Seventy-Sixer: a Turncoat's Revolutionary Redemption Tale

Prologue: Like Father, like Son

"Bam! Bam! I got you, Thomas!"

As the graying twilight sky of the northeastern English plains gave way to the navy blue hue of the early evening, several boys played soldiers through the moist grassland. While a few candles were lit in the windows of the daub hovels and cottages of the local village, the lights in the township of nearby Norwich glowed as if ethereal beings were taking up residence inside the houses.  The year was 1746 and the ground was wet and muddy from the showers typical of the month of April yet the boys from the local village paid it no mind. As the day gave way to the young night, the lads of Norburgh were engaged in intense war games while a real war raged up north near the Scottish border.

"Urgh! Not again!" 

Thomas played dead as he lay in the mud, getting his tan breeches caked with the substance. He knew his mother would throw a fit , but it couldn't be helped. After all, it is what his grandfather had said-boys will be boys.  As the six year old lay prone on the cold wet floor, the three other boys hurried over to him. 

"Thomas, you can get on your feet now," the tallest of the lads, a redhead named Alfred,sometimes referred to as Alfie by the young lads,  motioned. "Why do you keep dying? You can't win by riding out in the open. You need to hide."

As the waves of the not too distant shore rumbled against the cliffs and outcroppings of the English countryside, the young chestnut-haired Thomas rose and faced the three boys, which included his cousin Abraham. The local hounds bayed and ran around, playing with each other just like the boys had. 

"How do you know I wasn't playing dead in order to be a cat's paw, eh? By fooling you, I can kill you when you don't pay any heed."

"He's right, you know," Jonathan, the dark-haired and slightly chubby boy, stated as Abe nodded his thin head. "If you lower your guard, your enemy can take advantage and knock you. At least that's what my uncle told me."

"He's in the war, isn't he?" Abe spoke up.

Jon nodded. "Aye, that he is.  So is my pa and his brothers. My ma's brothers and father are fighting, too."

Alfie crossed his arms. "Let's hope they are on the right side. I don't want your folk fighting against mine." 

"Nay, that would be terrible." Jon shuddered as he said those words. 

"Can we get up now?"

From the tall wet grass and the soft mud-caked soil, several boys rose and dusted their stained clothing before making it over to where Thomas, Abraham, and the others were congregated.  

"Oi! Are we finished with this round?" A tall and lanky 8 year old lad with curly wood-colored hair, Aberforth, led the group toward them.  He and four other boys had been Thomas's playmates during this war game, but unfortunately, they had to end up on the losing side. 

"Aye!" Alfie confirmed. "The King's men win this round. Jacobites lose. Let's play another round. What say you?"

Thomas groaned. "Must I play as a turncoat once more?"

"What's so bad about playing as the Scots?" Aberforth asked. 

Jonathan shuddered. "My da says they are a horde of bloodthirsty barbarians. "

"And they smell so disgusting, like aged cod," Oliver, the boy with the bright blue eyes and blonde hair added.

"My big brother says that if the king's men don't win and hold them off at the line, they will sneak into to my home and take me off like elves into the forest," George, his dirty blonde hair a mop of messiness,  whimpered.

"Fiddlesticks!" Thomas objected to the overstatements from his fellow wee lads. "My grandpa taught me that the Scottish clans were people just like the rest of the Britons.  However, it is mini-squabbles between men that caused them to be on the wrong side of the war."

An uncomfortable silence fell upon the boys as a gentle gale caressed Thomas's face only to be broken by Sebastian, the final member of Thomas's group. 

"Aye, I hear from my mum that there are some Scots that are not in league with the bad guys. Not even the Irish are involved with them.  War is a complicated ma-"

"That's all rubbish!" Alfie shouted. 

Before a rebuttal could be conjured,  voices called out to them. Thomas and his playmates turned to see their mothers, lighting the darkness with their candles. It was as if fireflies were hovering in the grasslands. As the boys scurried over to their moms like hounds to their masters, Thomas appeared before his parent. Katherine Mison Parrish, her brunette hair tied up by a bonnet , gazed down at her son's soiled clothing with a look of disgust. 

"Thomas, must you always not heed my advice and sully your breeches and coat?"

The young boy gazed down shamefully. "Apologies, mummy, but I wanted to play with the boys."

Katherine just sighed. "I understand. 'Tis unavoidable with the lot of you. I suppose boys will be boys. "

Before the young adventurous child could reply, a horn sounded, marking the arrival of a regiment of British soldiers. The boys and their mothers froze and turned to face the hill where the sound  originated from and what they saw captivated them. Several horsemen of a dragoon regiment rode down the hill to meet up with the villagers at the bottom of the hill. As the horsemen arrived, young Thomas, elated as he was hurried over to one blue and red uniformed dragoon who had a navy blue cap on his head.  The British cavalier smiled upon seeing him and dismounted his horse before scooping the boy into his arms.

"Thomas, my wee little boy! I missed you so much!"

"Me too, papa! Did you win?"

Silas Parrish smiled at his son as he set him on the ground. "Aye son,  the Battle of Culloden was long and grueling, but Bonnie Prince Charlie surrendered at the end of the day. He and his Jacobite dogs will no longer be a threat to the honest and hardworking men and women of Great Britain. The Highlanders need not do his bidding henceforth."

Katherine walked over to her husband before embracing him. The two shared a kiss, much to Thomas's dismay, before they started catching up. From the corner of his eye, he spotted his Uncle James embracing Abe and Aunt Madge while his Uncle Bartholomew stood by. His maternal uncles, including his favorite Uncle Oliver, also came over to chat with his mother. At least that left his father free to talk to him.

"Papa, did you kill many Jacobites?"

Silas nodded gravely. "Aye, though not only the poor Scotsmen pressed to take up arms against us, but by Irishmen, Welsh, and even some Frenchmen who were playing mercenary to the traitor Jacobite prince. Killing isn't an easy thing to do, but once duty calls, you heed it."

Thomas couldn't help but smile as a he felt a rush of pride for his father. "Zounds! You and your feats are astounding! I want to be like you once I'm older. A dragoon to bring honor to Britain and defend her with my life!"

His father just smiled and chuckled as ruffled his hair. "I am sure you will make me and your country proud one day, Thomas. I am sure of it. Now let's get inside. It is time to get you washed up and ready for slumber time."

Hey, welcome to one of the many Historical Fiction stories I have conjured up. As history is one of my favorite subjects, you shall see many further down the road!