For if ever a frog made its lair in the Frog Pond, it was long before the present memory of man. The Frog Pond is a pool on the Beacon Street side of Boston Common. In shape it is somewhat like a lima bean. It has a concrete bottom. Near one end there is a gushing fountain and at the other a drain, that keep the water fresh. In warm weather, hundreds of Boston children “go swimming” there every day,—brown-skinned, black-eyed Italians, little Russian Jews, a small sprinkling of native Bostonians, quite a large handful of little negroes, “Parthians and Medes and Elamites,” no doubt, and “the dwellers in Mesopotamia”; but never, never a frog.
In winter, when the pool is frozen, it is a skating pond, and Flag Staff Hill, just above it, makes an ideal start for a sled to go whizzing down across the icy glare of the Frog Pond. Popular opinion has it that it was this very slide on the Common that was made famous in the winter of 1774 and 1775 by the contest between the youngsters of Boston and General Gage’s redcoats, then quartered on the town, who tried to spoil the slide with sand and ashes. Instead of submitting timidly, the boys carried their complaint to General Gage himself, who assured them that they should be undisturbed in future and said in comment, “How can we hope to beat the notion of liberty out of this people? The very boys breathe the air of liberty!”
Historical truth compels me to state, however, that the Frog Pond was not the scene of this interesting passage. It was undoubtedly on School Street, in the neighborhood of the historic Latin School, that the boys’ slide was spoiled, and it was done by the servant of General Haldimand, who was in command under General Gage, though General Gage was indeed the court of appeal that decided in favor of the Latin School boys. As to the servant, I think his idea was a good one, for I have disastrously tried to walk down School Street myself on an icy day.
But if the Frog Pond was not the actual site of this historic strike for liberty, it may be called the direct spiritual descendant of whatever frozen pool had that honor. For the boys and girls of the Frog Pond in these modern days “breathe the air of liberty”; and the grown people of Boston know it, and the police know it. The Frog Pond, within close view of the Massachusetts State House, within three minutes’ walk of Boston’s financial center, and within a stone’s throw of the shopping district, belongs exclusively to the youngsters. Any grown person may occupy a bench on the walk and watch the fun, but he mustn’t complain if he happens to get splashed. Neither must he object to large groups of girls and boys all around him, struggling to exchange wet bathing suits for dry clothes without the shelter of a dressing room. The youngsters are required to put on their bathing suits at home; but after the swim who can be expected to traverse blocks and blocks of city streets in a wet bathing suit? They do the best they can to create for themselves a privacy that doesn’t exist. They bring newspapers and old blankets and sit under them on the grass to dress; they form close rings around each other at critical moments; and the Mayor of Boston consents, because he is very human and very sensible; and the Common police, who have all known the delights of the Frog Pond and the difficulties of dressing in public in their own boyhood days, turn their backs; and the majority of staid Boston citizens, walking home to dinner past the Pond after office hours, approves genially, and is of the opinion that the small minority that disapproves would better walk home by some other path.
To the Frog Pond, then, Wendell bent his steps the following afternoon. He wore his bathing suit under his shirt and trousers, though it was somewhat late in the season for bathing. The warm weather had brought out a number of adventurous souls, Sammy Davis among them.
“Hi, Wendell, come on in,” yelled Sammy.
“How is it?” asked Wendell.
“Fine! Warm as can be.”
Wendell didn’t believe it. He knew the old trick of telling the newest comer how warm the water is. He stood undecided on the brick walk.
“Seen any frogs in there, Sammy?” he asked.