Young Writers Society

I sighed. I was disappointed, but I kept to my promise and didn't press father. He wasn't smiling anymore but father still seemed to be in a decent mood, and I did not want to alter that. A thought occurred to me, and I looked up from the floorboards, smiling in father's direction.

"What is with that smile, son?" father asked.

"Time is a wasting, Father. Ready to celebrate with me?"

He leaned across, hugged me tightly, and kissed the top of my head. "I cannot begin to describe how that one question from you, has created such happiness for me. I love you, my boy," he smiled.

"So do I," I giggled. "Would you like me to write Mum the note or do you wish too?"

"If you could fetch a piece of parchment from the top of the bookcase, and the quill, I will write it."

I held the bugle with my right hand, stood, and placed it on the bench behind me. I walked towards the bookcase, pulled a piece from under a large rock, grabbed the quill next to the pieces of parchment, turned around, and walked less than a few steps towards father. I handed him the quill first. Father reached and grabbed it with his left hand, and then he reached for the parchment with his opposite.

I stood in front of him, watching father tap his temple with his right index finger, and stared blankly at an empty page. After a few seconds passed, he peered up.

"What should be written?"

"Tell her that you and I went to the river to read, and we're celebrating your Honor. I know I will be thinking about it, and the rose and bugle too. I wish I could visit the country, just to see your birthplace. The way you described your friends, it appears that not all British are awful."

Father's bellowing laughter erupted. "That last comment by you son, has satisfied my jollies for today. Of course, not all of us are scoundrels. I am British, and your Father."

I grinned, and watched father scrawl writing on the parchment. After several minutes, he stopped, and handed me the letter.

"What say you be honest, and let me know what you think," he said directly.

I held the page, and read it aloud:




When I had finished, I peered upwards, and noted an expressionless man.

I grinned, and handed the letter to father. "Well, you were indeed in a rush," I commented. "There were several mistakes."

Father raised and eyebrow, and then brought the letter close to his face. The page was less than a foot from his eyes. I heard father mumble, as he read the letter aloud also.

He raised his head over the page, so that I only saw father's eyes. "What errors were there?"

"There were words capitalized that should have not been, and you misspelled believe and favor."

"Samuel," father chuckled. "That is my speech, and the majority of Bostonian's too, although you are correct, I misspelled believe but I did not misspell favor."

"The majority of Bostonians are illiterate," I retorted. "Shopkeepers have to nail signs with pictures, just so someone will know they are a shoemaker. Besides, the Bible doesn't have needless words capitalized."

"Oh, in the filth!" father grunted, by waving his right hand. "Your statement is sufficient, and there is no arguing with that assumption but where should it be placed so your mother will see it?"
I smiled inside. I had bested father with my own words. "Why not leave the letter on top of the bench? I can reach under, and place the Bible on top. You could leave the quill on top of the Bible as well; it might draw more attention for Mum."

"A fine suggestion, Samuel. Here, take these."

I reached, and gripped the pages. I hunched over, and grabbed the Bible with my right hand. I placed the letter on the bench, and put the Bible on top.

"There," I said.

"Take the quill too," father said.

I turned, reached for the quill, and opened the Bible. I tucked the quill in the middle, and released. I watched the book close on its own, as the pages made a flapping sound.

"Finished," I said.

"Good. Help an old farm animal up?" he smiled.

Laughing, I stepped in front of father. "Have your walking stick?"

His smile faded. "Thank you for the reminder." Father leaned to his right, and gripped the stick with his right, and extended his left. "Assistance by you, and we shall be off."

I gripped his left hand with mine, and with my right, I also wrapped it around father's left wrist. I pulled back, and brought him steadily to his feet.

"Go select a few books," father said, pointing to the bookcase. "And fetch the other Bible, please. Whilst I read it, if you wish, you can lean against me, and we can read the Bible together."

"If are wanting me to read along with you, all you need is to ask, Father," I grinned.

Father smiled. "Will you read the Bible with me, son?"

