Young Writers Society

March 5th, 1770. It's incredible how one act can change the course of history. One wrong move can lead to bloodshed.

Private Hugh White shivered in his crimson suit. The snowy day fit the mood of the colonists. Tensions were high. The populous hated the fact that they were highly taxed. Hugh clutched his gun closer to his chest. Of course he was at the center of their hatred. The Commons House. Swallowing his saliva, he nervously shuffled his feet. He was quickly at ease when a few young men started talking with him. He chatted freely. While he casually examined his surroundings, his sharp eyes darted across the street, where schoolboys were snickering, crouched in the snow. Faster than the 30-year-old sentinel could react, a snowball pummeled his face. Private Hugh spewed out snow, curses, and threats.

“Get out of here!” snarled Private Hugh, waving his bayonet in the air.

But instead of running off, they continued hurling snowballs. The men, who were previously conversing with Hugh, smirked and threw punches at Hugh. Swinging his bayonet, he slashed one of their legs, and another on the face. The men screeched,

“Bloody murder! Help us!”

Out of rage, people joined, and instead of snowballs, they threw anything they could get their hands on. Some even brought clubs and pummeled Hugh. A mob was formed. He retaliated with swings of his bayonet. But this only further enraged the crowd. Hugh tripped backwards on the steps of the Common House and grunted as he landed on his back. Like a trapped animal, he did the only thing he could. He called for help.

Many Bostonians were biased one way or another. Most of them were extremists, but Jake was not. He was a patriot, but not to such an extent as to take drastic measures.

Jake Pearce jerked his head up in surprise. The bell was ringing, which meant a house was on fire. Jake jumped up and ran to the street. Sprinting, he quickly found his way to King’s Street, where he found a mob. Not a fire. A wave of nausea passed over him. The mob had rung the bell to recruit more men to fight one sentinel. Unfortunately for them, Captain Preston and his men were coming. Jake wildly swerved his head. The mob was protesting the Townsend Taxes. Jake wasn’t a fan of them either. But to take such drastic measures? To fight one man? He chuckled nervously as the soldiers loaded their muskets. Shouts from the angry mob rang out,

“Damn you, fire! Fire you cowards!”

Jake was shocked. He realized the crowd was using the Riot Act to their advantage. The Riot Act was a decree. Whenever there was a harmful gathering of over twelve people, it would be proclaimed. If the crowd hadn’t dispersed after an hour of the reading, they would be forced to by the soldiers. But Jake wasn’t taking chances. He ran towards Captain Preston and begged him not to fire. As his gaze shifted, other men came into view. Men that were also pacifying the crowd and the soldiers. Someone touched his shoulder. He briefly stiffened, then swung around. A man was handing him bricks. Jake stared and shook his head. The man growled,

“British sympathizer.”

He turned away. Jake’s body trembled with anger.

“They think I’m a sympathizer!” He inwardly screamed, “They’re wrong. They don’t understand.”

He breathed in deeply to calm down, and ventured into the thick of the crowd. Snatching a club out of a ruffian’s hands, his eyes declared what his mouth could not. But that very instant, a shot rang out in the crowd. Jake fell flat on the floor, covering his head. The shouts were replaced with screams. Mocking with shrieks.

Jake raised his head up. Many had fled, and the few that were left were either dead, wounded, or dazed. He didn’t wait any longer. Scraping his knees, he bolted down the street. As he turned to his house, he stopped. Squeezing tears out of his eyes he entered his house. It was his fault. He could have stopped the mob. He could have stopped the murder.

The patriot colonists were already prepared for war against the British. They wanted freedom. Because of this, the Boston Massacre was heavily utilized as propaganda. Many of the accounts of the event were shifted and told from a biased perspective. Unfortunately, that indicates that the colonists who were not eyewitnesses were given false information.

Patrick was furious. He rushed home to his startled wife and blurted out the news.                         

“The British attacked innocent bystanders! This is outrageous! They should be hanged. It was a massacre last night I tell you, a massacre!”

Emma’s mild eyes slowly widened                                                                                                   “Please, Patrick, speak clearly. I can’t hear what you are saying.”

Patiently, Patrick repeated himself. Emma’s hand flew to her mouth.                                                  “Are you sure?”

Patrick held out a newspaper in his hand.                                                                                             “All too sure.”

Taking the newspaper and skimming through it, Emma double checked the story. Long story short, she was confused. The account made no sense, declaring that the soldiers were simply “running around wounding civilians.”

Even though her gut told her this was fishy, she trusted her husband. She glanced up.                   

“Well, what are you going to do about it?”

Patrick sighed,                                                                                                                                  

“Make sure everyone knows, and that justice is served.”

With that, he up and left the house.

The Boston Massacre was very important to history. It spurred action, and raised awareness of the injustices that was being inflicted upon the colonists. Americans should remember it as the start of the American Revolution.