Heroes - A Short Story Collection

Cry of Defiance

It was the year 1775. That year I remember above all other years and specifically the night of April 18. It was a night I'll never forget as long as I live.

It began like all other nights. After supper my family gathered in the family room as we did every evening. I remember also the conversation that night. My father was speaking of the news he had heard that day in the village.

"They say that General Gage intends to make a move any day now. Patriots in Boston are watching him carefully. They need to know what he plans to do before he does it. They've rigged up a signal in case their messengers can't get through to warn us when it does come. Someone will put lanterns in the spire of Old Christ church; one if they march by land and two if they come by sea."

"Mercy!" Mother shook her head as she deftly mended a torn shirt. "Surely it won't come to war! Why the British should soon return to England!"

"No. I had also hoped it wasn't true but I can see it clearly now. There can be no freedom without bloodshed."

The fire of liberty burned in all our hearts and we were ready to fight if fight we must but I was sure it wouldn't come for years yet. We could not see the action in Boston that night as well as nights before. And so we went to bed that night feeling safe as usual, the only sign of the outside conflict being the loaded muskets standing against the wall by the door. Father had placed them there a few months ago, knowing that if war came, he and my older brother Daniel would go to fight.

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I brushed my long hair in the dark stillness of the night, gazing out the window across the Massachusetts countryside. Slowly the soft spring breezes blew over the land, gently stirring the budded branches of the maples, oaks, and elms. Our apple trees, laden with fragrant pink blossoms, were also disturbed by the gentle wind. The soft lowing of cattle drifted in from a distant pasture and somewhere, far away, a rooster crowed. I sighed contentedly as I sank into my feather mattress and pulled the homemade quilt to my chin. It was a beautiful night and all was right in my little world.

How long I slept, I know not. All I remember is suddenly being jerked from sleep. I lay awake for a moment, staring out at the silver moon sailing in the star-studded skies as I tried to remember what had awakened me. Then, I heard it. Soft at first, the distant noise slowly but surely grew louder. I sat up in bed, listening intently to the rhythm of a horse's hooves beating a tattoo on the cobblestone street to match the beating of my heart. Then a man's voice- yelling.

"Strange," I thought. "Why on earth would someone be riding in the middle of the night?" As I listened, the shouted words became clear.

"Turn out! Turn out your militia!"

"What?" I sprang from bed and hurried to my window, pushing it open.

"Turn out your militia!" I could see the rider in the distance as he came nearer and nearer. A window in a nearby house opened and a sleepy man thrust his head out.

"What's going on down there?"

"The British are coming!" The man's words echoed through the night as he disappeared into the distance.

I stood still, frozen, unable to grasp what I had just heard. "The British are coming!" The words echoed in my ears, filling my heart with fear. It was then I noticed the distant spire of Old Christ's church far, far across the harbor in Boston and saw two tiny specks of flickering light.

The sounds of moving about downstairs told me the rest of my family had been awakened as well. Quickly I slipped into my petticoats and dress. Throwing a shawl around my shoulders, I hurried down the stairs and into the family room where everyone was gathering. Father was bustling around the room, buttoning his shirt, pulling on his boots. Daniel rushed out of his room, hat in hand. His eyes were alight and his face seemed to glow. I knew he was thrilled for the adventure in hand. Mother appeared in the doorway of her bedroom, her hair in disarray and her face white as chalk. She held a candle in her trembling hand.

"Oh, John, must you really go?" she tried to keep the tremor out of her voice.

"Aye, Elizabeth. I must." Father had taken out a knapsack, filling it with the few meager supplies he and Daniel would need. A skin of cider, a loaf of bread, some cheese and salt pork as well as clean shirts and stockings.

"Now?" Mother's lower lip trembled and she bit it to keep back the tears I knew she was struggling against.

"Aye. Now." Father's face was grim. He understood the task ahead. He turned to Mother. "I'm sorry, my dear. I know this is hard for you. Yet we need to fight against this tyranny that has invaded our land so that our children and our children's children may live in blessed peace and freedom- freedom to live and work and be happy. You must be brave my dear. For my sake and the children's'. You must realize how hard it is for me to leave you all." He leaned down and kissed her cheek, then wrapped her in his strong arms. She laid her head on his shoulder and let the tears fall, only a moment. Then, as he let her go, she wiped the tears from her face and held her head high. She smiled bravely as she bid her husband and son farewell. I too was fighting the urge to cry as I held father tight.

"Bye Sis." Daniel's voice was husky and I realized that he had tears in his eyes as he gave me a hug, something he hadn't done in years.

"You look out for yourself," I admonished, teasing him a little. "Don't you worry about me. I can take care of myself." He grinned suddenly and I felt terribly proud of my "annoying" big brother.

Father and Daniel then shouldered the muskets standing by the door, and last goodbyes being said, stepped out into the night. They were joined at the road by Mr. Greene and his son Matthew from the neighboring farm. The men shook hands solemnly as they met. Matthew suddenly looked towards the house, seeing me standing in the door. He smiled and waved.

"Bye Abby!"

"Goodbye!" I called, smiling back. "May God go with you!"

Then they all four vanished into the night.

I shivered as I turned back into the house, but it wasn't from the cold. Knowing I couldn't return to bed that night, I sat down and began knitting furiously. Mother nervously paced the floor, back and forth, back and forth. Finally she sat as well and picked up her mending. She kept her head down and I knew she was praying with every stitch she made.

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As time slowly went by and rosy dawn crept over the land, we watched as farmers dressed in everyday working clothes and shouldering rusty old hunting muskets slowly marched past, all heading to fight the uniformed, well-armed troops of his Majesty's Royal Army. My heart swelled with patriotic pride that day as I watched farmers, butchers, smiths, carpenters, and wealthy merchants alike join together, going to fight for our freedom. And in all our hearts echoed those words of last night. It had been a cry of defiance, and not of fear.

"Turn out your militia! The British are coming!" 

WA Note: As always votes and/or comments are always appreciated. :D