The sun shone on the 6th of March, 1775,[1] with unusual splendour. Warren saw it rise, and as he gazed upon its brilliant rays, he thought that perhaps ere those rays were again withdrawn from the earth, he might be a breathless corpse, never more to behold them, but no regret at the duty he had undertaken for a moment darkened his mind; he hailed its cheering beams as a proof that Heaven itself smiled on his exertions for his country's welfare.
At an early hour the Old South meeting-house was crowded even to its porch. Many of the friends of the much loved speaker were there, determined, if he was attacked, he should not be without his defenders.
The aisles of the meeting-house, the steps to the pulpit, even the pulpit itself, were occupied by the British. Warren was not to be frightened from his purpose by all this. He thought that if he attempted to go in at the door and up the pulpit stairs, the British officers might endeavor to stop him, and that, even if they did not succeed, the attempt would cause so much confusion that no one would be calm enough to listen to him afterwards. So how do you suppose he contrived to reach the pulpit?
Mary. I should think he would not have attempted it, but would have put off speaking, at least, until the pulpit was clear.
William. I dare say he managed in some such way as he did when his classmates undertook to keep him out of their room.
Mrs. M. It was not very unlike it. He requested some of his friends to assist him, and they procured a ladder, put it up outside the pulpit window, and while all within were anxiously watching for him at the door, and his friends were trembling for fear he would not be able to make his way through the crowd, they raised their eyes, and, to the astonishment of them all, beheld him in the pulpit! The British officers were so surprised at his coolness and intrepidity, that they involuntarily fell back at his approach. He advanced to address the assembled multitude, not knowing but that, at the first word he spoke, a bayonet would be thrust into his defenceless side.
Every eye was fixed upon him in almost breathless emotion. So awful and perfect was the silence that each one could hear the palpitations of his own heart. Every face was pale but his own. His animated and expressive countenance was lighted up, and glowing with all the enthusiasm that the most ardent love for the rights of his country could inspire. The officers who stood near to him, so far from making his noble spirit tremble or hesitate, only inspired him with greater animation to tell over the wrongs which they had done us, and the still greater wrongs they were about to do. He called upon the soldiers not to assist their masters in this; not to aid a parent to oppress his children and wrest from them their hard earned rights. He told them that our fathers had come to this country to avoid the very tyranny that was now bearing so heavily on their children. That they came here to worship God in the way they thought most acceptable to Him. That they had given up their homes, their friends, and all the comforts of civilized life, for freedom. That they had suffered the greatest hardships from savages, from cold, poverty, and the want of every thing worth having, except liberty. He told them that through all the cares and all the sufferings of our pilgrim fathers, they still looked back on the country from which they came with the affection of children. They had obeyed its laws, had sent it money, and had done all that was in their power to do, to prove that they were deeply interested in its welfare. But that now that we, the descendants of those who had undergone so much, were beginning to enjoy what they had purchased so dearly, these Britains were determined to oppress us. That their king, who ought to take a pleasure in our prosperity, judged us without hearing us, gave us rulers who took no interest in our prosperity, and insisted that we should pay money for the privilege of buying what it was for his interest to sell us. It is long since I read this eloquent address, and I cannot give you any correct idea of it; you must read it yourself to form one.[2]
The scene, while Warren was speaking, was sublime and interesting beyond any thing of the kind that had ever before been witnessed in this country, or, perhaps in any other. When the orators of ancient times were urging their countrymen not to submit to tyrants, those tyrants were far away—but while Warren was making this appeal to his countrymen, it was in the presence of the very oppressors themselves, who were gazing on him with arms in their hands, arms ready to be used the moment their passions were roused! That their passions were roused, I think there can be little doubt; but there was so much determination in the looks of those around, that I suppose they were not willing to run the risk of attacking a man thus guarded by the love, almost the adoration of those whom he addressed. Besides this, there were many among the British who were so much affected by Warren's address, as to be unwilling to use any violence against the speaker.
If such was its effect on his enemies, what must it have been on his friends? It was so powerful that, at that moment they might have been led on to an entire renunciation of the government of Great Britain. The time, however, had not yet quite arrived for so bold an act; the country was young and without resources, or any prospect of aid from other countries. Still, from this time, many who had not before expressed an opinion, now openly declared that we ought to be independent.
Things had been gradually operating to produce an almost universal belief that there was little to be expected from the king of England. Josiah Quincy, the father of him who is now president of Cambridge College, was a warm friend of Gen. Warren's, and had aided in all his efforts to repel the encroachments of the king. About six months before this oration was delivered, he had embarked privately for England. From his letters it was evident that, although many influential men there were in our favor, yet those by whom the king was governed were against us, so that there was little prospect that any change for the better should take place. The general tenor of his letters to his countrymen, while he himself was in England, was, what he says, he had long before told them, that "they must seal their cause with their blood, that in the sight of God and all just men, that cause is a good one," and if Americans do not act up to their professions "they would be trodden into the vilest vassalage, the scorn, contempt, the spurn of their enemies, a bye-word of infamy among men." That Americans would "be true to themselves," and were ready, when called on, "to seal their cause with their blood," his friend Warren was among the most earnest to convince him. He writes to him, "It is the united voice of America, to preserve their freedom, or lose their lives in its defence." "I am convinced," he says, "that the true spirit of liberty was never so universally diffused through all orders and ranks of people, in any country on the face of the globe, as it now is through all North America." He says of the provincial Congress, of which he had been elected president: "Congress met at Concord at the time appointed. About two hundred and sixty members were present." "You would have thought yourself in an assembly of Spartans, or ancient Romans, had you been a witness to the ardour which inspired those who spoke on the important business they were transacting." The Congress of which he here speaks was composed of men chosen by the people, to provide for the safety of their fellow citizens, and to order all that was necessary to be done to enable them to resist the tyrannical laws of the king of England. The terms in which Gen. Warren speaks of this congress, were no doubt very cheering to Mr. Quincy, who must himself have ardently desired to have been present among them. He remained only six months in England, and died on his passage home, just as the vessel which he was on board entered the harbour of Cape Ann, on the 26th of April, 1775.