Post by a on Jan 11, 2010 19:18:02 GMT -8
This was actually an English Assignment, we had to write one last chapter to the book Johnny Tremain, which I actually, found interesting. It's a good look on the American Revolution, and the characters are pretty realistic (Rab! Rab was sooo awesome!) But you probably won't understand very much of this unless you've read the book, and to my understanding, I think it's only me 'n' Akkii who's read it. XD
--
The smell of damp earth and spring filled up the warm, clear but very humid air. The scent from a valley of honeysuckles not too far away overpowered the stench of the town fires with their sweet fragrance. It really was a beautiful day. A red-breasted robin chirped a soft turn from the branches of a dew-covered sugar maple.
Johnny stood in the dew soaked earth of Lexington. His upturned face observed the clear blue sky of that morning. The numbness of yesterday had faded out of his system, and he was slightly surprised with himself, because of instead a flood of emotions making him break down into hysterics, he felt rather… calm. Of course, he grieved over Rab’s death, but there were things that he should be thinking about other than the untimely death of his closest friend. While thinking about Rab’s death he remembered something long ago when his mother’s servant died. He had been a young boy back then and never knew anyone who had died. He didn’t remember his mother’s words until now, and now they played in his head like an old movie.
‘Why are you crying Johnny?’ She had asked him. ‘You shouldn’t cry, you’re a big boy now.’ Johnny forced the tears to stop, but he had kept on sniffing.
‘Why did she have to die?’
She had bent down on her knees to gently place her hands on his shoulders and look him in the eyes.
‘Her soul has gone on to Heaven; God has called her up there with Him. As for her body, it will return to the soil like the Bible says, and it will feed to flowers and the trees and so on and so forth.’ She had told him. ‘She will go one on forever with her soul with God and her body in the earth.’
Johnny thought about this for a moment of two as the silence continued on. The humid spring air hung heavy around him as Johnny just stood there, staring up at the cobalt colored sky. Rab would live on forever, in the blood stained earth and his fiery but oddly calm soul in Heaven. Johnny looked down at his hands as he thought about this. He would carry on what Rab wanted with his own to hands, once right one was set free.
Johnny just barely heard the sloshing of boots through thick mud behind him. The soft voice of Dr. Warren spoke up through the silence.
“Are you ready, Johnny?” The doctor asked. Johnny nodded and turned around.
“Yes. I am ready.”
Johnny followed the doctor back to the tavern that was now also being used as a hospital of sorts. He began to worry as they neared the building. But then again, they were going to cut open his hand. Swallowing down the fear, he told himself not to be acting like a child. He was a man now, and men did what needed to be done. And this… this needed to be done. Johnny gulped in a lungful of the humid air before stepping into the tavern. Almost instantly, the stench of the sick and dying made him want to run outside into the fresh smelling air. But he forced himself to take another step into the tavern. He was a man. And men did what had to be done.
“Take a seat, Johnny.” Dr. Warren instructed calmly. Johnny sat down, placing Rab’s musket aside on the chair next to him before taking a seat
“Are you sure you can hold your arm still?” Dr. Warren asked, before he could continue Johnny shook his head.
“Yes, I’ve got it.”
Dr. Warren nodded, before collecting his tools. He told one of the maids at the tavern to go and do something; Johnny really wasn’t paying that much of attention. Dr. Warren handed him something now.
“Bite down on that.” He instructed. Johnny looked down at it; it was a musket ball, covered in a thick, rough cloth. He looked up at Dr. Warren quizzically.
“So you don’t bite your tongue.” Dr. Warren explained quickly. Johnny didn’t say anything, just nodded once and stuck the large musket in his cloth, clamping his jaws around it. It tasted pretty bad and he wanted to spit it out, but he kept it there.
“Okay. I’m going to cut it now.” Dr. Warren told him.
