F rom t h e Di a ry of
Janet Chapman
March 5, 1770
Something terrible took place this evening
right outside my door. I am compelled to write
down what I saw, since both sides will surely use
this incident to further their own ends.
My husband and I
DID YOU
KNOW?
have a shop across the
street from the Custom
The Townshend Act
taxed glass, paint, oil,
House in Boston. We sell
lead, paper, and tea in
food, tea, and goods
order to raise money
such as paper. The
to govern the colonies.
problems began in 1768
when the British Parliament passed the hated
Townshend Acts. These laws tax goods that are
made in Britain and exported to the colonies.
Since we sell these goods, our prices went up.
Some of our colonial customers have begun to
boycott merchants like us who carry British goods.
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In the end, I decided to carry the items because
we have both Loyalist, or people who support
Britain, and colonial customers. I do keep the
British goods behind my counter and out of sight.
I have one rule in my shop. Those who shop
here may disagree at times, but they need to
be polite here. Eleven days ago, a woman broke
that rule. She spoke harshly about the killing of
young Christopher Seider. That poor child had
joined a mob that gathered around Ebenezer
Richardson’s house. Richardson works for the
tax collector and is seen as an enemy. He had
tried to break up a group of colonists who
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were protesting in front of a Loyalist shop. The
mob followed him home and threw rocks at his
windows. In response, Richardson fired a musket.
Seider was hit and later died of his wounds. The
woman in my shop had the nerve to say that
Seider got what he deserved. “I don’t understand
why people are sympathetic to a mob of rebels,”
she said. Sadly, I shook my head. Seider was
eleven years old.
When a group of young men gathered
around the sentry at the Custom House, I felt
a sense of dread. The young men began to toss
snowballs at the sentry. I knew this sentry to
have a nasty temper, which is probably why the
young men were teasing him. In response, the
sentry marched onto the steps and slammed his
gun against the doorstep. He called out in a loud
voice that he would fire if the boys came near.
Unwisely, I heard the young men laugh and dare
him to fire.
The crowd seemed to grow before my eyes.
Presently a captain came along with about twelve
men, all with guns. They lined up and faced the
mob. Alarm bells rang, drawing even more people
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into the street. Bells clanged. People screamed.
It was hard to hear anything clearly, except the
word fire.
There was one shot and then a volley of
shots and then a brief silence. Screaming and
yelling anew, the crowd broke up rapidly. I heard
someone yelling, “Cease fire!” again and again.
I emerged from my shop and saw three
bodies lying on the ground. Eight other people
with wounds were being helped up. Even though
the soldiers stood their ground, I ran out and
directed some of the wounded into my shop so
I could help them. There is no side to take when
mercy is needed.
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