University of Virginia Library

20. CHAPTER XX.

We now pass over a little more than three months,
till the fourth of April, 1689. In the meantime, the
grasp of tyranny had not been relaxed, but measures
still more odious to the people had been relentlessly
pursued. Nor were the patriots inactive. Their
meetings had been more frequent than ever, and
even the ministers of religion were zealous for a revolution.
In a word, the people were ripe for a revolt,
when it was rumored abroad in Boston that a messenger
had arrived from England, bringing intelligence
of the Stadtholder's descent on that country, his rapturous

reception by all parties—the flight of the king;
in short, news of the glorious Revolution which, as
was believed, had expelled tyranny forever from the
throne. It was rumored, too, that the messenger had
brought a copy of the Prince's Declaration,—at which
intelligence, every heart throbbed and danced with
expectation.

The Declaration of the Prince of Orange, which
had been first published in Holland, contributed in
no small degree to his success in England. This
document set forth the chief grievances of the British
people, and concluded by promising a complete
redress of them. As soon therefore as Sir Edmund
Andros heard that a copy of it had been brought over
to America, he ordered the messenger to be arrested
and thrown into prison. The people, however, soon
got wind of it, and rejoiced in the prospect which it
held out of their speedy emancipation.

But Sir Edmund Andros was determined to crush
them utterly if he could, and be in all respects the
faithful minion of his master James. He immediately
issued a proclamation calling on all persons to use
their endeavors to oppose the landing of any emissary
of the Prince's, and he ordered out extraordinary
troops to prevent an insurrection among the populace.
At the same time the Rose frigate came near to
the town, and reports spread abroad that she was ready
to fire on the metropolis in case of any outbreak which
was threatened.

In the meanwhile, the people had determined to
submit no longer. On the morning of the 18th of
April, the signal for the insurrection was given, and
George, the commander of the Rose frigate, was
seized by several individuals. At the same time the
beacon from Beacon-Hill flamed proudly up to
heaven. The people of the surrounding towns were
waiting for the signal, and as the red blaze ascended
from Boston, a thousand other beacons threw forth
their eager light, and in less than an hour old Massachusetts
rang from her extremest borders—“Liberty!
liberty! `God and our native land!' ”

Boston was in the meanwhile one scene of uproar
and excitement. Organized bands from the North
and South ends of the town arose simultaneously,
and under Randal and Bagnal hurried to King's
Street, the centre of action. The throng increased,
and the crown sheriff attempted to disperse the people.
The people made him their prisoner. The
militia rapidly organized under their old officers, who
had been displaced by Sir Edmund, and demanded
of the royalist major his colors and drums. Being refused,
they were taken. The Governor, full of fear,
withdrew to the Fort, where, with his friends and
advisers, he endeavored to concert measures to meet
the emergency.

While these things were enacting, Charles river
and the inner harbor of Boston were alive with boats
crowded with brave hearts and stout hands. A

thousand armed heroes came from Charlestown
alone, and every village within twenty miles, sent
its companies of brave yeomen, who were eager for
the onset. The Dolphin and the Duke of York,
which had been waiting for this event, were nearing
the Rose frigate, their guns ready loaded, and their
boarders pike in hand.

Ten thousand freemen of Massachusetts had invested
the Governor's Fortress, with their pine-tree
banners waving gallantly to the breeze, and the anthem
of liberty sounding from their exalted bosoms.
Presently a herald announced from the Fort that the
Governor desired a conference.

“No conference! no conference!” resounded from
the patriotic crowd,—“Liberty forever! Liberty
forever! Down with the tyrants!—Down with
them forever!”

The roar of artillery now sounded from the north,
and the people knew that the Dolphin and her consort
were contending with the royalist frigate.

“Liberty and independence! old Massachusetts
forever!” shouted the multitude; “yield, tyrants,
yield!—down with Sir Edmund Andros! down
with Randolph and all tyranny!”

And at this signal, one brave fellow, who was soon
discovered to be Randal, leaped into the trench, followed
by a host of others, who began to scale the
ramparts.

Instantly a peal of thunder burst from the Fort,

which was intended to intimidate the assailants: but
they rushed on, careless, and not inquiring whether
the guns had been shotted or no, (as they had not
been,) and threw themselves by hundreds into the
Fort.

The garrison, as soon as they found that the people
had taken possession of the Fort, threw down
their arms and surrendered. They were glad, too,
of the opportunity of so doing. The red-cross of
England came down from the flag-staff, and was rehoisted,
surmounted by the triumphant Pine-Tree.
Sir Edmund Andros and his friends were made prisoners,
and were confined in the Fortress.

A cry now went forth for the people to meet at the
Town-House, and the living torrent began forthwith
to set in that direction. The roar of artillery continued
from the harbor. While the people are thronging
to the Town-House, let us visit the scene of naval
action.

Gallantly came on the two patriot vessels to meet
the frigate, which, on their near approach, they hailed
from the Dolphin's quarter-deck, and ordered to
surrender. The only response made to this modest
demand, was from an eighteen pounder, whose shot
passed between the fore and main-masts of the
Dolphin, without effecting any damage. The gage
being thus unceremoniously thrown, the Dolphin
ran alongside her starboard quarter and poured a
heavy broadside into her, which, as soon as it was

answered from the frigate, was followed up by another
from the Duke of York, commanded by Morgan,
which afterwards ran into her, and threw the grappling-irons.
The fire continued for about ten minutes,
without doing so much damage, except to spars and
rigging, as might have been expected. The men in
the frigate had heard of the Revolution in England,
and did as little mischief as they could to the patriots,
who, in their turn, avoided blood-shed as much
as possible, from assurances that had been given
them, that, in case of an outbreak, the frigate should
be an easy conquest.