The scalpel ripped through his mutilated flesh. It was a quick, swift movement as the skin, though rough, wasn’t very thick in the area. Johnny did want to yell out; the screams tore at the back of his throat as he struggled to keep them down. Johnny couldn’t watch, he had to turn away as soon as the blood erupted from the wound and quickly began to run down his palm and the back of his hand. Johnny sucked in a breath through his nose and he bit down hard on the musket, he was a surprised that he didn’t chip a tooth on the hard musket ball. He knew that if he hadn’t had the musket ball in his mouth, he probably would have bit his tongue in half; he didn’t even notice the foul taste of the cloth and the musket at that moment.
“Hurry, now!
Dr. Warren said, though his voice rose it was still even calm, the woman from early came back with something red hot and glowing at the end of a metal rod. Taking the metal rod, Dr. Warren pressed the glowing hot thing against Johnny’s hand, between the gap that no separated his thumb from his palm and index finger. There was a loud hiss as the hot iron made contact with his blood and skin, steam rising off of it. Johnny coughed as the smell of burned flesh met his face. It was a horrid stench, and Johnny held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut at this point, the urge to scream even stronger than before.
The pain reminded Johnny of the silver burning that had gotten him that situation. He almost screamed again, and he gagged on the musket wedged between his teeth. Dr. Warren looked up at the boy from where he was kneeling down next to him, but Johnny didn’t see him. Dr. Warren continued to hold the now cooling iron, though still very hot, iron to his hand, making sure that it was all sealed.
“There, done.” Dr. Warren said as he removed the hot iron that had closed his tore open flesh, to stop the bleeding. He placed the ball into a cast iron skillet, so it didn’t burn anything else before turning back to Johnny, watching the blue eyed, golden haired boy carefully. Johnny had opened his eyes again and he blinked a couple times.
Johnny spat out the musket ball and groaned. He knew that it would hurt, but this was a little bit more then he was expecting, though he wasn’t sure why he was so surprised. He knew that they would have to cut away the tissue connected his thumb to the rest of his hand. He knew that they would have to stop the bleeding somehow, and quickly, and that obviously led to burning the newly cut flesh with a ball of hot iron.
But now that he looked down at his hand, he knew that it was all worth it. Not just the surgery, burning his hand with the silver in the first place. If that would have never happened, he would have never met Rab, he would still be living in ignorance about the rest of the world, about Boston, really. How little he had known about the city he lived in while he was working for Mr. Lapham. If he would have never burned his hand, he wouldn’t have become a Son of Liberty.
As Mr. Lapham would have put it if he were still alive, ‘God has a plan for everybody, and all pain in life won’t be without reason.’
There was dull pain in his thumb now, the flesh obviously was charred, and ugly red color, but this would heal. And it would heal right this time. Johnny smiled slightly. Yes, this was definitely worth it. He was finally free to move his hand, he could hold a gun, ride a horse better-even though he was pretty good already, not to boast. And maybe, just maybe, he could go back into the silver craft…
Dr. Warren watched Johnny as the boy stared in a child-like wonder at his hand.
“So, how does it feel?” Dr. Warren asked, a soft smile playing in his wind-chapped lips. Johnny looked up at the gentle face of the doctor.
“It still hurts a bit, but I don’t think I will ever be able to thank you enough.” Dr. Warren just laughed at Johnny’s statement.
“You can repay me by going out and fighting for our freedom.” He said, handing Johnny Rab’s musket- no, Johnny’s Musket.
Johnny grinned, moved his now free thumb a bit and then took the rifle.
“Yes, sir.”
2
Two days had passed since Johnny’s hand had been freed. During this time, the minute men rushed to teach how to aim properly and operate the gun. Johnny was a quick study and he picked up everything he needed to know in almost no time at all. But now as they stood crouched done in the woods, surrounded by the soaring tall pines that made up most of the forests, Johnny wasn’t sure how he felt about actually… well… killing people, shooting at them with intent to kill. He didn’t have the same fire as Rab. Rab was born to be a soldier. But now, a part of his mind was dryly commented about how ‘soldier’ was just a fancy name for ‘killer’. He quickly pushed those thoughts aside. Rab wasn’t a killer. Rab was a patriot. Rab fought for a reason. He just didn’t go out slaughtering innocents. And what Rab wanted from him was to continue on with the fight, to siege Boston with the rest of the men. And Johnny would do that.
