decently enough, no doubt; but their manners were very British
and their coats were red, and "their simple presence," conveying
every day the suggestion of compulsion, was "an intolerable
grievance." Every small matter was magnified. The people, says
Hutchinson, "had been used to answer to the call of the town
watch in the night, yet they did not like to answer to the
frequent calls of the centinels posted at the barracks; ...and
either a refusal to answer, or an answer accompanied with
irritating language, endangered the peace of the town." On
Sundays, especially, the Boston mind found something irreverent,
something at the very least irrelevant, in the presence of the
bright colored and highly secular coats; while the noise of fife
and drum, so disturbing to the sabbath calm, called forth from
the Selectmen a respectful petition to the general requesting him
to "dispense with the band."

These were but slight matters; but as time passed little
grievances accumulated on both sides until the relation between
the people and the soldiers was one of settled hostility, and at
last, after two years, the tense situation culminated in the
famous Boston Massacre. On the evening of March 5, 1770, there
was an alarm of fire, false as it turned out, which brought many
people into the streets, especially boys, whom one may easily
imagine catching up, as they ran, handfuls of damp snow to make
snowballs. For snowballs, there could be no better target than
red-coated sentinels standing erect and motionless at the post of
duty; and it chanced that one of these individuals, stationed
before the Customs House door, was pelted with the close-packed
missiles. Being several times struck, he called for aid, the
guard turned out, and a crowd gathered. One of the soldiers was