Charles Bahne on the Scene of the Massacre

As we approach the anniversary of the Boston Massacre on 5 March, Charles Bahne, author of The Complete Guide to Boston’s Freedom Trail, kindly shared this essay analyzing what may be our earliest visual source on the question: What did the Boston Massacre look like?

Besides the depositions and testimony given by eyewitnesses to the Boston Massacre, we have two contemporary pictorial depictions of the incident. Better known of the two is the copperplate print of “The Bloody Massacre”, “Engrav’d Printed & Sold by Paul Revere, Boston.” As discussed here, Revere’s print of the Massacre was copied—some say plagiarized—from an almost identical image by Henry Pelham.

The Revere/Pelham print is an accurate portrayal of the setting for the Massacre — the buildings, the starry night with its crescent moon, the overall streetscape. But its depiction of the events is far less accurate; issued as part of the radicals’ propaganda efforts, it contains some deliberate distortions. And to compress the entire action into one image, the perspective was foreshortened, placing the victims in much closer proximity than they really were.

For a more accurate depiction, we look to the above image, also attributed to Paul Revere, but with less certainty, since it’s unsigned. (Mellen Chamberlain, who gave this document to the Boston Public Library, said that the handwriting matched Revere’s.) Unlike the more famous print, which was fairly widely distributed, this image existed only in manuscript and wasn’t circulated publicly until over a century later.

We’re looking at a plan or map of the action that evening, drawn from an overhead perspective. North is at right, west at top. In the upper center the Town House (Old State House) is prominently marked. Rows of buildings line either side of King Street (State Street), with other streets branching off to right and left.

But while this plan is a more accurate portrayal of the Massacre events, it also has its limitations. Four bodies lie in the street, some drawn in intricate detail, along with six circles, which apparently show the injured townsfolk. That makes a total of ten victims, but eleven people were actually shot—five dead and six wounded.

At extreme upper right is a seventh circle, unlabeled by the artist and unnoticed by any earlier commentator. Could this be the eleventh victim, or is it something else entirely, being so remote from the rest of the action?

All four bodies, and five of the circles for the wounded, are labeled with letters. Two letters clearly match the names of the slain: A for Attucks and G for Gray. But the other two bodies are marked C and G, only a partial match with the other martyrs, Caldwell, Carr, and Maverick. The circles are labeled with three Ps and two Ms; the six wounded citizens were Payne, Patterson, Parker, Monk, Clark, and Green.

Some discrepancy may have been caused by the belated deaths of Patrick Carr and Samuel Maverick. Was one of them considered wounded, rather than killed, when the plan was drawn?

Still, there are just nine letters in this plan. With eleven known victims, we’re missing two Cs; while a G and an M appear to have been switched between the injured (Green) and the deceased (Maverick).

At lower right, in front of the Custom House, stands a curved line of seven soldiers—not the eight who were actually there. Some historians have theorized, partly on the basis of this plan, that one of the regulars may have stood behind the others, not in line with his colleagues.

Unfortunately, the meaning of the letters, numbers, and circles must remain a matter of speculation. If a key to the plan was created, it’s been lost. Some say that a key was written on the back of the paper, which has since been glued to a board, permanently obscuring whatever it may once have said.

In their recent books about the Massacre, Neil York and Richard Archer both attempt to match the bodies and circles with the names of the fallen citizens—and they disagree. (Neil York consulted with me on this, and cites me in his book.)

The bottom line is that we know with some certainty where Crispus Attucks and Samuel Gray fell, next to the soldiers, and where Edward Payne was hit, standing on his doorstep at lower left. James Caldwell is one of the other bodies shown on the plan, probably the prominent one in the middle of the intersection. As for the other victims, we can only guess who fell where.

TOMORROW: How the scene looks today.

The Non-Fatal Battle of Golden Hill

Yesterday was the anniversary of what New York historians later called “The Battle of Golden Hill.” That’s a mighty name for what was really the biggest of a series of brawls between British soldiers stationed in the city and local men over the first Liberty Pole.

Some accounts of the fighting 19 Jan 1770 say that it produced “the first blood of the Revolutionary War.” Others even say it included the first death. New York historians were pleased to find an event that predated the killing of Christopher Seider and the Boston Massacre (which also got a mighty name).

There was surely some bloodletting in the fight, but there had been blood shed earlier as well. The first violent death of the conflict might have been the killing of Lt. Henry Panton at sea in April 1769, or we might interpret that as part of sailors’ ongoing resistance to Royal Navy impressment, with no direct link to the Revolutionary argument.