But after that, he wasn’t sure what he would do. Would he continue fighting, if there were more battles? Or would he stay in Boston? What about Cilla? Would he stay with her? Surely they would need more men defending Boston, in case the regulars decided to strike on the city. It was doubtful that they would go out into the country. He had the feeling that he needed to protect Cilla, she was just a vulnerable young lady, not at all somebody who could defend herself, with how small and dainty she was. Johnny’s thoughts were stopped when somebody whispered from between the trees and the underbrush.
“There they are.”
And with a loud battle cry, something that couldn’t be considered human on any scale, the men stood up in a flash, their guns ready and rained bullets down on the Red Coats. With vulgar language the regulars flailed about as the bullets pierced their thick wool jackets and many of them fell to the ground, painting the spring ground red with blood. As soon as the Red Coats managed to get their weapons ready and retaliate, they were gone.
Many days went like that. They slept on the ground, and when it couldn’t be avoided, in the mud. They ambushed the British Soldiers all the way to Boston. The red uniforms could be seen for a mile, with the massive groups that they were in. The man in charge, the one who called himself a general, Johnny found out that his name was George. George Washington. He was a man of little words, but Johnny had a feeling that his name would soon be one that was well known in every household.
April 19, 1775
Here they were, Boston. Washington sat perched upon a great, white horse, his uniform covered in dirt and filth, along with the rest of them. Washing led at the front of the group, his shoulders squared and sitting up as straight as a man could on a horse. One could almost sense the pride that he felt at the moment, the pride in his men at this moment. Even if they all died, Johnny could tell that Washington would die a proud man.
Pride goeth before a fall? Johnny thought with a smirk. I think not. George Washington was as big as the nation it’s self, it seemed, with the way his stony face was set and his shoulders cast back a bit, the handmade epilates hung from his shoulders, though dirty, still seemed to hold the same respect as any British Colonel have.
“This, my men,” George Washington began turning his body slightly to the side to look over at the mass of men that all faithfully grouped behind him, “will be the end of the Red Coats in Boston!”
The men cheered loudly, the sound was almost deafening. Johnny hollered and clapped with them. If the Red Coats weren’t going to leave when we told them to, then we would force them out of our city.
Almost instantly, the militia surrounded the city. It wasn’t an easy feat. Many of the men had been lost, but so had the Red Coats men.
And so the Siege had begun.
--
The hours passed by quickly, the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months. Sometimes it all blended in for Johnny. They had to keep a constant guard around the town, and while some of the men were able to get in and sneak supplies out without getting shot by the British soldiers that were garrisoned inside of the city walls, Johnny had not been able to. He couldn’t help but worry about all of his friends that were also trapped inside. Cilla, Mrs. Bessie, Cilla’s mother, now Mrs. Tweedie. And even Lt. Stranger. Had he died in the hospital? Or did he recover? Johnny longed to know what was going on inside. Did his horse, Goblin get snatched by British Soldiers? Now that the Regulars were probably getting desperate Johnny wouldn’t be surprised if a few of them broke the order and took some civilian food.
Winter came swiftly, Johnny shivered and hugged himself to keep warm in the mornings and nights, the days weren’t too bad if it was sunny. But when it started to snow and the days weren’t as bright anymore, Johnny began to wonder along with the other men if the British were really going to give up. But he had to tell himself that he shouldn’t allow such thoughts to plague his mind. He was Johnny Tremain, after all. He might have thought it before, but Johnny Tremain was no coward.
The New Year rolled around, Johnny had forgotten all about it. It had been nearly eight months. Eight months and the British were still caged inside. Would this continue on?
Then March Seventeenth came by. And the British surrendered the city.
That was a monumental day. As the Red Coats were finally pushed free of the city, people sang and danced in the spring air. It had almost been one whole year they guarded the gates of Boston, and now they were open again, and free.
But the battle wasn’t over yet. It wasn’t even close to being over.
But Johnny had other things to worry about.
