is a very serious insult in the 18th century akin to looking the bird in our day. The fight starts then and there and the pub, but by the time it's over, they've spilled out into the streets and others have joined in. Not invited to intervene by a magistrate. Perhaps like the very instigator of this bra, James Otis. The soldiers do nothing. Such conflicts continue through the final months of 1769. They increase in early 1770. But things don't get serious until February. That's when one particular confrontation takes the tension of this now nearly 17 month long occupation to a whole new level. It's February 22, 1770. A group of boys, likely teenagers, are gathered in front of the off-less lilies north in shop. They have a sign that labels the dry goods retailer as an "importer," which is to say, one who isn't falling in line with the non-importation tactics patriots have now embraced against the Townsend Acts. Ebenezer Richardson notices. As a fellow loyalist, whose work with the customs office has made him a likewise unpopular figure, Ebenezer goes up to the group and tries to take their sign. The youth now turn their attention to him. Ebenezer retreats back to his house, but the boys and a growing crowd of men follow. They start throwing stones. The rock shatter windows and hit Ebenezer, his wife, and one daughter, as a man outside yells. "I'm out you damn son of a bitch. I'll have your heart out. You'll live her out." Ebenezer is terrified and live it. Grabbs his gun and shoots into the crowd. It was a terrible decision. He fired bird-shot, which, if from a sufficient distance, is more likely to injure than kill a person, but approves lethal for the 11 or 12-year-old boy, Christopher Sider. The youth dies within hours. Depending on how you define it, he's the first life lost in this conflict that will later evolve into a movement for American independence. The funeral is four days later, on February 26th, 1770, and it draws massive crowds. Literally thousands of Bostonians come to pay their respects, as the casket containing Christopher's remains is carried publicly through the city's streets. Things have never been so tense between the Bostonians and the red coats as they are after the funeral. Groups of Bostonians, perhaps gangs, is a better word, wander about the city the next few nights just hoping for a fight. Fast forward just a few days to Friday, March 2, 1770. One wrong word can start a fight in the current atmosphere, but poorly paid foot soldiers still like to find work when they're off duty. Apparently they aren't getting rich serving in the British military. Go figure. Anyhow, three soldiers head down, as they often do to handcock wharf with hopes of making a little extra cash. So they're initially heartened when rope makers Samuel Gray calls out to them. And I'm quoting here, "Soldier, will you work?" "Yes." One of them responds, "Then go and clean my s*** house." Samuel hollers back, laughing. Some of the sources soften Samuel's language. I've also read Little House, and in another source, Necessary House, which I absolutely recommend you start using. Necessary is so well put. Joking aside, whatever his exact wording, most other historians who quote this incident seem to prefer the swearing version. I do too, not because I want to shock you, but because I want you to grasp the potency of the insult. I think the other versions are a bit lost in translation on 21st century years. Regardless of his exact wording, though, embossed in present political climate, they were fighting words. Swearing he'll have satisfaction. The soldier takes a swing at Samuel. But as fists begin to fly, Samuel and his other rope makers can quickly win the scrap. So the soldiers go back to the barracks for a few reinforcements. They return to the wharf for a bigger scrap. Three soldiers become eight, then thirty, then forty, and according to some sources, still more. We have to assume the rope makers are about equal number. After all, they just keep holding their own. That means as many as a hundred men are fighting in this massive club-wielding melee. Only the intervention of Samuel's employer, Mr. John Gray, who may or may not be related to the younger rope maker, brings Friday's brawl at Hancock Wharf to an end. We make it through Saturday without a major incident. Sunday is fine too. After all, there's no fighting on the Puritan Sabbath. But after 17 months of occupation, 17 months of troops feeling disrespected and endangered, and of Bostonians feeling their rights as British subjects trampled by these soldiers' very presence. 17 months of anger, tension, fighting, the recent death of Little Christopher Sider and now is up to 100 men brawl last Friday. Everybody knows. Things are going down tomorrow. 