As for fatalities, there were indeed early reports that a citizen was killed in the fighting on 19 Jan 1770. For example, a letter dated 22 January and published in the St. James Chronicle stated, “One sailor got run through the body who has since died, &c.”

However, no New York newspaper ever published the name of that dead man, and the local Whigs would surely have made a public martyr of him. We know from the Boston Massacre that activists publicized the names of all the dead and then some. Paul Revere’s print of the shooting says Christopher Monk and John Clark had been wounded “mortally,” but both apprentices lived for years. I think that sailor fell into the same category, dead enough to complain about but not really dead.

A special supplement to the New-York Journal on 1 Mar 1770 printed a long, detailed account of the fighting dated 31 January. Though signed “An Impartial Observer,” the writer clearly leaned toward the local side of the conflict. And that account stated there were no fatalities, though only by luck. Here’s a sample of that blow-by-blow between soldiers wielding bayonets, swords, and clubs and locals wielding, well, swords and clubs:

Those few that had the sticks maintained their ground in the narrow passage in which they stood, and defended their defenceless fellow citizens, for some time, against the furious and unmanly attacks of armed soldiers, until one of them missing his aim, in a stroke made at one of the assailants, lost his stick, which obliged the former to retreat, to look for some instrument of defence; the soldiers pursued him down to the main street; one of them made a stroke, with a cutlass at Mr. Francis Field, one of the people called Quakers, standing in an inoffensive posture in Mr. Field’s door, at the corner; and cut him on the right cheek, and if the corner had not broke the stroke, it would have probably killed him.

This party that came down to the main street cut a tea-water man driving his cart, and a fisherman’s finger; in short they madly attacked every person that they could reach: And their companions on Golden-Hill were more inhuman; for, besides cuting a sailor’s head and finger, that was defended himself against them, they stabbed another with a bayonet, going about his business, so badly, that his life was thought in danger.

Not satiated with all this cruelty, two of them followed a boy going for sugar, into Mr. Elsworth’s house, one of them cut him on the head with a cutlass, and the other made a lung[e] with a bayonet at the woman in the entry, that answered the child. Capt. Richardson was violently attacked by two of the soldiers, with swords, and expected to have been cut to pieces; but was so fortunate as to defend himself with a stick for a considerable time, ’till a halbert was put into his hands, with which he could have killed several of them; but he made no other use of it, than to defend himself, and his naked fellow-citizens.—

Mr. John Targe, hearing from his house, the cry of murder, went out unarmed, to see the occasion of it, and when he came in view of the soldiers, three of them pursued him to his house, with their arms drawn, from whence he took a halbert, with which he defended himself against their attacks (with sticks of wood, which they took from a heap that lay in the street, and threw at his legs, as they could not reach his body with their arms) and obliged them to retire to their companions; in which time their lives were in his power, had he been disposed to have taken them.

And so on. I suspect the man whose “life was thought in danger” was the sailor earlier rumored to have died.

Most modern accounts agree with me and say the “Battle of Golden Hill” produced no deaths, but every so often a chronicler repeats the claim that it was the first fatal confrontation of the Revolution.

(The image above is Charles Lefferts’s painting of “The Battle of Golden Hill,” completed about 1920 and now at the New-York Historical Society.)

“Where the Small Pox has been for sometime past”

In December 1774, Boston selectmen learned that children in three British officers’ families were recovering from the smallpox—possibly after receiving the disease by inoculation. They wanted to respond quickly. But they heard the news on on a Saturday evening, and weren’t supposed to do business on Sunday.

The selectmen therefore gathered on “Sabbath Evening” and drafted an advertisement for those weekly newspapers that appeared on Monday. Here’s the text from the Boston Evening-Post:

The Publick are here by informed, that there are now but three People in the Hospital at New Boston infected with the Small Pox, who will probably be dismissed from thence this Week; that on Saturday information was given that the Wife of Mr. [Trotter] Hill, Surgeon of the 59th Regiment and three of their Children in a House in Hanover Street, near the head of Cold Lane, also two Children of Lieut. [John] Clark’s of said Regiment, under the same Roof, have the Distemper together, with three Children of Capt. [James] Figg’s of the 59th Regiment, in a House down a Yard opposite the White Horse [tavern], South End:—

As it has been suggested that the eleven Children received the Infection by Inoculation, the Inhabitants may be assured, that such Measures will be pursued with the Delinquents, for the present and future safety of the Town and Country as the Laws of the Land require.