I rushed forward and wrapped my arms around his waist, hugging him.

"Careful, Samuel. You would not want to aggravate my injury," he warned.

I released my grasp, and peered upwards, displaying a wide grin. Father was still smiling, and pointed to the right of him.

I nodded happily, and walked to the left of me. At the bookcase, I found the second Bible on the first shelf, next to a gap, where the other was before. I gripped the Bible, and placed it under my armpit. Without reading the titles, I grabbed two other books; one was very thick, the other was short in length. I walked briskly in front of father again and said, "I have the Bible and two others, Father."

"Thank you, Samuel. Hand me the Bible, please. I will help lighten your load."

I handed him the book, and father placed the Bible under his right armpit. I put the other two books under my right arm too. I stepped by father's left side, and instantly felt extra weight. I held his weight and we walked slowly to the house's entrance. I opened the door with my left hand, father and I walked outdoors, and I closed the door.

I peered up, smiling as we walked down the steps. Father looked down; displaying the largest smile I had ever seen on his lips. Father temporally lifted his left hand from my shoulder, and ruffled my hair. I returned the gesture by pinching a cheek beginning to wrinkle.

"A cow doesn't wrinkle but a Father that has aged gracefully. I meant what I said."

I watched his stomach bounce as father laughed. "Many thanks, son. Shall we be off?"

I nodded.

Father's hand resumed its position around my neck. Our smiles remained, as we hobbled west.

Our destination: Enjoying each other's company on a brilliant August afternoon by the river.

* * * *

June 29, 1767 - Boston, Massachusetts – Old State House

* * * *

Cries rang throughout within its walls. Hordes of businessman, merchants, journalists, and lawyers gathered for one common purpose. Some of the principle leaders voiced their opinions and voiced them strongly they did.

The Stamp Act was repealed in March on the seventeenth of seventeen hundred and sixty six. Bostonians rejoiced, hooted and hollered. They won a battle over England, though it had not caused bloodshed; it would be the first mark signaling to the colonies that strength in unity was far superior to acting alone.

I was among the group of men, towards the front of the crowd where Mister Adams, Mister John Adams, and Mister Patrick Henry faced the group, whom preached about freedom and rights of the citizens.

"Ye let Charles Townshend; Chancellor of the Exchequer use British legislation to raise revenue and assert imperial authority?" Mister Adams boomed.

The cries rang out in rage again. I turned to each of the men that surrounded my body and peered into their face. Their eyes showed the life of desperation, revolt and most of all - freedom. Tight fists rose high over some of their heads; others yelled, "Crown of Tyranny!"

Mister Adam's cheeks were a furious maroon colour, so dark it appeared he burnt his skin. He spoke of how the strength of Bostonians played a role in the repeal of the Stamp Act and called upon his fellow people to refuse imported shipments of levied duties on glass, lead, paint, paper and tea. Drips of sweat poured from his forehead, and the watermarks protruded through the armpits of his waistcoat.

Before he allowed others to address the situation, he added, "If ye love wealth better than liberty, the tranquility of servitude better than the animating contest of freedom, go home from us in peace. We ask not your counsels or arms. Crouch down and lick the hands which feed you. May your chains set lightly upon you, and may posterity forget that ye were our countrymen."

Another roar of voices echoed throughout the State House. Man clasped each others shoulders and pointed to Mister Adams, nodding in agreement. Other men slapped the backs of their fellow members and smiled. A few didn't respond at all, but stared into thin air – emotionless.

I watched Mister Adams turn to face his cousin, who stood next to him for approval. He fanned his right side with a hand, clutched his shirt and nodded to his hotheaded cousin; then turned to address the hopeful and rapturous Sons of Liberty.

"The people have a right, an indisputable, unalienable, indefeasible, divine right to that most dreaded and envied kind of knowledge - I mean of the character and conduct of their rulers," Mister John Adams said.

A chorus of voices shouted with glee. I heard men howl the word freedom, while some of them shouted, "No taxation without representation!"