17 months of anger, tension, fighting, the recent death of the people, Welcome to Monday, March 5, 1770, the day of the Boston Massacre. I gave you a little taste of the disparity in how this shooting is remembered in the opening of the episode. Now let's go deeper with these disparate narratives of what's taking place tonight. I'm going to keep this in story mode, but want you to know I am quoting or paraphrasing actual primary sources in more modern 21st century English. I'll start with a patriot version, which the unabashedly patriot supporting newspaper, the Boston Gazette and Country Journal, will publish one week after tonight. Then I'll give you a loyalist version, which primarily comes from the pamphlet, a fair account of the late unhappy disturbance in Boston. As you'll see, they differ greatly in their framing, omissions, and even some of the claimed facts. But let me add this, you can find more sources and versions if this interests you. There is no shortage of testimony for what takes place under the quarter moon tonight. Too bad many of those testimonies conflict at various points. It may well be that no other moment in human history is so well documented and yet remains such a mystery as the Boston Massacre, simply because the accounts are that different. Okay, no further ado, here's a pro-patriot Boston Gazette-based version. It's the evening of Monday, March 5th. Several soldiers of the 29th regiment parade through the streets with their cutlaces drawn and bayonets fixed, abusing and wounding a number of Bostonians. Just after 9pm, two youths, Edward Archbald and William Merchant, passed through a narrow alley, coming upon a soldier with a massive broadsword. A mean-looking man armed with a cudgel is keeping the soldier company. Little Edward tells William to be careful, and on that, the soldier strikes Edward on the arm, then pushes William and pierces his clothes, raising the boy's skin. William then hits the soldier with a stick. The cudgel-bearing man goes and gets two other soldiers. One armed with a pair of tongs, the other with a shovel. As the man with the tongs begins hitting Edward, some other boys hear the noise and come to help fight off the soldiers. One boy, named John Higgs, knocks the tong-wielding soldier to the ground. These brave youths then chase the soldiers all the way to their barracks. Once armed, though, other soldiers come out, and in less than a minute, there are 10 or 12 red coats, all armed with cutlaces, clubs and bayonets. They go to attack the unarmed boys, but the youths quickly run off. At this point, Samuel Atwood, who has also heard the noise, comes to see what's the matter. Finding the dozen or so armed soldiers, he asks them, "Do you intend to murder the people?" "Yes, by God." "Root and branch," they answer. And with that, the soldiers strike him with clubs, particularly on the left shoulder. Unarmed, Mr. Atwood retreats and soon comes upon two officers. "Gelman, what is the matter?" Mr. Atwood asks. "You'll see buying buy." They say. The soldiers then head to the square, asking, "Where are the brothers? Where are the cowards?" Seeing one of the boys, the soldier yells out, "Damn them, here is one of them." A man with a drawn sword and cane stands ready to protect the boy, though. So the soldiers pass and let him be. The red coats next make their way to King Street, and attack a single unarmed person. They then go down Cornhill Street, insulting everyone in their path, chasing people to their doors. By this point, a group of 30 or 40 people, mostly lads, have gathered in King Street. And now, Captain Preston leading a party of soldiers with charged bayonets from the main guard, comes onto the scene. "Make way!" he and his soldiers exclaim. Captain Preston and his men take their place by the custom house and continue to push and drive the people off, poking and pricking them in several places. In response to the red coats of bayonet violence, the unarmed people defend themselves by throwing snowballs. On this, the Captain commands his men to fire. As the lads continue throwing their snowballs, Captain Preston exclaims, "Damn you fire! Be the consequences what it will!" One soldier fires, a boss demand with a cudgel meets the aggression by hitting the soldier, knocking the rifle from his hands. The boss stoning then takes a swing at the captain's head. Our hero mostly misses his target, only knocking off the captain's hat, but still landing the blow heavily on his own. The soldiers continue to fire. Seven, eight, some say 11 shots are discharged. As the soldiers shoot, three men die on the spot. One is Samuel Gray, shot into his head and rips off a large portion of his skull. Another is Chris Busaddix. The soldier shot him twice in the chest, one goring his lungs, the other destroying his liver. James Caldwell also dies there. Shot twice in the back. Samuel Maverick, a promising youth of 17 years of age, son of the widow Maverick, receives a mortal wound. As the blood of our fellow citizens runs like water through King Street, he dies the next morning. I'm going to break away from the Boston Gazette now. It only names four deaths because the fifth Patrick Carr has not yet died of his wounds when this article goes to press. Now, I say this as the proud descendant of Patriots, including at least one American revolutionary