The Horrid Massacre / Late Unhappy Disturbance
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[This poem is part of American Independence in Verse.]
I. A Short Narrative of the Horrid Massacre in Boston Printed by Order of the Town of Boston, March 1770. Soldiers marauding through the town, and quarreling With the inhabitants, occasioned men To ring the meeting-house bell. Some lads gathered Around the sentry at the Custom House. Foul language was exchanged, and insults hurled; The sentry stepped up and demanded that One of the boys should show his face. The lad Replied, I’m not ashamed to show my face To any man. At this the sentry swung His musket, smashing the boy’s head, who reeled, Staggered, and bled. It was then Captain Preston Issued from the Guard House with his soldiers. They pushed the crowd with bayonets, so rough As if intent on causing a disturbance. They posted half a circle round the sentry. The people, throwing snowballs, yelled and jeered. At this the Captain gave the order Fire!— Damn you, fire, be the consequences what they will! This fatal act left three men dead, and more Struggling for life. II. The Case of Captain Preston Captain Thomas Preston, Boston Jail, March 12, 1770 Monday near Eight, two soldiers were attacked. Alarm bells rang, a mob assembled, and, Descending on the Custom House, surrounded The sentinel, poised to execute its vengeance. I ordered seven men to his protection. The mob increased, and struck their clubs together, And called, you bloody backs, you Lobster scoundrels, Fire if you dare, fire and be damned! I parleyed, Endeavoring with all my power that they Retire in peace—to no avail. They pushed, And pressed themselves against our bayonets. One bystander asked if the guns were charged; I replied yes, but that I had no mind To order “fire”; indeed I stood before The muzzles, and must fall a sacrifice If any did. As I was speaking, one Soldier received a blow, and stepped aside, And instantly he fired. I turned to reprimand; A club fell on my arm—which blow, had it Landed upon my head, would mean my death. The mob then launched a general attack; Several soldiers fired in turn; which made The mob disperse, save three unhappy men Who instantly expired. Now malcontents, Using every method, fish for evidence Proving a plot to murder the inhabitants. Others are infusing malice and revenge Into the minds of those who’ll be my jurors, With false reports and other artifices. So I, though innocent, am left with nothing To expect but ignominious loss of life.