The Rebel...Part 2
Home 25th August 1668 – High Noon
It had been just over a year when Jebediah left, in service for the army. He had secretly inked his name, that fateful day when his father’s attention was diverted. A few days later, he had sneaked out of the house after nightfall to rendezvous with his friends, before leaving for the army.
Home 25th August 1668 - Dusk
The distant yet distinct booms of the cannons of rivaling armies sounded throughout the land. The family of Wallaces huddled together at the dinner table, praying hard that the danger would pass over them. A soft, insignificant dragging came across the hallway. A wounded soldier had just entered their dwelling. “Stop where you are, drop your weapons!” Bartholomew hissed. The intruder turned around, his features so striking, and familiar. He collapsed into Bartholomew’s arms --- Jebediah had finally returned. He was carried to the hall where he was laid down. Every step they took caused Jebediah to writhe in pain. A bullet lodged in his midsection caused him much agony. In the process of removing the bullet, he soon fell unconscious. He was feared dead, but Bartholomew reassured the rest that he was still very much alive.
From the grass verge emerged scores of men clad in red. Men in blue rushed forward to the clearing. The first shot rang out, the first man fell. Thus beginning a nightmare not known to many. Shortly, into the battle, cannons were rolled in to view. The screams of agony sounded out as men were hit by flying shrapnel. Some fell to their very own colleagues shots. The battlefield soon turned into a scene of carnage. The firing soon ceased. Both factions formed into a single row. At a cry, both lines charged, and clashed. This battle carried on till daybreak.
Home 26th August 1668 – Dawn
Jebediah awoke with a start. He studied his milieu, he was in a place so foreign yet familiar place --- His father’s study. The wounded soldier mustered enough strength to drag himself across the floor. Muffled groans brought his attention to the porch where numerous mortally wounded soldiers of both factions were lain down to await Death. Scores of wounded soldiers, some shot in the legs, arms and other body parts that were not life-threatening lay on the grass. A dozen familiar thoughts and faces flooded his mind. His kin were tending to the wounded, and comforting the dying ones. His father turned to him and they embraced. The rest of the family temporarily left their duties at hand to welcome Jebediah home. But their family reunion was not to last. In the distance, a band of redcoats marched briskly towards their home. Their leader, a sergeant in his early thirties addressed Bartholomew. “I must show you utmost gratitude for giving His Majesty’s men such hospitality. We are indebted to you…” Before he had finished his sentence a clear voice broke through the clearing, “ Consider that debt over ridden! You have indeed shown hospitality towards MY men, and have nursed their injuries, but I believe you house a traitor!” A small, armed calvary emerged, at their head, a sinister looking lieutenant. He too, like the mayor, had a pair of sky-blue pupils, which were piercing. “It is to my knowledge that a member of your own army, a postal officer broke through our ranks and ran in this direction, in search, possibly, of refuge.” He paused, allowing his words to sink in before continuing. “I shall now warrant a search of every inch of your property, to find this impudent mortal.” Bartholomew made a move to object. But was soon overcome some of the redcoats. Jebediah was shooed back into the study just moments before the redcoats had arrived. He had long fell in a sound slumber when the calvary arrived. He was roused from his sleep by a pair of rough hands that were constantly tugging at his coat. As he opened his eyes, what he saw shocked him…
Within minutes, he was dragged before the lieutenant and thrown to his knees. In his cold and sinister voice, he began to speak. “Ah! I see before me this treacherous boy; trying as hard he would to send valuable information to his commander. Sadly, I will not allow this.” He motioned for an officer and whispered something in his ear. The officer moved towards Jebediah and barked at him to move. Bartholoew broke free of the soldiers’ grasp and made a move to shield his son. Due to nursing the wounded soldiers through the long night, he was taxed, he was soon over powered again. His son was attached at the wrists to the horse of the lieutenant. The sergeant that had arrived earlier could only look on in pity as all these took place. As the lieutenant began to leave, he mumbled in apology to Bartholomew. Another of the lieutenants stepped forward and ordered for the American soldiers to be shot. The soldiers could only whimper in cowardice, before their last breath allowed them to cry in pain as English bullets tore through their sinews. The wounded redcoats were taken away. A group of redcoats emerged with torches. What Bartholomew had feared now came true. At an order the torches were flung into the house and soon the entire house was ablaze. At the spur of the moment, Thomas, the second Wallace son rushed forward and sliced the rope that bonded Jebediah’s wrists. Thomas realized his error, but it was too late…The lieutenant whirled around, pistols already loaded and fired twice in succession.
Bartholomew broke free and ran towards his son. He cradled him and comforted him knowing that only Death awaited him. Jebediah was once again captured and lead away. Without saying a word, Thomas’s face became a deathly pale, and passed on into death. When the Englishmen had rode out of sight, Bartholomew’s strength surged into body, coursing through his veins and empowering him with might. Filled with anguish, he raced towards his bedroom. He screeched to a halt in front of his chest of belongings so long forgotten. He opened it, and the sight that greeted brought back many memories. No time for that now, he shook the thoughts out of his mind. He pulled out every weapon and firearm he could find.
From the blazing inferno emerged a terrible sight. Bartholomew was armed to his teeth. With rifles, machetes, pistols, and his beloved Cherokee Battleaxe. His eyes, ablaze, with a fury long forgotten to this realm. He distributed the weapons to his two remaining son, Samuel and Martin. He turned to his housemaid Abigail; “Bring the girls to Charlotte’s, and seek refuge. We’ll come later.” Without so much as a backward glance, he and the boys sped off, hot on the heels of the British convoy that held his dear son captive.
