The Men in Blood

The young girl sat upon the edge of the dampened, wooden boardwalks that nearly circulated the cool harbor around him. The weather was reasonably warm for the early spring season, and the fresh wind driven by the lapping waters was a bitter refreshment in uncertain times. The large naval boats rocked gently, tied comfortably to the docks as they were vacantly cradled. There was not a man on these ships, and without them, the view was dark and mysterious. No cargo was to be released, and no human would leave these ships a friend to the girl’s city; as they were all draped in blood markings that could always be distinguished.

The soldiers whose coats were caked in blood occupied the entire city. For over a year now they had, ever since the incident. The girl was much younger than she is now, and while she recalled the very incident of her father returning home late one night with his britches drenched in water, shaking loose tea leaves from his slippery shoes, she could not remember much more. Though the more she considered it, she wished she did.

But onto her point - the naval ships were there for the sole reason of power. The tall, proud men who intimidated her friends and family by decorating their backs and sleeves in blood became a notorious force. The young girl remembered months after the incident, the sound of hundreds of men stomping and marching in a harmonized rhythm flooded the streets. She recalled peeking from his window with the strength of her tippy toes, admiring how the men had fancy hats and polished muskets. She wondered how they could all move so perfectly together, and why nobody else dared to approach them. There her father stood beside her, staring outside the window with an unforgiving grimace. He turned to his girl, patting her roughly on the shoulder, and said:

“Frances,” he started without moving his eyes from the scene. “Those men are not to be trusted, do you understand? They are here because they do not like us.”

The child was immersed. “How come, papa?”

“They killed people years ago. They do not like it when we speak for ourselves. They are bullies, and the king wants them to control us. Do you understand?”

“Mhm.” The girl recalled how her thoughts wandered regardless. This was the first of many cases where she would see these men on patrol. Eventually, they took up the parks and the common grounds where many people walked together. They would set up their little misshapen tents and camp for days on end. There was even a particular moment as she strolled with her mother where they saw soldiers in the grassy fields with their lovely horses. Frances could only dream of owning a horse of her own one day! But mother told her those were the soldier’s horses, and that they would pick at them both with their bayonets if they even dared stared at them the wrong way. Frances obliged, and as much as she adored the equine’s beautiful coats, she turned away.

The weeks leading up to this chilly night gave even more reasoning to have a distaste for the men in blood. As Frances grew older and became more sensitized to her surroundings, she found her father would often have verbal quarrels with these men. As she carried bread to her father one late evening, knowing she would be very busy in his shop and miss dinner, she saw three bloody men encircle his door. They were all yelling and raising fists, and raising his voice in retaliation was her father.

“Scram, won’t you! I will not commission men who belittle my city and home like this! You leave my shop alone, you dirty robbers.”

Frances couldn’t believe it. She watched as her own father threw a punch at a soldier. Compared to the men, he was a sturdy man. They were tall and lanky in their dashing coats, but her father wasn’t afraid to fight dirty. It sounded like a boulder slamming against one’s jaw. The soldier stepped back in dismay, covering his face as his colleagues assisted him. They didn’t want a fight, but they scowled as his father with anger that read revenge.

“I’ll have you reported to the general.” One hissed.

“Good! Maybe he’ll see what you three tried to steal from me!” His father retorted.

“We’ll see about that. You are a traitor, and we will have you on the gallows.”

Frances was almost too aware of the gallows. Death had cast a spell on the city, and it was often that one may see a man strung tightly, swinging back and forth gently. The men whom her father associated with were advocates of freedom and liberty, and they too had their fair share of hanging effigies of men in bloody cloaks and uniforms. The soldiers were never happy about this.

“I’ll see you there.” Her father clenched his teeth. There was not another shared word between the two oppositions, and they both left each other alone with strong feelings of resentment, wrath, and loathing.

The soldiers passed by Frances with a scoff, excusing themselves in an aggressive manner under their breaths. Her father noticed him right away, the anger draining from his body to express worry for what his daughter had just seen.

“Don’t mind them.” He expressed coolly. “Do you remember what I told you?”

“Do not trust those men, right?”

“Good.” Her father flashed a smile. “Now come inside before I close up. It might get awfully chilly. Who knows how your mother would react if one of us came down with something!”