As he walked through the familiar pathways of Fish Street, Hancock’s Wharf, the smell of sea salt and fish. Johnny had never really liked that smell all that much until now. Now he had rather missed it. There was a smile on his lips as he strolled peacefully through the happy streets. He had never seen to people of Boston so alive. With his hands in his pockets he sauntered around a corner, where a group of children were singing off-key ‘Yankee Doodle’
“… Stuck a feather in his hat and called it macaroni!”
Johnny stood there for a slight moment, the smile still on his face as he listened to the children, though off key it was very heartwarming to see the children happy again. He hadn’t seen the smiling face of a happy child in a long time, and it made him feel good that he was even a fraction of the reason that they were smiling again.
“Yankee Doodle, keep it up! Yankee Doodle dandy! Mind the music and the step! And with the girls be handy!” Johnny began to walk again, softly whistling the upbeat tune. Johnny heard the beginning of the first verse before the voice of the happy children faded as he walked away.
“There was Captain Washington…”
He noticed familiar faces, he even thought he saw the thick Dorcas, with a baby resting on her hip. Johnny grinned slightly. It was a big baby with huge blue eyes and wild, curly red hair that bounced off in every direction. The baby observed everything with wonder, one fist clutching Dorcas’s blouse, while the pink-cheeked baby watched everyone. Johnny just grinned and kept on walking.
Johnny stopped for a moment in front of the old residence of the Laphams. Such a long time ago, it seemed that he had lived there. Like a dream or something. His life there had been very different then from his life now. He almost wanted to walk inside to his old workshop. Go up to the attic, the life and death room, the storage room and the dinner room. He wanted to go in and sit at his old workbench. Maybe he could finally work with silver again…
But then he had to remind himself that his workbench was now being occupied by Mr. Tweedie. He could never go back to that life again. Not only did he realize that he probably wasn’t as suited for it as he had originally thought, but that life seemed dull in comparison to the one that he had now. That old Johnny Tremain had died a long time ago. He was a new Johnny Tremain now. One that made a difference instead of just standing by and letting things happen. A Johnny Tremain that learned from his mistakes instead of sulking over them for months. A Johnny Tremain who wasn’t a coward.
So he turned around and kept on walking, past the children dancing and singing, past all of the familiar workshops and all of the diners.
This Johnny Tremain, was a man who could stand up.
--
A Song Called Liberty
1
1
The smell of damp earth and spring filled up the warm, clear but very humid air. The scent from a valley of honeysuckles not too far away overpowered the stench of the town fires with their sweet fragrance. It really was a beautiful day. A red-breasted robin chirped a soft turn from the branches of a dew-covered sugar maple.
Johnny stood in the dew soaked earth of Lexington. His upturned face observed the clear blue sky of that morning. The numbness of yesterday had faded out of his system, and he was slightly surprised with himself, because of instead a flood of emotions making him break down into hysterics, he felt rather… calm. Of course, he grieved over Rab’s death, but there were things that he should be thinking about other than the untimely death of his closest friend. While thinking about Rab’s death he remembered something long ago when his mother’s servant died. He had been a young boy back then and never knew anyone who had died. He didn’t remember his mother’s words until now, and now they played in his head like an old movie.
‘Why are you crying Johnny?’ She had asked him. ‘You shouldn’t cry, you’re a big boy now.’ Johnny forced the tears to stop, but he had kept on sniffing.
‘Why did she have to die?’
She had bent down on her knees to gently place her hands on his shoulders and look him in the eyes.
‘Her soul has gone on to Heaven; God has called her up there with Him. As for her body, it will return to the soil like the Bible says, and it will feed to flowers and the trees and so on and so forth.’ She had told him. ‘She will go one on forever with her soul with God and her body in the earth.’
Johnny thought about this for a moment of two as the silence continued on. The humid spring air hung heavy around him as Johnny just stood there, staring up at the cobalt colored sky. Rab would live on forever, in the blood stained earth and his fiery but oddly calm soul in Heaven. Johnny looked down at his hands as he thought about this. He would carry on what Rab wanted with his own to hands, once right one was set free.
Johnny just barely heard the sloshing of boots through thick mud behind him. The soft voice of Dr. Warren spoke up through the silence.
