War and History Fiction posted January 25, 2012


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Another look at history

The Patriot Act

by humpwhistle

Historic, fictional poem or script Contest Winner 
April, 18, 1775, Boston, Massachusetts        
           

Fourteen-year-old Jubal Worth hear the tlot, tlot of the horse’s hooves, and the clatter of the carriage wheels on the cobblestones.   He stand up straight, and lean ‘gainst his hoe. 
           
Third time this week, he think.  Woman must be serious sick.  He grin and shake his head.  Or maybe it be some other kinda fever she need to see the doctor ’bout.  He smile again, imaginin’ all that roly-poly pink flesh.  But his smile don’t last long.  He ‘fraid the doctor gettin’ hisself into somethin’ a whole lot deeper than that. 
           
Jubal go back to bendin’ an’ choppin’ at the ground, but his eyes be lookin’ up under his lids. 
           
He see her driver open the door and raise up a hand to help her down.  Oh, she take his help, a’right, but then just walk on by, don’t think to say no thank you.  Them kind never do. 
           
Jubal take in her fancy clothes.  Prob’bly cost more money than Jubal---born a freeman, mind you---can make in all his days choppin’ clods and pullin’ weeds in Dr. Joseph Warren’s kitchen garden.  But he ain’t really complainin’.  Not ‘bout the doctor,  surely, an’ not even ‘bout the lady.  He complainin’ ‘cause his mama tell him that be the cost of breathin’. 
           
She had a special way of sayin’ it. 

“First breath we ever take, Jubal, come out with a bawlin’ complaint.  And we ain’t never stop complainin’ an’ bawlin’ ‘til we run clean outta breath and just cain’t complain no more.  It’s the way of the worl’, chil’.  Breathin’ and complainin’ is just the same as water an’ wet, y’see?  Jes’ cain’t keep ‘em apart.  An’ that goes for rich white folks, too, Jub.  Truth is, the more a body got, the more a body got to complain ‘bout---and the more breath he got to spend doin’ it, too.  

           
The older Jubal get, the more he see his mama was right.  Been lots’a people fillin’ Boston’s air with bawlin’ and complainin’ lately.  And Dr. Warren be breathin’ himself right inna the thick of it.  It ain’t exactly a secret that Dr. Warren be one of them patriots got old King George and the rest of them white-wigs in a foamin’ frazzle. 
           
That’s what’s so hard to understand.  What is Mrs. Gen’ral Thomas Gage, wife of the Military Governor of Massachusetts, doin’ comin’ ‘round here, and meetin’ with the enemy like she don’t know the difference?  Jubal thinks it can only be one thing or the another.  Either she just be makin’ a cuckold out her husband, or she be makin’ fools out her husband and fat ol’ King George at the same time.  Jubal think he know which is which.  He smile, and decide Mrs. Roly-Poly Gage might not be so bad after all.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 A few minutes after the gen’ral’s lady’s carriage tlots down the cobblestones, Dr. Warren stiff-legs down the veranda and out in’a the garden.
           
“Jubal, I’d like you to deliver these messages for me.”
           
The boy drop his hoe, wipe his hands on he britches, and reach for the two folded papers.
             
The doctor hand them over one at a time.  “You know where to find my friends, Mr. Dawes, and Mr. Revere, right?”
           
“Yessir.  I bring them letters before.”
           
The doctor press a coin in the boy’s hand.  “That’s right, Jubal, and thank you.  But this time, perhaps you will be kind enough to ask the gentlemen if you might assist them in saddling their horses?”  
           
“Yessir, Doctor.  And don’t you think we gonna have a fine garden this year?”
           
“Yes, son, I believe we’ve got something growing already.”
             


Historic, fictional poem or script
Contest Winner

Recognized


My apologies to those who are not familiar with Joseph Warren, Paul Revere, and William Dawes. On the eve of the American Revolution, the rebels received word that the English would be marching on Concord, Mass. to destroy a cache of arms. Revere and Dawes made storied rides into the countryside to alert the local militias. The minutemen mustered, and met the Redcoats at Lexington. To make a long story short, shots were fired, causualties were inflicted on both sides, and the war was on.

But how did the colonists know the British were coming?
Some say they were alerted to the British plan by Margaret Kemble Gage, wife of Military Governor, General Thomas Gage.
That is my belief. It may be appropriate to note that Margaret was born in New Jersey.
Jubal Worth is the only fictional character in my story.
Pays one point and 2 member cents.


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