It had been just over a year when Jebediah left, in service for the army. He had secretly inked his name, that fateful day when his father’s attention was diverted. A few days later, he had sneaked out of the house after nightfall to rendezvous with his friends, before leaving for the army.
Home 25th August 1668 - Dusk
The distant yet distinct booms of the cannons of rivaling armies sounded throughout the land. The family of Wallaces huddled together at the dinner table, praying hard that the danger would pass over them. A soft, insignificant dragging came across the hallway. A wounded soldier had just entered their dwelling. “Stop where you are, drop your weapons!” Bartholomew hissed. The intruder turned around, his features so striking, and familiar. He collapsed into Bartholomew’s arms --- Jebediah had finally returned. He was carried to the hall where he was laid down. Every step they took caused Jebediah to writhe in pain. A bullet lodged in his midsection caused him much agony. In the process of removing the bullet, he soon fell unconscious. He was feared dead, but Bartholomew reassured the rest that he was still very much alive.
From the grass verge emerged scores of men clad in red. Men in blue rushed forward to the clearing. The first shot rang out, the first man fell. Thus beginning a nightmare not known to many. Shortly, into the battle, cannons were rolled in to view. The screams of agony sounded out as men were hit by flying shrapnel. Some fell to their very own colleagues shots. The battlefield soon turned into a scene of carnage. The firing soon ceased. Both factions formed into a single row. At a cry, both lines charged, and clashed. This battle carried on till daybreak.
Home 26th August 1668 – Dawn
Jebediah awoke with a start. He studied his milieu, he was in a place so foreign yet familiar place --- His father’s study. The wounded soldier mustered enough strength to drag himself across the floor. Muffled groans brought his attention to the porch where numerous mortally wounded soldiers of both factions were lain down to await Death. Scores of wounded soldiers, some shot in the legs, arms and other body parts that were not life-threatening lay on the grass. A dozen familiar thoughts and faces flooded his mind. His kin were tending to the wounded, and comforting the dying ones. His father turned to him and they embraced. The rest of the family temporarily left their duties at hand to welcome Jebediah home. But their family reunion was not to last. In the distance, a band of redcoats marched briskly towards their home. Their leader, a sergeant in his early thirties addressed Bartholomew. “I must show you utmost gratitude for giving His Majesty’s men such hospitality. We are indebted to you…” Before he had finished his sentence a clear voice broke through the clearing, “ Consider that debt over ridden! You have indeed shown hospitality towards MY men, and have nursed their injuries, but I believe you house a traitor!” A small, armed calvary emerged, at their head, a sinister looking lieutenant. He too, like the mayor, had a pair of sky-blue pupils, which were piercing. “It is to my knowledge that a member of your own army, a postal officer broke through our ranks and ran in this direction, in search, possibly, of refuge.” He paused, allowing his words to sink in before continuing. “I shall now warrant a search of every inch of your property, to find this impudent mortal.” Bartholomew made a move to object. But was soon overcome some of the redcoats. Jebediah was shooed back into the study just moments before the redcoats had arrived. He had long fell in a sound slumber when the calvary arrived. He was roused from his sleep by a pair of rough hands that were constantly tugging at his coat. As he opened his eyes, what he saw shocked him…
Within minutes, he was dragged before the lieutenant and thrown to his knees. In his cold and sinister voice, he began to speak. “Ah! I see before me this treacherous boy; trying as hard he would to send valuable information to his commander. Sadly, I will not allow this.” He motioned for an officer and whispered something in his ear. The officer moved towards Jebediah and barked at him to move. Bartholoew broke free of the soldiers’ grasp and made a move to shield his son. Due to nursing the wounded soldiers through the long night, he was taxed, he was soon over powered again. His son was attached at the wrists to the horse of the lieutenant. The sergeant that had arrived earlier could only look on in pity as all these took place. As the lieutenant began to leave, he mumbled in apology to Bartholomew. Another of the lieutenants stepped forward and ordered for the American soldiers to be shot. The soldiers could only whimper in cowardice, before their last breath allowed them to cry in pain as English bullets tore through their sinews. The wounded redcoats were taken away. A group of redcoats emerged with torches. What Bartholomew had feared now came true. At an order the torches were flung into the house and soon the entire house was ablaze. At the spur of the moment, Thomas, the second Wallace son rushed forward and sliced the rope that bonded Jebediah’s wrists. Thomas realized his error, but it was too late…The lieutenant whirled around, pistols already loaded and fired twice in succession.
Bartholomew broke free and ran towards his son. He cradled him and comforted him knowing that only Death awaited him. Jebediah was once again captured and lead away. Without saying a word, Thomas’s face became a deathly pale, and passed on into death. When the Englishmen had rode out of sight, Bartholomew’s strength surged into body, coursing through his veins and empowering him with might. Filled with anguish, he raced towards his bedroom. He screeched to a halt in front of his chest of belongings so long forgotten. He opened it, and the sight that greeted brought back many memories. No time for that now, he shook the thoughts out of his mind. He pulled out every weapon and firearm he could find.
From the blazing inferno emerged a terrible sight. Bartholomew was armed to his teeth. With rifles, machetes, pistols, and his beloved Cherokee Battleaxe. His eyes, ablaze, with a fury long forgotten to this realm. He distributed the weapons to his two remaining son, Samuel and Martin. He turned to his housemaid Abigail; “Bring the girls to Charlotte’s, and seek refuge. We’ll come later.” Without so much as a backward glance, he and the boys sped off, hot on the heels of the British convoy that held his dear son captive.
posted by Gabriel at 12:10 am
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