The two shared handfuls of warm bread over the large furnace. The shop was humid as the fire crackled throughout the glowing sunset. Bowl, pots, and other assortments of decoration were neatly sat on wooden shelves and flooring. His tools were scattered about, and the smell of metals was a common scent in the shop. The little place was not as large as their house, but it was comfortable. Frances did not have many fond memories the past year involving the men in the bloody coats, but she was quite content to share some time with her father. A jack of many trades, but she learned quickly the best thing he ever could be was a parent. Frances didn’t care that he was always out and about with his patriotic friends, she was assured it was for a good cause. There was a wholehearted grin on his face whenever Frances spoke about her day. It was full of pride and confidence for his daughter; a love that had no ends.

And when the sun slumbered behind the horizons, the quiet shuffling of feet going up and down the hilly streets diminished to nothing, her father offered to walk her home. The shop was closed for the night, and while he had tavern business to attend to, his top priority was walking hand-in-hand with his daughter.

Once they approached the door to their house, the stands and shops among the wharf closing, France’s father bent down and tucked the long strands of hair over her ears.

“Remember, my little lamb.” He spoke. “When all of this is over, I’ll be home much more often. We’ll be a happy city, and those scrawny crimson soldiers won’t hurt us anymore, okay?”

“Yes, papa!” She always loved it when he played with her hair. 

“Papa?”

 “Hm?”

“I love you!”

He had heard it a million times from his children, and every single time it continued to make his cheeks flush.

“And I love you too, my dear Frances. I always will.”

“Promise?”

Her father chuckled. “I promise.”

Frances wrapped her arms around her father’s shoulders giddily. Her father fumbled with her hair one last time playfully. Frances waved as her father arose and walked away to his favorite tavern - where he would discuss with close friends the bloody soldiers and the little politics of their loving home city. He looked over his shoulder and waved back.

After this night, Frances noticed her father was out much more often. It had been two years since the incident, and tensions were growing. She remembered how her father would come home in the middle of the night under stress, discussing his concerns softly as to not disturb the younger children of the family. Her stepmother would be very compassionate and share his beliefs, but it was a different world. Nobody wanted to openly say it, but something big was going to happen. Something large and world-changing. 

The young girl found it hard to remember so much as she stared endlessly into the waters. As if those days had been bitter, it seemed now the people were on the brink of fighting with the men in blood. They multiplied in numbers, they were rude to everyone they faced excluding those merchants who heavily sympathized with them, and their officers were distant with the commoners. Earlier that afternoon, she watched as dozens rode horses away from the mainland, riding out into different cities and towns for unknown reasons. Frances overheard many staying suspicious of their sudden contrast in mood. Tonight was no different.

In the distance, a door slammed behind her. Frances turned away from the wharf and found, in the shadows, the shape of a large man in riding boots. Just as he was adjusting his riding coat, a younger man murmured to him in urgency. She recognized his deeper voice immediately, and soon enough, the younger lad fled off hastily. The older man slowly followed.

“Papa?” Frances called out. Her father turned immediately.

“Frances!” He spoke quietly, coming closer. “My girl, what are you doing up so late?”

“I wished to relax by the wharf, papa. May I ask what you’re doing?”

France’s father seemed puzzled as to how he would respond. He knew his daughter would be old enough to understand, but even telling another soul may risk his life.

“Our doctor assigned me a task. I must carefully make my way through the river and ride out to Lexington. There are important men I must warn of the soldiers, for they are planning bloodshed and thievery.”

“Bloodshed?” Frances repeated. She could not bear to see her father’s friends die.

“Aye.” He sighed. “But I promise you that the entire land will heed with caution. I’ll be out the whole night, but I promise to return by the morning.”

“What will happen tomorrow?” Frances asked with curiosity wide in her eyes. Her father looked even more uncertain.

“I don’t exactly know, my lamb.” He admitted, a weak smile curving onto his facade. “But for all we know, it could be good. Who knows, those bloody men may finally leave us alone!”

“I’d very much enjoy that, papa!”

“Ahah, I’m sure everyone would. Now, you get back into bed. I have a long night ahead of me.”

He began to turn around to his original destination. As he walked away from the wharf with a silent wave, he felt a tug against the long sleeve of his riding coat.

“Papa...can't we say goodbye at the river?” Frances was disheartened and concerned with her father going out on such a vague, daring adventure. He was silent and undecided, but eventually, he sighed once more, beckoning her along.

“Alright, alright.” Her father gently took her hand away from his riding coat. “ But I want you to be as quiet as a mouse, okay dear?”