When chatter of the men began to cease, Mister John Adams continued, "As much as I converse with sages and heroes, they have very little of my love and admiration. I long for rural and domestic scene, for the warbling of birds and the prattling of my children."

"Here, here!" Mister Henry bellowed, in agreement afterwards. He walked fiercely from behind and pushed the two cousins aside. "Guard with jealous attention the public liberty. Suspect everyone who approaches that jewel. Unfortunately, nothing will preserve it but downright force. Whenever you give up that force, you are inevitably ruined. I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided; and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging the future but by the past. Is life so dear or peace so sweet as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take, but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death!" Afterwards, Mister Henry moved into the middle of crowd and stood proudly with his countrymen.

Clutching and readjusting my tunic so it would fit properly around my neck, I noticed men were smiling; others still clasped their shoulders.

An ill-tempered man spoke immediately after the speech. "The natural liberty of man is to be free from any superior power on Earth, and not to be under the will or legislative authority of man, but only to have the law of nature for his rule," Mister Samuel Adams warned, pointing a figure to the Sons. "Boycott the goods, or ye is in servitude with the hands gripping your throat."

"Boy-cott! Boy-cott! Boy-cott!" cheered the Whigs.

"Meeting adjured!" cracked a hand above the head of Mister Samuel Adams. The group filed through the doors hastily into Boston's streets. I waited until the large group, consisting over sixty men, departed from the building, since I was standing towards the front, near the two cousins. I watched the men remove their shirts and robes, trying to relieve them of the intense heat. Some of the other men wiped the sides and neck with an already drenched rag of sweat.

Finally, when the majority of the Whigs departed, I clenched my stomach and bowed deeply in front of the Adamses, to show my allegiance. The two cousins returned my bow and asked simultaneously what the young Whig up to these days.

All right! I most definitely owe you for reading my story, so here are my long winded suggestions.

' log cabin.'- No matter how accurate this description might be, the average reader is going to liken these characters to Daniel Boone or someone like that. You might want to change this to 'log house' or something, since it is indeed Boston.

' A young, scrappy boy'- this cliche is probably the very image that makes everyone think that he's eight. I'd modify a little, so it's more original and portrays your Samuel as being merely young at heart. (And what does 'scrappy' mean, anyway? )

'Above the bookcase, a stone was rested on top of some pieces of khaki parchment. In front, towards the boy's right, there was a needle and some twine under a bench.'- a fairly good description for making sure the reader understands the sparsity of the family's belongings. However, it's in such an awkward position that if you're not going to make these items pivotal in the story later, you might want to alter this and go from 'foreshadowing mode' to 'mere description'. It would help if you made a comment about simpleness somewhere in here, too, if you're going for mere description.

'he began to tap a foot'- this mannerism will probably be more associated with women, but that's just my two cents. Really accentuate the pout in this sentence, since it's fairly early in the story and you're introducing Samuel as a character.

' "Samuel," his father began to laugh, shaking a finger at his son. "You know very well I cannot walk properly without my walking stick. Refrain from acting immature, run along and fetch it, Samuel."'- this sentence very much suggests that Samuel was shortening the distance to the walking stick. I would strongly suggest making sure every element of this conversation is tipped in the father's favor, since, again, you're still working to establish Samuel as a character.

'I'm helping Mum with the dishes.'- My two cents- colonial families probably wouldn't have had so many dishes, especially if the family is a small one, as it seems to be. You used the wool and parchment as your sparsity analogy earlier, so I'd stick to it. Add in a few more chores that he could do here to make it more worthwhile (and besides, if you're going for my mystique suggestion, I'd have him really have to work in order to get to see the uniform. )

' Samuel stroked the hairs on his arm and nodded slowly. He momentarily glanced at his father's cane which was lying by his right leg. He felt his eyes widened and he licked his lips. '- really odd mannerisms for just looking at something. Feel free to explain why he's making such a fuss.

'You know I hate it when you treat me as a kid'- just for speech, change it to 'child'. You're getting a sort of generation clash happening here.