“Are you ready, Johnny?” The doctor asked. Johnny nodded and turned around.
“Yes. I am ready.”
Johnny followed the doctor back to the tavern that was now also being used as a hospital of sorts. He began to worry as they neared the building. But then again, they were going to cut open his hand. Swallowing down the fear, he told himself not to be acting like a child. He was a man now, and men did what needed to be done. And this… this needed to be done. Johnny gulped in a lungful of the humid air before stepping into the tavern. Almost instantly, the stench of the sick and dying made him want to run outside into the fresh smelling air. But he forced himself to take another step into the tavern. He was a man. And men did what had to be done.
“Take a seat, Johnny.” Dr. Warren instructed calmly. Johnny sat down, placing Rab’s musket aside on the chair next to him before taking a seat
“Are you sure you can hold your arm still?” Dr. Warren asked, before he could continue Johnny shook his head.
“Yes, I’ve got it.”
Dr. Warren nodded, before collecting his tools. He told one of the maids at the tavern to go and do something; Johnny really wasn’t paying that much of attention. Dr. Warren handed him something now.
“Bite down on that.” He instructed. Johnny looked down at it; it was a musket ball, covered in a thick, rough cloth. He looked up at Dr. Warren quizzically.
“So you don’t bite your tongue.” Dr. Warren explained quickly. Johnny didn’t say anything, just nodded once and stuck the large musket in his cloth, clamping his jaws around it. It tasted pretty bad and he wanted to spit it out, but he kept it there.
“Okay. I’m going to cut it now.” Dr. Warren told him.
The scalpel ripped through his mutilated flesh. It was a quick, swift movement as the skin, though rough, wasn’t very thick in the area. Johnny did want to yell out; the screams tore at the back of his throat as he struggled to keep them down. Johnny couldn’t watch, he had to turn away as soon as the blood erupted from the wound and quickly began to run down his palm and the back of his hand. Johnny sucked in a breath through his nose and he bit down hard on the musket, he was a surprised that he didn’t chip a tooth on the hard musket ball. He knew that if he hadn’t had the musket ball in his mouth, he probably would have bit his tongue in half; he didn’t even notice the foul taste of the cloth and the musket at that moment.
“Hurry, now!
Dr. Warren said, though his voice rose it was still even calm, the woman from early came back with something red hot and glowing at the end of a metal rod. Taking the metal rod, Dr. Warren pressed the glowing hot thing against Johnny’s hand, between the gap that no separated his thumb from his palm and index finger. There was a loud hiss as the hot iron made contact with his blood and skin, steam rising off of it. Johnny coughed as the smell of burned flesh met his face. It was a horrid stench, and Johnny held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut at this point, the urge to scream even stronger than before.
The pain reminded Johnny of the silver burning that had gotten him that situation. He almost screamed again, and he gagged on the musket wedged between his teeth. Dr. Warren looked up at the boy from where he was kneeling down next to him, but Johnny didn’t see him. Dr. Warren continued to hold the now cooling iron, though still very hot, iron to his hand, making sure that it was all sealed.
“There, done.” Dr. Warren said as he removed the hot iron that had closed his tore open flesh, to stop the bleeding. He placed the ball into a cast iron skillet, so it didn’t burn anything else before turning back to Johnny, watching the blue eyed, golden haired boy carefully. Johnny had opened his eyes again and he blinked a couple times.
Johnny spat out the musket ball and groaned. He knew that it would hurt, but this was a little bit more then he was expecting, though he wasn’t sure why he was so surprised. He knew that they would have to cut away the tissue connected his thumb to the rest of his hand. He knew that they would have to stop the bleeding somehow, and quickly, and that obviously led to burning the newly cut flesh with a ball of hot iron.
But now that he looked down at his hand, he knew that it was all worth it. Not just the surgery, burning his hand with the silver in the first place. If that would have never happened, he would have never met Rab, he would still be living in ignorance about the rest of the world, about Boston, really. How little he had known about the city he lived in while he was working for Mr. Lapham. If he would have never burned his hand, he wouldn’t have become a Son of Liberty.
