American Made: Rise of a Rebellion

Chapter Eight

As William Spears and the rest of the regiments came back to the town they were forced to go across the bridge where moments ago signs of a battle had taken place on it. Dead and wounded men were still lying on and around the bridge itself. The militia was held up on a stone wall carefully watching them make their way into town. Spears noticed one of his own looked as if they scalped him. The hair was completely gone from the top of his forehead to the back, past his ears. These monsters were no better than the Indians from the stories he heard about while garrisoned in Boston.

Spears gripped the butt of his musket tight while they marched closely by the wall. The men on the other side of it were just farmers and family men. They weren't soldiers like Spears. How could they have won these grounds? Some of these colonists shouted insults at them but none of the regimental men replied in the same way. It was hard not to look in their direction but he did his best to keep his eyes forward the whole time. Luckily for them, the column made it to the town center without getting physically harassed by the onlookers.

Pitcairn and Smith, who looked as if he was at the end of the whip, met in earshot from Spears. "Did you find the weapons?" Asked Smith still shaken from what just took place.

"Not a single ball." Replied Pitcairn.

"Damn fools, they must have had plenty of warning to hide them from us," Smith says as he looks to the men positioned behind the wall. "We had no luck here. We best get back to Boston before these animals multiply."

"The men are hungry. They need to eat." Pitcairn pointed out. It was true none of them had taken a break to even nibble on a piece of biscuit.

"There is no time for a picnic while we are surrounded."

"We are at full force now. They dare not attack. Our men do not have the strength to make it back without something in their stomachs." Pitcairn argued. He must have known he was going against his commander but he cared for his men.

"Damn, You're right. Order guards to monitor those rebels and the rest will quickly eat." Smith acknowledges.

Pitcairn nods his head as he goes about telling the men the orders.

"Do they really expect us to have a meal while being watched by those animals?" Evans wonders allowed.

"I guess so," Spears replies, feeling his stomach rumble from the hunger. He wasn't sure if he could eat with all the dead bodies lying so close to them but he knew that he needed to try at least. The two of them went off the center green to try to find some shade. They were lucky to find some under a tree in front of someone's home that no one else had claimed for their own before taking a seat to get some rest.

Evans pulls out some of his salted pork, looking disgusted at it, "I can't wait to get some real food in me. I am so tired of eating this shit."

Spears chuckles while he goes for the biscuits. "At least they feed us."

"Not very bloody well." Evans guffaws. It was the truth. Even when they are garrisoned in Boston, they are given food that Spears could only describe as edible.

As they were eating, Spears spots one person from the village, pulling a cart behind him stopping at each of the groups scattered around the commons. He was an older man wearing tattered clothes. His cart was in almost as bad of shape with one wheel barely being held on, making the cart wobble with every step. One of the men he was talking to started yelling at him. Spears couldn't pick up on what he was saying but he could tell that Reeves, the soldier, was getting angry more and more. Spears didn't know him too well, but he had a reputation of being cruel to the colonists.

"Hold on a second," Spears tells Evans as he gets up to see what the problem is.

"You better not leave your food here or I might eat it." Evans jokes not taking his eyes off his meal.

"Don't worry I'll be right back," Spears replies. He quickly picked up his pace when the soldier started pushing the older fellow.

"Get the hell out of here before I kill you myself." Reeves barked, grabbing the man by the ragged shirt.

"I don't mean nothing by it, honest." The other one cried, trying to cover his face.

Spears quickly forced himself in between the two of them, trying to push them apart. "What is the meaning of this." he ordered. He knew that he had no power to tell Reeves what to do but he couldn't allow this.

"This bugger was trying to sell me some swill." Reeves accused, trying to reach over Spears to get to the man.

"Not swill, sir, just some cider I made by hand, sir." The man exclaimed, almost in tears.

Spears let go of the older man to turn all his attention on the soldier. "This man doesn't mean no harm to you. Why must you treat him so poor?" He asked, sternly while grabbing Reeves' shoulders, trying to calm him down before the man's anger turned on to him. He didn't want that to happen, Reeves had his friends around him and if things turn, then they would outnumber Spears.

Reeves shoves Spears off of him "So poor? No, this bastard needs to be put into place!" He exclaims, pointing to the other. "I'm going to beat some sense into this lame!"

Spears slides put himself in between them once more. The man is now on curled up in a ball begging to be spared. "Don't be so blind. He meant no harm by this."

"I always heard you were always kind with the enemy, and now I know the truth of it." Reeves barked. He was at the North Bridge, unlike Spears, and might have lost some friends in the small skirmish.

Spears wanted to hit the man right there, and then but he held his anger back. There was no point in it. "No, that is not the way of it. This man here," Spears turns his back to Reeves, knowing that he might be blindly struck, to look at the man in the dirt, begging for his life, "He has no reason to be troubled by us. He is only trying to get by, by doing his best."

"That's a load of rubbish. I don't have time for you or his shit that he's trying to pass off as cider. Now leave me be." Reeves grumbled as he went back to his small group of friends.

"Thank you, sir. I thought I was going to be dead for sure." The man said, on his knees while grabbing at Spears' pants.

"Get up, man," Spears said, trying to help the poor fool to his feet. He was embarrassed for him after all. No one in their right mind should act this way, yet Spears wasn't too sure if this poor soul's mind was right.

"Here, have a bottle on me." The man said, pulling one out of his cart. "It's the best in all of the world."

"No thank you, I mustn't," Spears replies, gesturing his thanks. The man shoved it into his hands anyway, smiling. The man then went back to shouting for new customers as if nothing had happened. Spears watched him, puzzled, as he still went from group to group trying to find business.

When Spears got back to Evans, he slumped down next to his sack. "Here you go, some cider to wash down your biscuit." He tosses the bottle over to Evans.

"Thank you kindly," Evans says before popping the cork off with his teeth. He dips the bottle back to his mouth to take a swig of the liquid. As soon as it touches his tongue, he spits the substance right back out, all over the ground. "Damn, that stuff is off." All Spears could do was laugh at himself. He went through all that for nothing. Reeves must have been right all along, and Spears may have made an enemy out of him for standing up for that poor retch. "What's so funny? I pray you didn't spend any money on the stuff." Evans asked when Spears was done making a fool of himself.

"It only cost me my dignity," Spears replied.

"Well, at least you didn't have much to start with."

The drums played for the sound of march, so the two of them quickly gathered their belongings together before finding their spot in the column. Spears knew it would be a long march back to Boston, but he didn't expect on what will be taken place on that road.