'Welcome replied, smiling.'- I do love the father's name. Making fun of the Puritan names, yes?

There's just a few grammatical errors that I'm sure you can find. Also, try to make your dialogue a little more realistic. It kind of sounds stilted a little (at least the first part) so I would just imagine it as if they were real, live people. Try to "get inside their heads" as they say. Nice job though! Can't wait for more!

Btw-I love the letter that is handwritten. That is so cool!

Thank you for your input WG! And many thanks again. Your commpliments made me smile. The letter, (counts how many...) well there's quite a few illistrations in the story but I'm happy you enjoyed it. It's difficult masking your own handwriting, lol.

A question though, if I may., just so I can edit. What about the dialogue makes you feel that it is unrealistic? Like what to you is lacking? What should be done in the dialogue to bring out the character's profiles more?

EDIT:

Oh, and I will definately post more, just I'm not sure when.

EDIT again:

With some thinking, I'm assuming, but I could be wrong, that the dialect is throwing you off? If that's the case, I'll mention, I'm very in tune with colonial dialect; how Colonist thought, their motives and well, speech.So, to add authenticiity to the story, I incooperated mild colonial dialect. My intention is to send the reader into a time warp but I will say, once a person gets a grip and understands the speech, it's not as confusing as it sounds.

But again, thank you very much for taking the time to read.

Hmm, I'm not sure how to explain this really well, but I think it just had to do with that the dialogue seemed so prope. You have everyone telling you to make it sound like "real-life" and "like people talk nowadays" and stuff. I guess too much of that had rubbed off on me. The dialogue in your story is excellent, but it just seemed...proper. Now that I look at it though, it should be. I know that in colonial times children were very respectful of their parents. Very. So, please disregard my comment! (And me, a history buff. Yup, you can definitely tell that! lol I should have known...*bashes self over the head*)
I do have one suggestion though. For dialogue, you don't have to do "he said, she said, etc." all the time after someone says something. Of course, use of strong words (of which you have plenty) like bellowed, sniggered, etc. are great to use, but sometimes it makes the dialogue seem more realistic if you just go through certain passages without the "he said, she said" thing.
I am SUCH a lover of historical fiction! It's my "niche" too. lol Now, if I just actually work on my novel instead of just character stuff...
Also, if it wouldn't be to much to ask-would you miind (if you have the time) critting my short story Inscription of Love? It's in other fiction. I want to send it off for publication, but I want to make apap (as perfect as possible). It's not all of the story either. There's still more coming.
And I have to admit I haven't had to time to read ALL of your story. I plan on doing it soon though. It's so...intriguing! Great job! If there's anything else, I'll let you know! Thanks again!
Wiggy

Wiggy!

The dialogue in your story is excellent, but it just seemed...proper. Now that I look at it though, it should be...

Take a seat, and welcome to colonial America.

I know that in colonial times children were very respectful of their parents. Very.

*stifles laugh* All except one little twirp named Samuel, but for the most part, children were raised under a 'different thumb' then we're accustomed today.

In fact, the Great Awakening affected the Colonists, which is loosly based around Bound for Glory, but not directly. People took their religion very seriously, and thus the adults reflected those 'teachings' with their kids. A minor example with Patrick Henry and how proper and dedicated to religions some of Colonists were:

"Amongst other strange things said of me, I hear it is said by the deists that I am one of the number; and, indeed, that some good people think I am no christain. This thought gives me much more pain than the appellation of tory; because I think religion of infinitely higher importance tha politcs; and I find much cause to reprough myself, and that I have lived so long, and have given no decided and public proofs of my being a christain. But, indeed, my dead child, this is a character which I prize far above all this world has or can boast." Henry to Betsay Aylett, Aug. 20, 1796

This quote came directly from my notes. Hope you enjoy that little side track of history, Wiggy.

For dialogue, you don't have to do "he said, she said, etc." all the time after someone says something.

Thank you. I've wondered if I've overused them myself but I do get many opinions with the 'he said' and 'she said' senario. We shall see but thanks for the heads up.

