Tom’s blood was hot, as was the blood of those around him. Some of the people under the galleries, who could not see what was going on, thought the officers were crying fire, to break up the meeting. Very quietly Samuel Adams raised his hand. The people became calm. The officers left the building, and the town went on with its business. The people were learning self-control.
When the meeting was over, Tom and Abraham walked along Cornhill, and turned down King Street on their way home. They saw a crowd around the British Coffee House tavern,—the officers who a little while before had left the Old South Meetinghouse, laughing, talking, and drinking their toddy. Tom soon discovered they were having a mock town meeting. One was acting as moderator, pounding with his cane and calling them to order. They chose seven selectmen and a clerk. Then one went upstairs and soon appeared upon the balcony wearing a rusty and ragged old black gown, a gray wig with a fox’s tail dangling down his back. He bowed to those below, and began a mock oration. He called Samuel Adams, Doctor Warren, and John Hancock scoundrels, blackguards, knaves, and other vile names. His language was so scurrilous, profane, and indecent that Tom could not repeat it to his mother and Berinthia. Those who listened clapped their hands. Tom and Abraham came to the conclusion that most of the officers of the newly arrived regiments were too vile to be worthy the society of decent people.
Tom was boiling hot two nights later, at the treatment given Thomas Ditson of Billerica, who had come to market. A soldier persuaded the guileless young farmer to buy an old worn-out gun. The next moment he was seized by a file of soldiers and thrust into the guardhouse for buying anything of a soldier against the law. He had only the bare floor to sleep on. In the morning, Lieutenant-Colonel Nesbit ordered the soldiers to strip off Ditson’s clothes, and tar and feather him.
It was a pitiful spectacle which Ruth Newville saw,—Colonel Nesbit marching at the head of his regiment, the soldiers with their bayonets surrounding a man stripped to the waist, smeared with tar, covered with feathers, the fifes playing, and the drums beating the Rogue’s March.
“It is disgraceful,” she said, with flashing eyes, to her mother. “Colonel Nesbit ought to be ashamed of himself. If he ever calls here again, I’ll not speak to him.”
Fast Day came, and again the eyes of Miss Newville flashed when she saw the king’s troops parading the streets; the drummers and fifers taking their stations by the doors of the meetinghouses to annoy the people, playing so loud they could scarcely hear a word of what the minister was saying.
“Do you think, father, that General Gage will win back the affections of the people, or even retain their respect by permitting such outrages?” Ruth asked.
“Perhaps it is not the wisest course to pursue. Quite likely the officers of the regiments did it of their own notion,” Mr. Newville replied.
If Lord North and King George thought a show of military force would overawe the people of Boston town, they were mistaken. Possibly they did not reflect that military repression might beget resistance by arms; but when the regiments began to arrive, the Sons of Liberty resolved to prepare for whatever might happen. They appointed a committee of safety to protect the rights of the people.