George's Sword

The day was long and his hands were sore. The heat of the forge burned George’s face and stung his hands with every strike of his hammer. But worst of all was the cannon fire. The thunderous fire of the cannons shook the small forge, dropping clouds of dust from the old stone roof. George looked out the dusty window at the few British ships, bombarding his beloved city of Charlestown Massachusetts. Smoke rose from rows of brick buildings while families ran frantically out on the street. 

“Very odd,” George thought

Three young boys ran across the street with their muskets in hand, sprinting up the road and off into the distance. He identified them easily, Ebenezer, Lewis, and Roger. They were the boys who had played toy soldiers with him in his school days and who had worked at the forge with him since he was a teen. But most importantly they were his cousins, who told him extravagant stories of their times in London and their many successful forges back home. They told him how much better people were back home and how their great grandfather had worked his way into the rich elite. They boasted their riches and always denounced the new ideas of liberty. They were the most loyal, most British people he’s ever seen. 

“The colonies will never fall!” they would insist every time news on the rebellion came

George never really agreed with them, but he never spoke out against them. They were just his loud and boastful cousins, who helped work the forge. Cousins that was needed for the business to succeed in the colonies. Even so, he always seemed to question what they said. He would always think, “The people here aren't so bad, right? What's so necessary about high taxes? If the British are so good, why do they need the colonies?” He found himself thinking these thoughts again and again, even now, until another round of loud cannon fire interrupted his thoughts. George could hear loud, heavy footsteps approaching the forge, and George focused at the empty doorway. His large heavy uncle stormed into the forge, wearing his elegant and flashy attire. 

“Greetings George’O!” his uncle greeted

“Hello, Uncle Thomas,” George replied quietly

George gave off a slight wave and stared strongly at his work. A curved sabre with a dark oak handle and a long steel blade. He had been working on this for weeks, and he was sure it would sell this time.

“How's the business going?” Uncle asked

“Alright sir, just finishing up now.” George sighed

Good, good. But how is the business going? Uncle emphasized

“Well, it's going sir. Some militia came in here and bought a few swords!” George bragged

“Militia, rebel militia?” Uncle asked

“Yes, they said they were preparing for a battle. How exciting, right sir?” George replied

“Yes, I’ve heard. There are rumors of fighting up on the hill.” Uncle mumbled

“Exciting, right? George smiled at the idea of war, reminiscing back to the days when he played with his toy soldiers

“I've never heard of such traitorous talk in my life! I wouldn’t worry though, the crown will crush the rebel scum” He declared loudly, filling the room with his bellowing British accent 

“With all due respect sir, the militias were looking mighty efficient” George interrupted

George’s eyes quickly glanced up at his uncle, and he was meet with his harsh accusing eyes.

“You dare challenge the King's army? I’ll have you know that the Royal Army is the best trained in the world!” the Uncle boasted

“Maybe sir, maybe.” murmured

“Well it doesn't matter, I have news for you!” Uncle bragged

“What Uncle?” George wondered

“All of our stock will be given to the British in support of the war! How exciting!” Uncle shouted

“For free? Sir, I don't think that's the best idea.” George countered

“Don’t you support the Royal Army? And your cousins have joined the fight as well. We must support them with everything we can.” Uncle exclaimed

George wanted to protest the decision, but he knew his Uncle was too stubborn to budge. 

“Ebenezer, Lewis, and Roger? I saw them run out of the street with guns and bullets. Why would they need swords?” George retorted

Your right boy, your right” Uncle sighed

Uncle Thomas walked over to a shelf, full of tools and swords, and a large gun rack right next to it. A wooden flintlock pistol, two muskets, and a rifle hung on the wooden rack. Some bullets were centered on a pile on the floor. 

“Have you ever shot a gun boy?” Uncle joked

“Never had too” George shrugged

“Really? Here take this!” Uncle shouted

Uncle Thomas tossed the flintlock high in the air, and a small smirk resting on his face. George turned swiftly and barely caught the gun in his palms. His eyes were glued onto the large gun that stretched across both of his hands. 

“A flintlock?” George wondered

“A mighty fine one, it shots very well. Go ahead try it!” Uncle suggested 

“Sir, I don't think that's safe.” George cautioned

“It's fine, just shot that bottle over there” Uncle replied

“I really should get back to work” George offered 

“I said shoot it, boy,” Uncle repeated harshly

George hesitantly aimed at the glass bottle, that stood on a nearby shelf, and tightly shut his eyes. His body shook with the shot of the gun, and he slowly peeked at the shelf in front of him. Nothing different, only a new small hole in the wall. The glass bottle remained untouched. Uncle Thomas howled with laughter and rested his hand on his stomach.

“If the traitors shoot like you, there's no way they’ll win!” he hollered

George stared at his gun, and let out a hard sigh

“Let me try!” I’ll show you how a real man shoots” Uncle bragged

George reluctantly passed the pistol over to his uncle and watched him lift his big arms towards the bottle.

“Clink!”

The bottle shattered into pieces all over the wooden shelf. Uncle Thomas laughed wildly again and slammed the flintlock on the table. 

“That’s how you shoot it boy, and that’s how our soldiers will shoot it.” he laughed

“All of our guns will be taken?” George asked

“And whatever else they want. Anything for the troops!” Uncle yelled

George rested his hands on his hips and turned his head around the room looking at all of his swords. 

“I can't do that sir, that's too much,” George argued

“You’ll have to, it’s been arranged already, boy.” Uncle assured

George bit his bottom lip hard, contemplating his situation. He grabbed his sabre and grabbed a leather pouch as quickly as he could.

“I can’t Uncle, I’m sorry” George declared as he pushed his uncle out of the way.

George grabbed the flintlock from off the table and stuffed it in his pouch.

“What do you think your doing boy? That's for the men!” Uncle growled

George kept his silence and pulled the giant musket off of the rack.

“I can't support that. If this is where my work is going, I’d rather go bankrupt!” he cried

His uncle stood bewildered in the middle of the room. He clenched his hands and slammed them against his side. 

“This business comes from a long line of loyal British men! You can't stop our fortune here!” Uncle snapped

“I am dreadfully sorry, Uncle, but I must terminate this lineage to start a new one. A free one,” he replied, lifting his chest and staring his uncle in his eyes. 

His uncle breathed heavily, huffing and puffing harshly through his mouth. His face turned red, and George knew he had to leave now. Hesitantly, he ran out of the doorway and into the rubble-filled, smokey street. 

Cannon fire showered the city, leaving brick and stone flying through the city. George ran fast, past the homes of close friends and family he once knew but might never see again. His eyes teared up, from the dusty debris that covered his face. He didn’t cry for his business, his uncle, or cousins. He smiled actually, and gripped his gun ever so tightly, and increased speed. He had started a new life, his own life, in a new country. 

“ Breeds Hill ” George mumbled, trying his hardest to regain his breath. The giant hill looked over him, casting its shadow over the nearby field. 

He jogged up the back of the hill slowly, holding his leather pouch in his right hand. He fit right in with the grimy soldiers of the militia, and meet eyes with some of the other soot-covered faces. He quickly fell in line with the others, doing the work, and loading his guns. The cannon fire stopped, and the British began to march up the hill. George pointed his gun, smiled, and fired.