As Mr. Lapham would have put it if he were still alive, ‘God has a plan for everybody, and all pain in life won’t be without reason.’
There was dull pain in his thumb now, the flesh obviously was charred, and ugly red color, but this would heal. And it would heal right this time. Johnny smiled slightly. Yes, this was definitely worth it. He was finally free to move his hand, he could hold a gun, ride a horse better-even though he was pretty good already, not to boast. And maybe, just maybe, he could go back into the silver craft…
Dr. Warren watched Johnny as the boy stared in a child-like wonder at his hand.
“So, how does it feel?” Dr. Warren asked, a soft smile playing in his wind-chapped lips. Johnny looked up at the gentle face of the doctor.
“It still hurts a bit, but I don’t think I will ever be able to thank you enough.” Dr. Warren just laughed at Johnny’s statement.
“You can repay me by going out and fighting for our freedom.” He said, handing Johnny Rab’s musket- no, Johnny’s Musket.
Johnny grinned, moved his now free thumb a bit and then took the rifle.
“Yes, sir.”
2
Two days had passed since Johnny’s hand had been freed. During this time, the minute men rushed to teach how to aim properly and operate the gun. Johnny was a quick study and he picked up everything he needed to know in almost no time at all. But now as they stood crouched done in the woods, surrounded by the soaring tall pines that made up most of the forests, Johnny wasn’t sure how he felt about actually… well… killing people, shooting at them with intent to kill. He didn’t have the same fire as Rab. Rab was born to be a soldier. But now, a part of his mind was dryly commented about how ‘soldier’ was just a fancy name for ‘killer’. He quickly pushed those thoughts aside. Rab wasn’t a killer. Rab was a patriot. Rab fought for a reason. He just didn’t go out slaughtering innocents. And what Rab wanted from him was to continue on with the fight, to siege Boston with the rest of the men. And Johnny would do that.
But after that, he wasn’t sure what he would do. Would he continue fighting, if there were more battles? Or would he stay in Boston? What about Cilla? Would he stay with her? Surely they would need more men defending Boston, in case the regulars decided to strike on the city. It was doubtful that they would go out into the country. He had the feeling that he needed to protect Cilla, she was just a vulnerable young lady, not at all somebody who could defend herself, with how small and dainty she was. Johnny’s thoughts were stopped when somebody whispered from between the trees and the underbrush.
“There they are.”
And with a loud battle cry, something that couldn’t be considered human on any scale, the men stood up in a flash, their guns ready and rained bullets down on the Red Coats. With vulgar language the regulars flailed about as the bullets pierced their thick wool jackets and many of them fell to the ground, painting the spring ground red with blood. As soon as the Red Coats managed to get their weapons ready and retaliate, they were gone.
Many days went like that. They slept on the ground, and when it couldn’t be avoided, in the mud. They ambushed the British Soldiers all the way to Boston. The red uniforms could be seen for a mile, with the massive groups that they were in. The man in charge, the one who called himself a general, Johnny found out that his name was George. George Washington. He was a man of little words, but Johnny had a feeling that his name would soon be one that was well known in every household.
April 19, 1775
Here they were, Boston. Washington sat perched upon a great, white horse, his uniform covered in dirt and filth, along with the rest of them. Washing led at the front of the group, his shoulders squared and sitting up as straight as a man could on a horse. One could almost sense the pride that he felt at the moment, the pride in his men at this moment. Even if they all died, Johnny could tell that Washington would die a proud man.
Pride goeth before a fall? Johnny thought with a smirk. I think not. George Washington was as big as the nation it’s self, it seemed, with the way his stony face was set and his shoulders cast back a bit, the handmade epilates hung from his shoulders, though dirty, still seemed to hold the same respect as any British Colonel have.
“This, my men,” George Washington began turning his body slightly to the side to look over at the mass of men that all faithfully grouped behind him, “will be the end of the Red Coats in Boston!”
The men cheered loudly, the sound was almost deafening. Johnny hollered and clapped with them. If the Red Coats weren’t going to leave when we told them to, then we would force them out of our city.
