The Virginia Gazette

June 9. Mr. John Malcomb, an Officer of the Customs at Boston, who was tarred and feathered, and led to the Gallows, with a Rope about his Neck, and threatened to be hanged, and whose House and Furniture were destroyed, is arrived in Town. He came on Board the Active Man of War. After he got on Board, it is said, he was offered 300l. Sterling by the People of Boston, in Satisfaction of his Damages.

A Correspondent says he has been informed, by a Gentleman lately arrived from Philadelphia, that when Mr. John Malcomb, an Officer of the Customs at Boston, was leading, tarred and feathered, to the Gallows, with a Rope about his Neck, he was asked by one of the Mob whether he was not thirsty, which was natural to a Man expecting to be hanged. The unfortunate Officer of the Customs, as well as he could speak, answered yes; and immediately a large Bowl of strong Tea was put into his Hands, with Orders to drink the King's Health. Whether it was owing to Loyalty or Thirst is not material; poor Malcomb half emptied the Bowl. He was then told he must mend his Draught, and drink the Queen's Health. Though he had done his utmost for the King, he found he must do something for the Queen; and having taken off Half the Remainder of the Bowl, he presented it back to the Persons from whom he had received it. Hold! hold! cries his Friend, you are not to forget the rest of the Royal Family; come, drink to the Prince of Wales. Replenish, replenish, cries the loyal American; and instantly poor Malcomb saw two Quarts more of what he was heartily sick of. Make Haste, cries another loyal American; you have nine more Healths to drink before you arrive at the Gallows. For God's Sake, Gentlemen, be merciful, I am ready to burst; if I drink a Drop more, I shall die. Suppose you do, cries one of the Mob, you die in a good Cause, and it is as well to be drowned as hanged, and immediately the drenching Horn was put to his Mouth, to the Health of the Bishop of Osnabrug; and, having gone through the other eight, he turned pale, shook his Head, and instantly filled the Bowl which he had just emptied. What, says the American, are you sick of the Royal Family? No, replies Malcomb, my Stomach nauseates the Tea; it rises at it like Poison. And yet, you Rascal, returns the American, your whole Fraternity at the Customhouse would drench us with this Poison, and we are to have our Throats cut if it will not stay upon our Stomachs. The merciful Americans desisted, and the Procession was continued towards the Gallows.