war veteran, you can see how ridiculous some of this is, right? Why on earth would these soldiers take off on some sort of unprovoked orgy of violence? Did you notice how every Bostonian seems to be described as a boy or a lad? So no adults really. This whole scene is a bunch of professional soldiers who want to kill snowball throwing children. It's like an early draft of Stephen King's it before he realized a clan would be scarier than soldiers. I have more analysis, but let's get to the loyalist version first, then talk about them both. Here we go with a very different round two. Anyone who's spoken with those who have visited Boston lately know the King's troops have had a terrible time ever since they arrived in 1768. The sons of Liberty, who form a great majority of the Bostonians, deny Parliament's authority to impose duties, be persecute their own countrymen who merely have a different opinion than them. The King's troops were only sent there to preserve public peace. And now, for acting in compliance with what they took to be their duty to the public and the crown, these soldiers sent victims of the fury of a deluded populace. Ever since 1768, the sons of Liberty have treated them with a degree of cruelty that could not have been justified toward prisoners of war of our greatest enemy. For two long years, the King's soldiers have been mistreated. So I do not think it can be inferred from their conduct on the 5th of March, or as the Boston narrative calls it, the horrid massacre that they were wrong. The King's soldiers only responded to the natural desire of defending themselves, and the sense of duty incumbent upon them in that unhappy moment to repudiate the King's troops. heel forced by force in order to defend a sentinel's post, then under attack by at least 100 people armed with bludgeon sticks and cutlaces. The circumstances of this unfortunate affair, and of the previous quarrel with the rope-makers, which gave rise to it, seemed to have been as follows. Hey, quick note, I'm going to skip the pamphlets account of the brawl with the rope-makers for the sake of time, but let me point out that in this 23-page long account, the brawl alone makes up roughly 5 pages. As you can see from all of this background of two years worth of poor treatment plus the rope-makers bit, this pamphlet is emphasizing long-term mistreatment of the King's soldiers. I'm now jumping to page 14 of my semi-verbated retelling of the pamphlet. It's Monday, the 5th of March. By 3 in the afternoon, some 300 people have gathered at the Liberty Tree. Their armed with sticks and clubs to beat the soldiers. As the sun sets and the night comes on, around 7 pm, Mr. John Gillespie sees more Bostonians, maybe 40 to 50, walking the streets and groups of 3 to 6 men. They're armed with clubs. By 8 pm, Sergeant Major William Davies sees a large number of Bostonians, some with firearms, others with cutlaces and bludgeons, have a mass in the north end. We'll do for those rascals the officers and soldiers this night. The North End crowd explains. The Sergeant Major notices even more people gathered in the marketplace. We'll murder the first officer or soldier we should meet. "Huzaa, huzaa, huzaa!" They cry out. "Now for the bloody back rascals." Some yell. "Let us attack the main guard." Say others, and still more proposed taking on the barracks. "Away to the rope walk," respond others. Suddenly, the mob divides into three divisions of roughly 100 men each. Just as the bells begin to ring. The Sergeant Major heads to a friend's house to change his clothes. All the while, he hears more Bostonians excitedly announcing their intention to harm soldiers. "Murder, kill all the dogs, but we will have no commissioners nor soldiers in Boston and damn the scoundrel that first ordered them here. We will soon rid the town of them all." It's now near 9 pm. Thomas Lockhead reports seeing a crowd that has been at the custom house for over two hours, and they are closing in on the single century on duty there. They are pelting him with snowballs and pieces of ice. "Gentlemen, I beg you will let me alone and go away from my post. For if you do not, you must take the consequences." The century cries out. "The people led up, but now or later, Thomas Lockhead passes by the same spot. Now the people have sticks, clubs. They surround the century, throwing large pieces of ice and sticks at him. He retreats to the custom house doors. Finally, pushed to this point, he loads his musket that has no intention of shooting. The century only hopes his loading will scare the people off. Instead, they defiantly scream in his face. "Fire, fire, and be damned!" Bravely, the century informs the people that if they touch him, if they attack his post, he will be bound to fire. The mob remains undeterred. No other options remaining. The century pounds on the custom house door for assistance. In a few minutes, Captain Preston, at the head of a dozen soldiers, arrives to help. With bayonets fixed, they face the mob to defend the sentencing. Mr. Richard