It was March of 1770 in Boston.

Snow silenced the cobblestone streets and the warves on the waterfront creaked and

moaned in the cold.

A couple blocks from the water, a British soldier was standing guard on the icy steps of the

customs house.

In his red coat, his black tricorn hat, British troops had been in Boston for more than

a year now, occupying the town, forcing the defiant colonists to pay taxes.

A young barber's apprentice, a citizen of Boston, walked by the soldier on this winter

night.

Dusk had fallen early, hours before, and the sky was deep dark, except for a tiny sliver

of moon.

There had already been rumbles up the street between groups of colonists and soldiers,

but those had mostly quieted.

Now though, this young colonist and the British soldier got into a spat.

The soldier hit the boy on the head with the butt of his musket, and soon enough, this

quiet dark scene came alive.

The boy ran off shouting and crying, and he returned shortly with a crowd of other colonists.

They started to form around the soldier, going bigger and angrier.

Search bells, which were sometimes used to alert the town that there was an emergency,

they started ringing.

They called more and more people outdoors into Boston's brisk night air.

Then, other British soldiers arrived.

...