Almost instantly, the militia surrounded the city. It wasn’t an easy feat. Many of the men had been lost, but so had the Red Coats men.
And so the Siege had begun.
--
The hours passed by quickly, the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months. Sometimes it all blended in for Johnny. They had to keep a constant guard around the town, and while some of the men were able to get in and sneak supplies out without getting shot by the British soldiers that were garrisoned inside of the city walls, Johnny had not been able to. He couldn’t help but worry about all of his friends that were also trapped inside. Cilla, Mrs. Bessie, Cilla’s mother, now Mrs. Tweedie. And even Lt. Stranger. Had he died in the hospital? Or did he recover? Johnny longed to know what was going on inside. Did his horse, Goblin get snatched by British Soldiers? Now that the Regulars were probably getting desperate Johnny wouldn’t be surprised if a few of them broke the order and took some civilian food.
Winter came swiftly, Johnny shivered and hugged himself to keep warm in the mornings and nights, the days weren’t too bad if it was sunny. But when it started to snow and the days weren’t as bright anymore, Johnny began to wonder along with the other men if the British were really going to give up. But he had to tell himself that he shouldn’t allow such thoughts to plague his mind. He was Johnny Tremain, after all. He might have thought it before, but Johnny Tremain was no coward.
The New Year rolled around, Johnny had forgotten all about it. It had been nearly eight months. Eight months and the British were still caged inside. Would this continue on?
Then March Seventeenth came by. And the British surrendered the city.
That was a monumental day. As the Red Coats were finally pushed free of the city, people sang and danced in the spring air. It had almost been one whole year they guarded the gates of Boston, and now they were open again, and free.
But the battle wasn’t over yet. It wasn’t even close to being over.
But Johnny had other things to worry about.
As he walked through the familiar pathways of Fish Street, Hancock’s Wharf, the smell of sea salt and fish. Johnny had never really liked that smell all that much until now. Now he had rather missed it. There was a smile on his lips as he strolled peacefully through the happy streets. He had never seen to people of Boston so alive. With his hands in his pockets he sauntered around a corner, where a group of children were singing off-key ‘Yankee Doodle’
“… Stuck a feather in his hat and called it macaroni!”
Johnny stood there for a slight moment, the smile still on his face as he listened to the children, though off key it was very heartwarming to see the children happy again. He hadn’t seen the smiling face of a happy child in a long time, and it made him feel good that he was even a fraction of the reason that they were smiling again.
“Yankee Doodle, keep it up! Yankee Doodle dandy! Mind the music and the step! And with the girls be handy!” Johnny began to walk again, softly whistling the upbeat tune. Johnny heard the beginning of the first verse before the voice of the happy children faded as he walked away.
“There was Captain Washington…”
He noticed familiar faces, he even thought he saw the thick Dorcas, with a baby resting on her hip. Johnny grinned slightly. It was a big baby with huge blue eyes and wild, curly red hair that bounced off in every direction. The baby observed everything with wonder, one fist clutching Dorcas’s blouse, while the pink-cheeked baby watched everyone. Johnny just grinned and kept on walking.
Johnny stopped for a moment in front of the old residence of the Laphams. Such a long time ago, it seemed that he had lived there. Like a dream or something. His life there had been very different then from his life now. He almost wanted to walk inside to his old workshop. Go up to the attic, the life and death room, the storage room and the dinner room. He wanted to go in and sit at his old workbench. Maybe he could finally work with silver again…
But then he had to remind himself that his workbench was now being occupied by Mr. Tweedie. He could never go back to that life again. Not only did he realize that he probably wasn’t as suited for it as he had originally thought, but that life seemed dull in comparison to the one that he had now. That old Johnny Tremain had died a long time ago. He was a new Johnny Tremain now. One that made a difference instead of just standing by and letting things happen. A Johnny Tremain that learned from his mistakes instead of sulking over them for months. A Johnny Tremain who wasn’t a coward.
So he turned around and kept on walking, past the children dancing and singing, past all of the familiar workshops and all of the diners.
This Johnny Tremain, was a man who could stand up.