Haha. This is actually my first historical fiction piece, which amazes me it took almost a decade to find my niche. *scolds self harshly*

Also, if it wouldn't be to much to ask-would you miind (if you have the time) critting my short story Inscription of Love? It's in other fiction. I want to send it off for publication, but I want to make apap (as perfect as possible). It's not all of the story either. There's still more coming.

I'll take a look at it, and when I a few minutes to breathe (my work schedule isn't very forgiven these days), I'll edit it but I'm very critical. An if this story is to be published, I'll try and take special care to point out every known flaw, lol.

As for not being able to finish reading Bound, it's no problem. My chapters aren't exactly short by any means but I'm happy that it seems like you've taken an interest to it, Wiggy.

Thanks for taking the time to help me out.
Fishr

"My name… is… Sam…uel Garrison," I heaved, praying for oxygen. The sky began to turn a brilliant bluish hue and my lungs ached terribly. I tried freeing myself by punching his arm to break his grasp. No use, the man was too heavy and I felt weak without fresh air. The man let up on the pressure of my throat and I spoke hastily. "Sir, don't harm me! I thought you bought some sugar and only wanted to take it from you, and burn it. But I won't, if you don't kill me," I pleaded. "Please, I was only following my father's wishes."

To improve this just a little further you could add that Samuel gave his real name in fear. Or have him think whether to use a fake identity or his real name. That’s just a thought.

The man smiled and bowed. "Allow me to introduce myself, Master Garrison. My name is also Samuel; Samuel Adams to be exact." Mister Adams peered around as if he was searching for something important. He untied his gray tunic and tossed it over our heads and pulled me to the side, tighter into the ally, and then tossed it over his back and retied his tunic around his neck.

You repeated ‘tossed it over’ twice in one sentence. You could put it into other words eg, He untied his gray tunic and tossed it over our heads, he pulled me to one side – as tightly into the ally as possible – and then threw his tunic back to retire it around his neck.
Or something that would fit with you.

"Samuel, others and I would be gracious if you would attend a meeting tomorrow night. You have earned quite a reputation and the others have mentioned they would want to meet this shadow. The men think of the shadow, you, as the foremost character of brutish but essential action to perceive the answer – Justice. There are eight members of a secret society. We call ourselves, the Sons of Liberty." Mister Adams noted our surroundings and continued. "If ye come, venture into town in secrecy. Let no one see you. If the redcoats-"

I think you need to work on Samuel A’s dialect. If he uses ‘ye’ instead of ‘you’ then you’d have to continue all the way throughout his speeches. If you know someone who speaks the way you want him to speak then try writing out a few dialogues they might say and see how you can use it for your character. Otherwise you can check out books and see they way accents are written for a certain character. One example I can think of at the moment is Hagrid from Harry Potter or anyone else.
One other thing, shouldn’t redcoats be capitalised?

"Shh…" Mister Adams put a finger to his lips and began to speak hastily. "The redcoats are the British. We hope too see you, Master Garrison. Meet us behind the Old South Meeting House at precisely midnight."

Samuel A doesn’t mention on what day the meeting will take place.

I was lying on some torn, linen shirts in the sitting room, next to the fire pit. We only had four rooms in our house; the kitchen, the sitting room, father's chamber where he keeps his supplies from the war and father and mum's bedroom was located parallel across the warring room.

Instead of saying ‘father and mum’s bedroom’ you can have ‘my parents bedroom’.

There wasn't much space to build a proper area for me to sleep, and the warring room was too cluttered; too much work. Near the pit, I made due by piling bunches of shirts into a mattress and pillows. Father's gave me spare buckskins when he used to hunt, and I used the animal's skin as blankets. All the layers served as by bed.

Father gave me... All the layers served as my bed.

She frowned and looked hurt by my outburst but kissed me on the cheek anyway. "Mum…," I groaned, whipping the kiss away. "Don't do that."