While, therefore, they were keeping up what rather
amounted to a sham-fight than anything more
serious, Grummet was seen running up toward the
mast-head of the frigate. As he ascended, a shout went
up from the decks of the patriot vessels, and in an instant
after, the flag of the proud vessel was seen sailing
away on the breeze. Fitzvassal was master of
the frigate, and the independence of the colony was
sealed.

A crowd of people had now gathered about the
Town-House, such as never before had been assembled
in old Massachusetts. They had dethroned
their tyrant and his minions, and were once again
free. The artillery now thundered from every part
of the town for joy, and the firing on board the armed
vessels was continued on the same account. All

the bells were pealing from the churches,—all was
excitement and gladness.

But in the midst of this general burst of joy, the
people began to ask each other what was next to be
done;—when all at once a shout went up from the
vast assembly, louder, heartier, and more protracted
than ever. A great movement was observed in the
crowd, when presently the Nestor of the time, one of
the last survivors of the fathers of Boston, the late
governor, who had been turned from his office by
the tyranny of the monarch,—the venerable Simon
Bradstreet, appeared leaning on the arm of the
patriotic Temple. That excellent old man was now
in his eighty-eighth year, and as he came forward in
the midst of the people whom he loved, he appeared
to them like the embodied form of all they honored
and revered—the herald of their happiness, their
long-lost happiness, the assertor and proclaimer of
their liberty!

As he moved along, bowed with the weight of
years, his silvery hair flowing over his plain, black
dress of velvet, and his countenance beaming with
gratitude, love, and benevolence, the acclamations of
the people were without bounds. He was followed
by the members of the Secret Committee, and other
distinguished inhabitants of the metropolis, and with
them he ascended to the balcony of the Town-house.

There arrived, he was once more greeted with
the heart-felt, rapturous enthusiasm of the crowd.

He came there the apostle of liberty; like an evangelist
he stretched forth his hands over the people,
and while his eyes filled with tears of thankfulness,
he called down a blessing upon them. He then reminded
them of their fathers, and of the confidence
in the Divine Providence which had brought them
over the wide waters that they might worship
God according to the dictates of their consciences;
he spoke of the dangers they had passed, and of the
trials they had endured; and he reminded their posterity,
who were now in his presence, of that sublime
spirit of Renunciation which had been the ruling
characteristic of those great, good men, who had
never been selfish or self-willed, but who constantly
referred all they achieved, and all they enjoyed,
to the great giver of all good things. He told them
that on account of their forgetfulness of these obligations,
they had lately been subjected to grievous
trials and calamities,—but that God had now seen
fit to stay his hand, and restore to them those temporal
blessings of which they had been for a time deprived,
that they might learn through the sufferings
of adversity to refer all their happiness to the giver.
He finally besought them to be grateful for the
achievements of the day, and by all means to use
their triumph with moderation. After once more
imploring a blessing upon them, he retired.

The death-like silence that held the multitude
during this address, continued for a time after it was

ended. Tears stood in the eyes of many—and the
hearts of all were too much subdued for a while, to
give breath to their overwhelming joyousness. But
soon after, as Mr. Temple stepped forth, holding out
a scroll to the people, they once more burst forth into
loud and spirit-stirring acclamations.

As soon as silence had been restored, Mr. Temple
again held out the paper, and with a loud voice exclaimed:

“THE DECLARATION OF LIBERTY!”

The words flashed upon the people like lightning,
and their emotions found vent in one long-continued
peal of exultation, that was echoed from hill to hill,
and from mountain to mountain, till from the centre
to the circumference, time-honored, glorious old
Massachusetts sent up to the applauding heavens the
triumphant shouts of freedom.

Mr. Temple then read the Declaration of Liberty,—that
paper which was the father of the
great Declaration of Independence, as the Revolution
of 1689, begun and finished in Massachusetts,
was the parent of the memorable one that nearly a
century after succeeded, and made way for the emancipation
of the world.

It contained an enumeration of grievances, and
of the unavailing petitions for their redress which
had been made, set forth in twelve articles, and concluded
thus:—“We, the people of Massachusetts do
therefore seize upon the persons of those few ill men

which have been (next to our sins) the grand authors
of our miseries, resolving to secure them for what
justice, orders from his Highness with the English
Parliament, shall direct; lest, ere we are aware, we
find (what we may fear, being on all sides in danger)
ourselves to be by them given away to a foreign
power, before such orders can reach unto us; for
which orders we now humbly wait: in the meantime,
firmly believing that we have endeavored nothing
but what mere duty to God and our country
calls for at our hands. We commit our enterprise
unto the blessing of Him, who hears the cry of the
oppressed, and advise all our neighbors, for whom
we have thus ventured ourselves, to join with us in
prayer and all just actions for the defence of the
land.”

The Declaration of Liberty dissolved the odious
government of Andros, and the last clank of its chain
was heard amidst the enthusiastic uproar when the
people of Massachusetts trampled them to the dust.

It was now agreed, in a purely democratic assembly,
to constitute the Committee which, under Mr. Temple,
had been the guardian of those measures that
had resulted so gloriously to the cause of natural and
chartered rights, a Committee of Safety, for the time
being. Simon Bradstreet was recognised as Governor
of Massachusetts, and all the subordinate offices were
filled by their old incumbents. Representatives
were again chosen, and “once more Massachusetts
assembled in general court.”