“Ah, it drooped its head, I know,” said Charley, “when it saw how the province was disgraced.  Its old Puritan friends never would have borne such doings.”

“The chair,” proceeded Grandfather, “was now continually occupied by some of the high tories, as the king’s friends were called, who frequented the British Coffee House.  Officers of the custom-house, too, which stood on the opposite side of King Street, often sat in the chair, wagging their tongues against John Hancock.”

“Why against him?” asked Charley.

“Because he was a great merchant, and contended against paying duties to the king,” said Grandfather.

“Well, frequently, no doubt, the officers of the British regiments, when not on duty, used to fling themselves into the arms of our venerable chair.  Fancy one of them, a red nosed captain, in his scarlet uniform, playing with the hilt of his sword, and making a circle of his brother officers merry with ridiculous jokes at the expense of the poor Yankees.  And perhaps he would call for a bottle of wine, or a steaming bowl of punch, and drink confusion to all rebels.”

“Our grave old chair must have been scandalized at such scenes,” observed Laurence.  “The chair that had been the Lady Arbella’s, and which the holy Apostle Eliot had consecrated.”

“It certainly was little less than sacrilege,” replied Grandfather; “but the time was coming, when even the churches, where hallowed pastors had long preached the word of God, were to be torn down or desecrated by the British troops.  Some years passed, however, before such things were done.”

Grandfather now told his auditors, that, in 1769, Sir Francis Bernard went to England, after having been governor of Massachusetts ten years.  He was a gentleman of many good qualities, an excellent scholar, and a friend to learning.  But he was naturally of an arbitrary disposition; and he had been bred at the University of Oxford, where young men were taught that the divine right of kings was the only thing to be regarded in matters of government.  Such ideas were ill adapted to please the people of Massachusetts.  They rejoiced to get rid of Sir Francis Bernard, but liked his successor, Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson, no better than himself.

About this period, the people were much incensed at an act, committed by a person who held an office in the custom-house.  Some lads, or young men, were snow-balling his windows.  He fired a musket at them and killed a poor German boy, only eleven years old.  This event made a great noise in town and country, and much increased the resentment that was already felt against the servants of the crown.

“Now, children,” said Grandfather, “I wish to make you comprehend the position of the British troops in King Street.  This is the same which we now call State Street.  On the south side of the town-house, or Old State House, was what military men call a court of guard, defended by two brass cannons, which pointed directly at one of the doors of the above edifice.  A large party of soldiers were always stationed in the court of guard.  The custom-house stood at a little distance down King Street, nearly where the Suffolk bank now stands; and a sentinel was continually pacing before its front.”