Frances nodded eagerly, keeping her oath. 

Frances crossed many thin alleyways with her father, avoiding as much public attention as possible. The windows all around them were dim with candles melting inside people’s chamber rooms. She was excited imagining that so many men and women were planning such an important day tomorrow! There was yet a posse of soldiers to be seen, their worn down tents apparent and yet empty. Soon they left the bustling houses and stone pathways, leading themselves to the edge of the city’s borders. Frances found herself walking along the marshy roads that bordered the farmhouses.

In minutes, she heard the moving river alongside the young frogs chirping and ribbiting. The marshy lands below her feet became muddy, and ahead of her was a small rowing boat. The river was ginormous and calm. Afar was a large ship that oversaw the area. She had heard many stories about this great warship. Even her father looked upon it in awe as he reminded of his younger days - when the same ship was once considered an ally. A man clad in black docked the boat as he wrapped thick, flannel cloth around the oars. Frances watched her father assist the man, testing the oars under the steady water. They made little noise as the water splashed against the damp flannel and the boat. It was perfect, and it was time for her father to embark.

The spurs of his boots were hidden in the mud with every heavy step. He sat down into the boat, and the other man promptly joined him, holding a tight grip on the oars.

 “Dear, is something the matter?” France’s father noticed her frown.

"Are you...sure you're going to be alright?" She asked.

“I promise.” He sounded confident. “I’ve discussed with the deacon here that once I am rowed to Charlestown, he should be able to walk you home.”

“..Okay.” Frances knew she could trust her father.

“You’re even here to make sure I get across! You’ll be doing a mighty fine job if I may say so!”

Frances had no response. Something deep within her gut was fearful of the future. She had never been prepared for this, and while she grew accustomed to the soldiers, she was certain her father was right about the bloodshed. She didn’t know what, she just simply had a feeling; a feeling that left her stomach in knots.

“Frances?” Her father called. She looked up. The moonlight reflected his face - a proud smile that she had always seen before when with him. It was a smile that showed he was proud.

“I love you. And always will. You know that, right?”

Frances couldn’t help but reveal a smile in return. He was always there to soothe her.

“I love you too, papa. Stay safe.”

He nodded and waved. The deacon began rowing the oars, the boat pushing away from the banks of the river and sailing off away from the moonlight’s perfect shine. She waved at her father until he was nothing more but a dot in the river. They were nothing compared to the warship they passed in secrecy. Frances watched admiringly as she observed the city in a wide view. Time flew by, and for a split period of that time, she felt relaxed. There were no men in bloody coats to interrogate her or escort her away, nor were there people in the masses catching fish, selling meats, or simply running along the roads with their friends. It was only her and the river now, and it was a beautiful sight.

The deacon eventually returned on his boat rowing for himself. He excused himself if he were ever late, and offered his arm to the young girl as they walked away from the marshes.

“Excuse me, sir,” she spoke up as they strolled. “Did my father make it?”

“Hm? Why of course! I saw it myself. A good friend of mine he is.” He stated. “He told me he was off to borrow a horse. The rest? Well, we’ll have to see in the morning now, won’t we?”

“I suppose that is true..” The last of France’s anxieties died off. “I’m glad he’s okay.”

“As am I, miss. Your father is a good man.”

Frances couldn’t help but notice a bright light emitting from the church. It was beaming like a star - more intense even. As they passed the streets close to her home, she realized it was not one, but two lanterns strung atop a platform of the church. She wouldn’t be surprised if cities miles and miles away could see it.

“Ah good.” The deacon looked up. “They’ve done it! Tomorrow will mark a fine morning now, won’t it?”

“They’ve?”

“Another message your father’s friends organized. You must be awfully exhausted. Come now, it will be easier to explain in the morning.” 

The deacon bade the girl goodbye, and they left each other without another farewell. Frances quietly entered her house and snuck into her bedroom, wrapping the thin blankets around herself. Her head was pressed comfortably against her pillow, and she had no reason to not be comfortable - but the open window called for her. A dim light entered her room that was different from one of the moon. She was restless, gazing at the lantern’s reflection from her chambers. There was no need to sleep tonight.

She hopped out of bed and peered out her window. Her siblings were fast asleep, but Frances stayed fixated on the lanterns glowing far. Not too long ago she was almost sick with worry, but now a new feeling surged through her. There were so many questions to ask, but she became absolute in one thing: Tomorrow was going to be a big day.