But the selectmen didn’t have a lot of legal options. According to their 19 December discussion:

The Selectmen deliberated on the expediency of removing the Persons infected, from Capt. Clarkes in Hanover Street and Capt. Figs House opposite the White Horse who refused their consent for a removal, and considering the doubtfulness of the Law as to impowering the Selectmen to remove any Person contrary to their consent—therefore Voted that Fences be put up in the Street near the Infected Houses, and that a Flag be hung out in each House to give notice of the Distemper.

The selectmen apparently went to Gen. Thomas Gage and ask that the military use its own resources to look after its sick dependents. The following week they could announce:

No Inhabitant [i.e., local] has hitherto taken the Distemper, & by the care of his Excellency the Governor a Transport is provided for the reception of any Persons Belonging to the Army who should hereafter appear to have the Symptoms of that Disorder

And indeed on 27 December, when the selectmen heard about another case in the officers’ households, the patient didn’t end up in the province hospital:

Information was given Yesterday by Dr. [Charles] Jarvis that a Maid Servant in Lieut. Clarkes House in Hannover where the Small Pox has been for sometime past, was broke out with the Small Pox; She was by consent of the master and the Order of Collo. Hammilton put on hoard the Hospital Ship in the Harbour.

The same day, Dr. Charles Jarvis reported that the “Davis McGraws & Jacksons Children” were well enough to go home safely. But another person didn’t leave the hospital in such fortunate circumstances:

One George Baldwin a Soldier sent to the Hospital from the Barracks in King Street, died on the 13th. Inst [i.e., of this month], when Mr. [William] Barrett had orders to bury him in the Night, carrying his Corps over the Hill to the Burying Ground at the bottom of the Common.

On 4 January, the outbreak appeared to be over. The selectmen stated:

Information having been given that the Hospital at New Boston is now sufficiently smoked & cleansed Mr. Will. Darrington the Keeper had leave for himself & Family to go abroad as usual & Orders were given him accordingly.

But only one week later “a Lad of one Kings a Rigger at the North End” came down with the disease, and he and his mother moved into the hospital. The disease had reached the civilian population, and would continue to spread slowly but steadily through 1775 and 1776. This was an early stage of the continent-wide smallpox epidemic that Elizabeth Fenn discusses in Pox Americana.

TOMORROW: Back to the arrest of William Dorrington. (Remember that?)

The Last Victim of the Boston Massacre?

Three people died very quickly after the shooting on King Street that we’ve come to call the Boston Massacre: Crispus Attucks, Samuel Gray, and James Caldwell. The apprentice Samuel Maverick died before daylight.

Bostonians expected two more wounded teenagers to die soon afterwards. The Boston Gazette for 12 Mar 1770 listed them as:

A lad named Christopher Monk, about 17 years of age, an apprentice to Mr. [Thomas] Walker, Shipwright; wounded, a ball entered his back about 4 inches above the left kidney, near the spine, and was cut out of the breast on the same side; apprehended he will die.

A lad named John Clark, about 17 years of age, whose parents live at Medford, and an apprentice to Capt. Samuel Howard of this town; wounded, a ball entered just above his groin and came out at his hip, on the opposite side, apprehended he will die.

Of course, it is apprehended that we all will die, but the Boston Whigs were clearly not expecting to see these teens around for much longer.

Instead, the next person to die of his wounds was the breeches-maker Patrick Carr. That brought the number of deaths to five, which is the total that usually appears in history books.

When Henry Pelham created his engraving of the Massacre (the model for Paul Revere’s more famous one, as well as the little version shown above), his caption named all five men who had died and added: “Six others were wounded; two of them, mortally.” The town was still waiting for Monk and Clark to die.

And the waiting went on. As I described earlier in the week, in early 1774 Monk’s master went to Boston and asked for public assistance because the boy was still alive, but still languishing—and shortly to turn twenty-one. The selectmen collected private contributions for Monk and doled them out over the following year.

And still Monk survived. Officials also collected donations for him after the Massacre orations of 1775 and 1777. (The 1776 oration took place outside Boston.) I assume there were collections in the next two years as well, and in 1780 newspapers once again reported that “A collection was made for the unhappy Monk, who still languishes under the cruel wounds he received.” The town records for that year report:

Mr. [John] Scollay Reported that he had distributed the whole of the Money Collected March 6. 1780 for Christopher Monk as p[er] Minute Book of that date—the Sum being three hundred thirty two pounds fourteen Shillings & 1d. Old Money—the particulars of which he exhibited to the Selectmen—

But on 20 Apr 1780 the Continental Journal ran this notice:

Died. Mr. CHRISTOPHER MONK, who has been long languishing under the wounds he receiv’d on the evening of the fifth of March, 1770, by a party of British mercenaries, under the command of Capt Thomas Preston. His funeral will be attended this afternoon.

