Mr. Souffard, My High School History Teacher,
Is Saying He Flunked Two Kids Last Year Because in the Final Written Exam on the American Revolutionary War They Stopped Writing About History and Started Writing Nasty Rumors About Him, Thinking He'd Never Read Their Essays
(So We'd Better Be Careful, He's Warning Us)

By Matthew James Babcock

Revolution by Mick
American History (in the making)
Mr. Souffard

One of the first incidents that sparked the massive international dispute known today as the American Revolutionary War was what came to be called "The Boston Massacre." On a cold, snow-driven night (March 5, 1770), a group of one hundred or more angry Bostonians stormed the Customs House, which was being guarded by a single British soldier. Reports had been circulated earlier that the soldier had been guilty of whacking a young Boston boy with the butt of his musket because the boy had shouted slanderous remarks at the soldier. As a result of this purported outrage, the Bostonians rallied to the Customs House, bent on revenge. "Kill the soldier!" they shouted, flocking nearer. "Kill the coward!" As they approached, they brandished sticks and chunks of ice. Bewildered and frightened by the advancing mob, the young redcoat backed into the doorway of the Customs House, calling for help and dodging the jagged projectiles of ice and wood the vengeful mob hurled at him from all directions. The crowd was angry, but the sentry stood his ground.

Soon, seven soldiers, led by Captain Preston, rushed over from the barracks across the square, but the bellicose throngs paid no attention. They continued aw this is boring shouting threats and tossing ice chunks, snowballs, and tree branches. Unable to quash the incipient riot, Captain Preston gave his troops the order to prime and load their muskets. One of Captain Preston's soldiers, hit by a sharp projectile, slipped and fell on the ice. Above the mob's protesting, shouting, and derisive laughter, aw this is boring the rest of the soldiers thought they heard the order to "Fire!" And fire they did, blindly, into the crowd. Too bad gun control hadn't been invented yet, but that's life, I guess. The echoes of the rifle shots faded into the distance, and the blue wisps of gunpowder smoke dissipated, revealing a small group of Boston denizens lying motionless on the ground, their precious lifeblood flowing out, running wide ribbons of guilty crimson into the pure white moonlit snow. The square was silent, absolutely still. For a moment, no one moved. Then, the ringing that the volley of gunfire had left in everyone's ears gave way to the clatter of military hooves as Captain Preston's handful of redcoats was reinforced by three companies, who, upon arriving, were given the order to dismount, drop to one knee, and assume the firing position. On both sides, there boring and irrelevant was grim determination. Each side waited for the other to make the first move.

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