“I should think,” said Laurence, “as Mr. Hutchinson had written the history of our Puritan forefathers, he would have known what the temper of the people was, and so have taken care not to wrong them.”

“He trusted in the might of the king of England,” replied Grandfather, “and thought himself safe under the shelter of the throne.  If no dispute had arisen between the king and the people, Hutchinson would have had the character of a wise, good, and patriotic magistrate.  But, from the time that he took part against the rights of his country, the people’s love and respect were turned to scorn and hatred; and he never had another hour of peace.”

In order to show what a fierce and dangerous spirit was now aroused among the inhabitants, Grandfather related a passage from history, which we shall call

THE HUTCHINSON MOB

On the evening of the twenty-sixth of August, 1765, a bonfire was kindled in King Street.  It flamed high upward, and threw a ruddy light over the front of the town house, on which was displayed a carved representation of the royal arms.  The gilded vane of the cupola glittered in the blaze.  The kindling of this bonfire was the well known signal for the populace of Boston to assemble in the street.

Before the tar-barrels, of which the bonfire was made, were half burnt out, a great crowd had come together.  They were chiefly laborers and seafaring men, together with many young apprentices, and all those idle people about town who are ready for any kind of mischief.  Doubtless some school-boys were among them.

While these rough figures stood round the blazing bonfire, you might hear them speaking bitter words against the high officers of the province.  Governor Bernard, Hutchinson, Oliver, Storey, Hallowell, and other men whom King George delighted to honor, were reviled as traitors to the country.  Now and then, perhaps, an officer of the crown passed along the street, wearing the gold-laced hat, white wig, and embroidered waistcoat, which were the fashion of the day.  But, when the people beheld him, they set up a wild and angry howl, and their faces had an evil aspect, which was made more terrible by the flickering blaze of the bonfire.

“I should like to throw the traitor right into that blaze!” perhaps one fierce rioter would say.

“Yes; and all his brethren too!” another might reply; “and the governor and old Tommy Hutchinson into the hottest of it!”

“And the Earl of Bute along with them,” muttered a third; “and burn the whole pack of them under King George’s nose!  No matter if it singed him!”

Some such expressions as these, either shouted aloud, or muttered under the breath, were doubtless heard in King Street.  The mob, meanwhile, were growing fiercer, and fiercer, and seemed ready even to set the town on fire, for the sake of burning the king’s friends out of house and home.  And yet, angry as they were, they sometimes broke into a loud roar of laughter, as if mischief and destruction were their sport.