Monk would have been about twenty-seven years old. His wound in 1770 appears to have been debilitating, and quite possibly led to his early death. By some standards, we should list Monk as the sixth fatal victim of the Boston Massacre. But we don’t.

(According to Ellen Chase’s The Beginnings of the American Revolution (1910), John Clark had died in 1778. I don’t know the source of that statement. It might be based on an incomplete peek at Medford’s vital records, which state that a John Clark died in that town on 26 May 1778—but he was sixty years old. Those same town records say that John Clark, Jr., was born there on 10 June 1752, so he was indeed seventeen years old when wounded.)

The First Newspaper Reports on the Massacre

In colonial Boston, some newspapers published each Monday, and some each Thursday. Because the Boston Massacre occurred on a Monday evening, the first press reports appeared on Thursday the 8th—237 years ago today. The Massachusetts Gazette and Boston News-Letter listed the casualties this way:

Mr. Samuel Gray, Ropemaker, killed on the Spot, the Ball entred his Head broke the Skull.

A Mollatto Man, named Johnson, who was born in Framingham, but lately belonging to New-Providence, and was here in order to go for North-Carolina, killed on the Spot, two Balls entering his Breast.

Mr. James Caldwell, Mate of Capt. Morton’s Vessel, killed on the Spot, two balls entering his Breast.

Mr. Samuel Maverick, a promising Youth of 17 Years of Age, Son of the Widow Maverick, and an Apprentice to Mr. Greenwood, Joiner, mortally wounded, a Ball went through his Belly, and came out at his Back: He died the next Morning.

A Lad named Christopher Monk, about 17 Years of Age, an Apprentice to Mr. Walker, Shipwright; Mortally wounded, a Ball entered his Side and came out of his Back; apprehended he will die.

A Lad named John Clark, about 17 Years of Age, whose Parents live at Medford, and an Apprentice to Capt. Samuel Howard of this Town; Mortally wounded, a Ball entered just above his Groin and came out at his Hip, on the opposite side, apprehended he will die.

Mr. Edward Payne, of this Town, Merchant, standing at his Entry Door, received a Ball in his Arm, and shattered some of the Bones.

Mr. John Green, Taylor, coming up Leverett’s Lane, received a Ball just under his Hip, and lodged in the under Part of his Thigh, which was extracted.

Mr. Robert Patterson, a Seafaring Man, who was the Person that had his Trowsers shot thro’ in [Ebenezer] Richardson’s affair, wounded; a Ball went thro’ his right Arm.

Mr. Patrick Cole, about 30 Years of Age, who work’d with Mr. Field Leather- Breeches-maker in Queen-Street, wounded, a Ball entered near his Hip and went out at his Side.

A Lad named David Parker, an Apprentice to Mr. Eddy the Wheelwright, wounded, a Ball entered his Thigh.

What seems off about this list? Well, for one thing, though people expected apprentices Christopher Monk and John Clark to die shortly, neither did. Monk remained disabled by his wound for several years before dying, so he’s not memorialized among the standard five Massacre victims.

The Boston Gazette, published the same day, ran a similar list, emphasizing the three wounded apprentices ahead the working-men. The Gazette also gave different names for two men. The first was Patrick Carr, an Irish-born laborer I’ll have more to say about soon. While the two apprentices survived, Carr turned out to have been mortally wounded.

The Gazette also reported the one name people today are most likely to connect to the Boston Massacre: Crispus Attucks. Apparently he was living in Boston under the alias “Michael Johnson,” the name on the coroner’s report on his death (now in the collections of the Old State House Museum). Both the News-Letter and the Boston Chronicle reported the mulatto sailor’s name as Johnson. But the Boston Gazette had the name that appeared on all the subsequent legal proceedings, the name that’s come down in history.

Oddly enough, however, the News-Letter and Gazette had the same description of the man’s history: born in Framingham, working as a sailor out of the Bahamas, in Boston between voyages. Both identified him as mulatto, and therefore didn’t grant him the honorific title of “Mr.” In the 1850s historians found a newspaper ad that implied Attucks had escaped from slavery in Framingham twenty years before, which would explain why he used an alias while back in his home province. But how Bostonians discovered the history of that dead man, and how details reached one newspaper before the others, is still a gnawing mystery.