Either take out the ellipse for the comma or leave the ellipses and take out the comma.

"I did, son," A familiar voice boomed. "You missed dinner. The sun is about to depart; care to explain what is wrong? Your mother has informed me that you have been sleeping all day. And it is not just her, Samuel. I have noticed it too. Your constant fatigue lately is beginning to worry us both. Now, would you care to enlighten us, or shall I swing my walking stick into your spine again?"

Give Welcome some sort of action here, he is worried about his son remember. He could be pacing in front of Samuel or sitting close to him, examining him.

I'll have the summery of the whole lot when I've finished. I'm going to critique in parts and post them otherwise it'll take forever.

By the way. You haven't made changes to the start which I critiqued in TSR.

Hiya Myth! First, thank you for taking the time in helping me out. You hit points that I always overlook, and I'm grateful.

By the way. You haven't made changes to the start which I critiqued in TSR.

Ah, that. Well, I left a bolded message in the beginning, but I guess since you've read it, the message was skipped over.

Chapter one and two will have to remain unedited for now because currently I'm finishing up editing chapter three, and then I have to finish writing chapter four. My goal, whether it'll be in my favor or not, is to get chapter five started before the end of the year. So, I apologize. I'll get to editing the two chapters as soon as I'm able but I'm not sure when.

think you need to work on Samuel A’s dialect. If he uses ‘ye’ instead of ‘you’ then you’d have to continue all the way throughout his speeches.

See, you're thorough. I overlooked that error. Thanks.

You repeated ‘tossed it over’ twice in one sentence. You could put it into other words

*hits head* But I do like your suggestion, Myth! Kudos for the advice.

Whoops on the 'redcoat' title!! You're right about that too. *hits head again*

Give Welcome some sort of action here, he is worried about his son remember. He could be pacing in front of Samuel or sitting close to him, examining him.

Well, since Samuel was just abruptly woken up... Hmm.... You have me thinking now. I'll see what I can do. Challenges are awesome.

Overall, my thanks (again) for the help Myth. Are you still enjoying yourself?

I've never seen "redcoats" capitalised before ...

I suppose it depends on the writer. I've seen 'redcoats' both capitilized and not because technically it is a title, however... Well, another decesion for another time. Thank you for your input, Jack.

You're welcome, Fishr. And the Redcoat part, I've always seen it capitalised so I'm not too sure. Anyway, on to my crit.

After a few seconds of my mind racing, I mentioned I had one more story left. Father swatted my hip gently with his walking stick and urged me to tell him.

Welcome sure likes to use his stick a lot.

I began to inhale and exhale slowly, trying to calm my nerves. When I felt confident, I ran through how I bumped into Mister Adams, about how he mistook the attack and asked me to be apart of the group.

... a part of the group ...

When I finished, I waited for his reaction. Father at first, didn't reply. He sat in his chair, staring wide-eyed into thin air. After a few seconds, I wondered if he fallen asleep with his eyes open, so I waved a hand in front of his face to snap his attention. It worked; snatching my wrist tightly, he pulled me into his face.

I wondered if he had fallen asleep...

The thought of possibly attacking the redcoats, while they walked the streets as ordinary Colonists hadn't occurred to me. I felt my insides quiver, like I swallowed something foul and clenched my stomach.

... like I swallowed ... Hmm. I don’t think that line worked for me. If you used ‘as if’ it reads better.

"It's good you won't tell Mum. She probably blab it to everyone."

She would probably blab it to everyone,

or

She’d probably blab it to everyone.

Martha's a proud mum.

I walked slowly to the left of father, while he leaned on his walking stick. I stopped at the fire pit and lied on my side, where as father turned a right-hand corner heading for my parent's bedroom. A thought occurred and I called him back from the hall.

I stopped at the fire pit and lay ...

"I am certain, son. I wish not to tell your mother tonight, but tomorrow I will. The new tax that is included with the previous is called the Stamp Act and another – the Quartering Act," he said in a hoarse whisper. "Now, I am sure you will ask what they involve, but go to sleep, Samuel. I will fill the pair of you with all the details tomorrow. Rest my little Patriot."