Palms then asks Captain Preston if his men's guns are loaded. "Yes, with powder and ball," answers the captain. "I hope you do not intend they shall fire upon the inhabitants." replies Mr. Palms. "By no means," responds the captain. His answer is underscored by his purposeful choice to stand in front of his men's loaded guns. The mob carries on throwing more sticks, more balls of ice at the whole group of soldiers. "Damn you, you rascals! Fire! You dare not fire! Fire and be damned!" The Bostonians cry, as Captain Preston warns, it besieges them to disperse. Finally, someone in the mob throws a large stick, or piece of ice that hits a grenadier on the right side of the group of soldiers. That blow is so severe, he staggers. Both he and the soldier next to him fire their guns without orders from their captain. Soon, the rest of the soldiers do the same. Three men lie dead. Captain Preston springs to his feet. "Damn you, rascals! What did you fire for?" The yells at his men, striking the gun of one of his men who was in the process of reloading. His men feel confounded. But they listen. No one fires again. Wow. These two tales are supposedly based on eyewitness accounts of the same thing. Yet the Patriot version has malicious, evil soldiers attacking 30-40 rather innocent boys. While this version is hardly any more believable than the first, as it turns Boston into a city overrun with blood-thirsty villains, out to murder the beautiful soldiers who never caved at any human failings. Conveniently, the soldiers of the model of discipline and duty only firing to save their own lives. It all makes for a good legal justification despite the Riot Act. Both also put our attention on the larger political climate. Neither account seems concerned with the squabble between the wig maker apprentice, Edward Garrick, or Garrish, we aren't sure of his last name, and the lone custom house century, private hue white, that first lead to a crowd forming there. But I suppose that's fair enough. I'd argue their ridiculous spat only fanned into what it did because of the larger issues. Okay, we need to find out how the court will rule for these red coats, but first, some pertinent details on one of its victims whose interpretation will evolve over the centuries. A sailor by profession, Chrisbus was also the son of a Wampanoag Native American mother and an enslaved African-American father. We really don't know many details beyond this, but Chrisbus becomes important for abolitionists and for Boston's early 19th century pre-civil war African-American residents. They'll point out that one of the first to die in the struggle for independence and liberty from Britain was an African-American. I'm sure you can see how that would be important in the fight to end slavery. In fact, it's interesting to see how Chrisbus appears in the bottom-left corner of Paul Revere's engraving of the Boston massacre. But in John Buford's 1856 depiction, you know, just a few years before the start of the Civil War, Chrisbus is front and center. Chrisbus is reimagined in the 20th and 21st century as well. Unless you're living under a rock, you are well aware that in the United States today, we, as a nation, have had a few disagreements about police actions, overreach, and particularly whether race is a factor in leading to the targeting of African-Americans. Regardless of how you personally feel about these issues and are present, I'm sure you can see how this question is once again reinventing the image of Chrisbus addicts. After all, what is the Boston massacre if not America's first confusing policing action with conflicting stories? But thankfully, when we have such run-ins today, at least we have confidence that our news outlets and elected officials are doing their absolute best to keep a level head and understand the human failings, challenges, and perspectives of all sides, instead of taking advantage of the incident to score cheap political points or up their ratings. Yeah, I'm totally kidding. But I guess at least you can take some solace in knowing journalism 250 years ago was just as ready to pander to specific readerships in order to move more papers as they are today to get more clicks. What can I say? We are the same species. Now finally, what is the fate of our soldiers? Court proceedings play out within the year 1770. Captain Thomas Preston has his trial first, charged with ordering his men to fire. Proceeding star on October 24th and will last six days. With a belief that no one should lack legal counsel in a free country, a 34-year-old John Adams agrees to represent the captain the very day after the shooting. But the future president of the United States doesn't do this single handedly. The captain's legal team also includes Robert Ockmoody and Joseph Quincy Jr. And fun fact, Joseph's brother serves on the prosecution. You know, if they have Sunday family dinners, those must be awkward in late 1770. In any event, with conflicting testimony as to whether he ordered his men to fire or not, the captain's stellar