“From Bad to Worse”


“Oh Johnny please don’t go!”
The words echoed throughout my head, bringing me back to a time of desperation and sadness.
“It’s for the best,you should know that Alex. King George and the blasted British Army behind him are treating us like misguided children. We shall not have to stay under these harsh taxes and cruel acts. A true army is one that is fighting for others, not for wealth or comfort. Alex, it is my duty to fight for these colonies; I will join the Colonial Army. I apologize, but it is for the love of my family and of our independence.”
The unforgettable words of my brother stuck in my head for the rest of that chilly November, only ever drifting away during my deep slumbers.
Mother and father acted as though nothing happened. Father visited the town for trade while mother stayed at home to watch over Richard and Clark. I knew they were just trying to cover up their wounded hearts, pitifully I was doing the same.
My father, Abraham Smith, has always been one to stir the pot when it comes to the British and their unjust treatment of the colonies. His skin bares signs of scorch marks from vicious riots against British troops. He is a hard headed New York merchant known for swindling those “cowardly” loyalists. Trying to shake loose a few extra coins was his profession, making debating with him as hard as eating a rock with your foot. Today was different though. He was exhausted when he got home. He complained about how the colonists are going on a trade strike, making his job even more stressful. My mother tried to comfort him, but nothing ever extinguished his ever-growing fire. Man, the war really is changing lives.
Early mornings in my house were meant for hard work and preparation of the day. Each day was different, sometimes I would fetch water from the town’s well, while other mornings I would hunt for breakfast. Today, mother hurriedly woke me up and told me to go and fetch fresh water. I don’t know what she was so frantic about, but I obeyed and slipped on my linen shirt, stockings and breeches. I greeted Richard and Clark at the main door, then with bucket in hand, set off to the well.
Walking through town used to be a joyful and merry time. Hearty laughs and competitive bargains filled the streets, making New York a merchants dream. But ever since the war started, British patrol scour the streets, silencing merchants and closing windows. The only ones who didn’t cower away are the tall, rich wigged men who are most definitely traitorous loyalists. Those cowards, I thought while searching for a well pump. A bright red handle caught my eye at the corner of Betsy’s Pub, dragging my legs along with it.
When I reached the pump I saw that it was sealed shut by solid ice. Just my luck, I’m gonna need something solid hard to break through that. I looked around to see the head of a pipe laying half-buried near the entrance of the pub. Scraping at the thick snow, I was then stopped by a firm hand on my shoulder.
“Son, what are you doing?”
I turned around to see a British general towering over me, with a musket lazily drooped over his shoulder.
“I...I...I am retrieving water from this pump here, see?” I point towards the frost covered pump in the alley.
I glanced over at the other soldiers in the platoon, and saw that they are leading a
group of furious merchants by rope. I didn't get the chance to see their faces though.

“Wait a minute what did those men do wrong?” I point my finger over to the arrested men behind the platoon.

He looks over and mischievously smiles,
“Oh nothing, just a bunch of merchant rioters. They always complain about the poor shipments coming from Britain. Today they even hung up an effigy on city hall to scare us. Hah, those foolish patriots, they are in British’s stronghold yet they still try to rebel!”
The General stomps back to his platoon, and I can now see the rioters faces. I don’t recognize any of them, but then one of them sits up and I see father's rugged face.
“No! Father!” I shout in shock, he then looks my way with a dreary face. He opens
his mouth to shout back, but looks at the Generals musket and shrugs.
He mouths, “I love you!” and I mouth it back too. Immediately after, he was shoved by one of the soldiers, wearing a sad yet proud smile while leaving my view. I understood, as father always said that if he was going to be thrown into the depths of prison, it would be for rights and liberty. Just like my brother Johnny.
I hurried home to tell my mother, but when I got there she was already weeping in her bedroom upstairs. I didn’t take the trouble of telling her, because she already knew.

? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?

November had ended and December was setting in. There was no more outside chores except for fetching water and snaring rabbits. So during the day, I walked around the city looking for help wanted signs. But there were never any because no one was leaving their jobs, as a job is the way of survival nowadays. Eventually, I began to beg at the corners of busy streets, making only a few copper coins per day. I would lay there helplessly, pleading to wealthy loyalists all day long. Johnny's face would appear in my mind, seeing him ride down the long road into the forest. I dreamed about him coming home with widespread arms and a grin on his face. Then my darkest fears would take over, I would see him being shot at the battle of Fort Washington. Even though I didn't know it yet, those dark thoughts have come true.