Death by Firing Squad in 1768

Within weeks of arrival in colonial Boston, more than seventy British redcoats had deserted. General Gage knew how to stop it. Initially, the whipping post was used. The execution of Private Ames by firing squad was swift, brutal, and well publicized. The general wanted a crowd gathered to witness the discipline in the British army. John Hancock and Sam Adams watched from the Hancock mansion on Beacon Hill. The following is an excerpt from my first novel, Snug Harbor Tavern: Shaggin’ for a Shillin’.

Monday, October 31, 1768

            The cadre of black drummers, resplendent in their yellow and red tunics, maintained a steady beat to quarters while the men of the Twenty-ninth and Fourteenth regiments mustered into their straight lines on Boston Common. A heavy dark overcast with the promise of rain covered the entire harbor and the surrounding countryside, hiding any evidence of the recent sunrise. Sam Adams, standing at John Hancock’s side at the parlor window overlooking the Common, said, “It seems we have a storm brewing today, John.”

            Frowning, Hancock responded, “In more ways than one, Sam. I find this whole thing most distasteful; most distasteful.” He gulped his cup of tea. Looking at the clock on the mantel, he noted that it was just after 6:30 am.

         Below on the Common, with the redcoats fully assembled and regimental flags flapping briskly in the autumn breeze, the drumming ceased. Suddenly, a single drum was heard approaching from Tremont Street, as the drummer preceded a guard of six redcoats marching from the town prison. The grenadiers in their bearskin caps, Brown Bess muskets on their shoulders, marched in two files with one man, wearing only his white shirt and breeches in their midst. They marched with precision to a slow, ominous cadence, led by a sergeant major, halberd held high.

             As they approached the assembled regiments on the Common, heading for a tall wooden post erected for the occasion, General Gage and his staff emerged from the command tent. Subalterns barked orders, and the entire assembly came to attention. The drummer stopped abruptly, as the prisoner stood before the wooden post. The only sound was the flapping of regimental pennants and the British Union Jack. The tension in the air could be felt all the way up the hill to the Hancock mansion. The slopes around the Common were littered with an equally silent audience of apprentices, tradesmen, and merchants.

            General Gage quietly nodded, and Lieutenant Colonel Dalrymple stepped forward. Unrolling a document, he spoke loudly for all to hear, “Attention to orders! In accordance with His Majesty’s Articles of War and the dictates of British military justice, Private Richard Ames of His Majesty’s Fourteenth Regiment has been found guilty of desertion by a military tribunal, meeting in His Majesty’s Colony of Massachusetts. It is the decision of this tribunal that Private Richard Ames shall suffer execution in the company of his comrades in arms; such execution by firing squad to occur not later than 7:00 am, October 31, 1768.” Looking up from the document and glancing at the junior officer in charge of the firing squad, Dalrymple concluded, “Signed, General Thomas Gage, Commanding. Detail, carry out the orders forthwith.”

            With merely a nod from a command lieutenant, two burly grenadiers tied Private Ames to the wooden post. The lieutenant stepped forward to provide a black blindfold. When he had finished, he ordered a small detail of men to clear the far slope of civilians who were in the line of fire. This was done quietly but quickly and with resolve. Not too many noticed this activity, as most eyes were riveted on the squad of redcoats who marched forward in single file, their muskets at port arms. Again, a stillness and heavy quiet pervaded the Common. The commanding lieutenant drew his saber, and with a nod, the drummers began the requisite drumroll. “Ready, aim!” With a cloud of musket smoke and the smell of cordite, it was done. The drums stopped.

            As the firing squad cleared the area, Dalrymple again raised his voice. “His Majesty’s forces gathered here on Boston Common shall now pass in single file to bear close witness to the punishment reserved for those who desert their post. After passing, all troops shall be dismissed.”

            Without a word, General Gage and his staff did a smart about-face and returned to the command tent. Orders were barked as troops passed slowly by the execution site. A short time later, a small detail was observed cutting Private Ames from the post.

            Standing in the window, Sam Adams shook his head in sadness, “What a despicable sight that was, John! How do we explain that to our children? Hell, I don’t want these soldiers dead; I just want them gone from Boston.”

            “More tea, Sam?” he asked, as he poured himself another cup.

            “Just one more,” Sam answered solemnly, still looking out the window. “Then I’ll wander over to Queen Street to help Ben Edes write about this debacle for the Gazette.”

            Sitting down at a small table, Hancock said, “I will be interested to read what John Mein will say about this in the Boston Chronicle.” Straightening the lace at his neck and sleeves, he donned his crimson coat, adding, “Do you have any idea how hard it will be to get a redcoat to desert now, with that sword of Damocles hanging over their heads?”

            Adams looked at his young protégé solemnly. “I realize that, John. But we must continue to try. You know as well as I that our best bet is using those doxies to lure them away from this damned encampment.” Pausing a moment, he added, “And just what are you doing reading that damned Chronicle written by that detestable John Mein?”

            “I have learned that it is always wise to know what the opposition is thinking, Sam. It applies to business as well as politics. By the way, I have word that these tents on the Common will be taken down in short order. Our redcoats are striking camp,” said Hancock.