A gush of smoke had overspread the scene.  It rose heavily, as if it were loath to reveal the dreadful spectacle beneath it.  Eleven of the sons of New England lay stretched upon the street.  Some, sorely wounded, were struggling to rise again.  Others stirred not, nor groaned, for they were past all pain.  Blood was streaming upon the snow; and that purple stain, in the midst of King Street, though it melted away in the next day’s sun, was never forgotten nor forgiven by the people.

Grandfather was interrupted by the violent sobs of little Alice.  In his earnestness, he had neglected to soften down the narrative, so that it might not terrify the heart of this unworldly infant.  Since Grandfather began the history of our chair, little Alice had listened to many tales of war.  But, probably, the idea had never really impressed itself upon her mind, that men have shed the blood of their fellow-creatures.  And now that this idea was forcibly presented to her, it affected the sweet child with bewilderment and horror.

“I ought to have remembered our dear little Alice,” said Grandfather reproachfully to himself.  “Oh, what a pity!  Her heavenly nature has now received its first impression of earthly sin and violence.  Well, Clara, take her to bed, and comfort her.  Heaven grant that she may dream away the recollection of the Boston Massacre!”

“Grandfather,” said Charley, when Clara and little Alice had retired, “did not the people rush upon the soldiers, and take revenge?”

“The town drums beat to arms,” replied Grandfather, “the alarm bells rang, and an immense multitude rushed into King Street.  Many of them had weapons in their hands.  The British prepared to defend themselves.  A whole regiment was drawn up in the street, expecting an attack; for the townsmen appeared ready to throw themselves upon the bayonets.”

“And how did it end?” asked Charley.

“Governor Hutchinson hurried to the spot,” said Grandfather, “and besought the people to have patience, promising that strict justice should be done.  A day or two afterward, the British troops were withdrawn from town, and stationed at Castle William.  Captain Preston and the eight soldiers were tried for murder.  But none of them were found guilty.  The judges told the jury that the insults and violence which had been offered to the soldiers, justified them in firing at the mob.”

“The Revolution,” observed Laurence, who had said but little during the evening, “was not such a calm, majestic movement as I supposed.  I do not love to hear of mobs and broils in the street.  These things were unworthy of the people, when they had such a great object to accomplish.”

“Nevertheless, the world has seen no grander movement than that of our Revolution, from first to last,” said Grandfather.  “The people, to a man, were full of a great and noble sentiment.  True, there may be much fault to find with their mode of expressing this sentiment; but they knew no better—­the necessity was upon them to act out their feelings, in the best manner they could.  We must forgive what was wrong in their actions, and look into their hearts and minds for the honorable motives that impelled them.”