Preston, an old comrade of Solomon, said to him: 

“Go around to headquarters and tell them we are cut off by a mob and in a bad mess.  I’m a little scared.  I don’t want to get hurt or do any hurting.”

Jack and Solomon passed through the guard and hurried on.  Then there were hisses and cries of “Tories!  Rotten Tories!” As the two went on they heard missiles falling behind them and among the soldiers.

“They’s goin’ to be bad trouble thar,” said Solomon.

“Them lads ain’t to blame.  They’re only doin’ as they’re commanded.  It’s the dam’ King that orto be hetchelled.”

They were hurrying on, as he spoke, and the words were scarcely out of his mouth when they heard the command to fire and a rifle volley—­then loud cries of pain and shrill curses and running feet.  They turned and started back.  People were rushing out of their houses, some with guns in their hands.  In a moment the street was full.

“The soldiers are slaying people,” a man shouted.  “Men of Boston, we must arm ourselves and fight.”

[Illustration:  “The soldiers are slaying people,” a man shouted.]

It was a scene of wild confusion.  They could get no farther on Cornhill.  The crowd began to pour into side-streets.  Rumors were flying about that many had been killed and wounded.  An hour or so later Jack and Solomon were seized by a group of ruffians.

“Here are the damn Tories!” one of them shouted.

“Friends o’ murderers!” was the cry of another.

“Le’s hang ’em!”

Solomon immediately knocked the man down who had called them Tories and seized another and tossed him so far in the crowd as to give it pause.

“I don’t mind bein’ hung,” he shouted, “not if it’s done proper, but no man kin call me a Tory lessen my hands are tied, without gittin’ hurt.  An’ if my hands was tied I’d do some hollerin’, now you hear to me.”

A man back in the crowd let out a laugh as loud as the braying of an ass.  Others followed his example.  The danger was passed.  Solomon shouted: 

“I used to know Preston when I were a scout in Amherst’s army fightin’ Injuns an’ Frenchmen, which they’s more’n twenty notches on the stock o’ my rifle an’ fourteen on my pelt, an’ my name is Solomon Binkus from Albany, New York, an’ if you’ll excuse us, we’ll put fer hum as soon as we kin git erway convenient.”

They started for The Ship and Anchor with a number of men and boys following and trying to talk with them.

“I’ll tell ye, Jack, they’s trouble ahead,” said Solomon as they made their way through the crowded streets.

Many were saying that there could be no more peace with England.

In the morning they learned that three men had been killed and five others wounded by the soldiers.  Squads of men and boys with loaded muskets were marching into town from the country.