reputation and legal representation win the day. He's acquitted. From November 27th to December 5th, the captain's eight men see their trial. Josiah Quincy and John Adams both stick around to serve as their lawyers too. But the parade of dozens and dozens of witnesses effectively demonstrate that, whatever the truth of that night, boys and men were armed in looking for a fight. Though not representative of the city of Boston out large, John is clear on this fact. The future founding father argues to the jury with the dramatic recounting that this crowd at the Custom House on March 5th had indeed threatened the soldier's lives. The people, crying, kill them, kill them, knock them over, heaving snowballs, oyster shells, clubs, white birch sticks, three inches and a half diameter. Consider yourselves in the situation and then judge whether a reasonable man in the soldier's situation would not have concluded they were going to kill him. What do you suppose would have been the feelings and reasonings of any of our householders? I confess, I believe they would not have borne the one half of what the witnesses have sworn the soldier's boar until they had shot down as many as were necessary to intimidate and disperse the rest. Because the law does not apply just to bear insults to the danger of our lives. to stand still with such a number of people around us, throwing such things at us, and threatening our lives until we are disabled to defend ourselves. As such, the brilliant, stout lawyer concludes, "The soldiers did act in self-defense." This is where one of John's more famous quotes comes in. It's a favorite of mine. It reads, "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." Most people stop there, and it's a wonderful reminder that our emotions do not affect make. But here's what that means for the soldiers. He goes on, "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 own 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, this was a provocation for which the law reduces the offense of killing down to manslaughter in consideration of those passions in our nature, which cannot be eradicated." The jury deliberates for two and a half hours. In the end, these new England agree with John. "Facts are stubborn things. Despite the emotionally charged atmosphere, and questions patriots have over the constitutionality of Boston's occupation and so many other issues, the jury fully acquits six of the eight soldiers." The remaining two, Matthew, Killroy, and Humeont-Gummery, are not found guilty of murder either, but are convicted of the lesser charge of manslaughter. The reason for this is that, while no one could pin down who among the soldiers shot most of the five who died, Killroy and Montgomery were likely the ones who shot and killed Samuel Gray and Crispus Addicts, respectively. Though in truth, these two don't do so bad either. Although the penalty for manslaughter is death, it's also typical in this time to let those found guilty of this charge plead the benefit of the clergy for complete clemency, if the accused had never been convicted of manslaughter previously. Both men qualify for this clemency. They're branded on the thumbs, so it would be known they had used up their one-time freebie, but the men are then sent off to rejoin their unit within days. But here are two other cases you might not know about. That same December, four civilians are charged with having shot at the crowd as well, while hiding on the second floor of the custom house. Yeah, the case against them is thrown out quickly. Though one civilian does see conviction, a French teenage boy and servant named Schauburgat. In March 1771, a year after the Boston Massacre, he's found guilty of perjury for having allegedly changed his story. As a result, Charles passes an hour in the stocks, receives 25 lashes, has to pay the court's costs, and is then removed from Massachusetts. The Boston Massacre is over. As is the occupation, even if some troops are still housed nearby at Boston Harbour's Island fortification, Castle William. Even the second post-7 years war attempt to tax the American colonies, the town's endaxe has been partially repealed. But even as things cool down, they can't go back to what they were. London is all the more sure that Boston is a hotbed of rebellion. More Americans come to see British officials as disrespecting their constitutional rights and bent on destroying liberty. Meanwhile, the city of Boston keeps the memory of the Massacre alive with annual memorials. Others like Paul Revere dropped depictions of the event that continued to underscore the innocent Bostonian narrative. Whatever really happened that night, the Boston Massacre marks a significant point in the erosion of Britain's relationship with its American colonies. Nor will another T-focus tax scheme in a few years help prepare them. It will, however, result in a very unique T-party, but that's a story for next time. HTVS is supported by fans at HTVSpodcast.com/membership. 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