“You daren’t fire,” shouted a boy.
The redcoat raised his gun, and pulled the trigger. The lock clicked, but the powder did not flash.
“Spit in the pan!” said another boy, chaffing him.
“Guard! Guard!” shouted the sentinel, calling the main guard.
Captain Preston, with a file of men, came from the guardhouse upon the run, in response to the call. The meetinghouse bell was still ringing, and other bells began to clang. The soldiers, nine in number, formed in front of the Custom House with their bayonets fixed, and brought their guns to a level as if to fire. Robert thought there were thirty or more young men and boys in the street. Among them was a burly negro leaning on a stick, and looking at the soldiers. The others called him Crisp.
“Are your guns loaded?” asked a man of Captain Preston, commanding the soldiers.
“Yes.”
“Are they going to fire?”
“They can’t without my orders.”
“For God’s sake, captain, take your men back again, for if you fire your life must answer for it,” said Mr. Knox, seizing the captain by the coat.