‘Rest my little Patriot’, that was a nice touch.

The remarks did little to pre say me to stop asking but instead they increased my curiosity, to the point where I was asking father about the knives and hatchet nearly every other day.

... pre say ... Was that meant to be prevent?

The other story concerned the hatchet. Interestingly, the hatchet belonged to my grandfather, and he passed it on to his son, my father. When he made any type of reference to his father, his voice immediately became hoarse and incredibly soft-spoken. I had to inch closer on my knees and cock my head to listen, while father was sitting in his rocking chair, speaking.

This bit gets a little confusing because of the repetition of ‘father’. Since Samuel is retelling his father’s story you can use ‘my grandfather’ so it is different from Welcome.

I obeyed and sat on the bench. He rested his left hand on my thigh and began speaking to a wall, or possibly a picture frame. Father repeated a few things, such as how old the hatchet was and the father-son tradition, which didn't bother me. I listened and waited for further information. To learn about the weapons was more than I could have hoped for. To think, my family has this ancient hatchet and a tradition! I cannot wait until father gives it to me, I thought excitedly.

To think, my family had this ancient ...

"…In my two hands, I held the hatchet and dagger. There was a line of bodies, Samuel, and behind me, a Serjeant waited for me to carry out his order. Son, there is nothing more rank or horrendous then stale blood and decaying flesh."

Serjeant. Was that intentionally misspelled? And can you describe blood being stale?

He was clothed but his pride had to have been stripped, the way his uniform was stripped from him."

I’m very sorry if I took this the wrong way but was the man missing his private part, because I’ve read it has happened in a few battles, I mean it’s unavoidable. Otherwise I don’t think his ‘pride’ was clearly labelled.

I slid closer to him, not because of interest but because I was starting to feel uneasy. The image had grown more grisly. I pictured corpses rising, groaning and limping by dragging a foot behind them. I didn't want father knowing I was starting to become frightened. If he had a slight hint, father might refuse revealing information, and I'd never find about the weapons, until I was old and gray, like him. So, I listened and I was grateful that he had his arm around my neck; it comforted me.

Repetition of ‘father’ can simply be changed to ‘he’.

After decades, I still remember the Serjeant's words. 'In which the criminal act, that hallow be our brother, has committed, he shall receive one mercy under God, and not endure the penalty of gaping into his own defiance, such as death.' My commanding officer was a fair but strict gentleman.

Samuel, the man I was about… I was about… Well, my victim was a British spy; a soldier fighting on our side, but he was secretly discussing plans with the French. He had suffered a tremendous amount of abuse already but I was ordered to carry out the Serjeant's command. While I was kneeling and my arm still raised, I looked into the man's perfect eyes, and said a silent prayer, for even in War, Samuel, no person should have to endure staring into Death's Eyes. Tears…," father gulped. "A few tears dripped from the only part of his body that had not been beaten and battered. My hand was suspended, and I heard the Serjeant's shouts to obey orders or I would be branded next as a traitor. With my right hand, I fingered the cloth into a blindfold, and placed it over his eyes. Without thinking, I slammed the blade down. My countrymen's head rolled and I watched another stare blankly."

You seemed to have forgotten the speech marks for the above conversation, I had thought it was Samuel thinking back to when he was told the story.

Now I’m really curious, like Samuel, to know more about Welcome’s father.

In ways I can related to Samuel’s excitement and his interest in family history. I had no idea on my own until my mum told me a bit about her ancestors and I remember asking questions and pestering her until she said she wouldn’t tell me. So that’s an excellent supplement.

And sorry for taking ages to post something. But as I have more free time I can continue later.

Oh and to answer your question, I sure do like this. Samuel is really inquisitive which reminds me of myself.

Hiya, Myth!

Welcome sure likes to use his stick a lot

Yes... Yes, he seems too when Welcome wants attention now, or to use the cane's other purpose.

Well, all I can say is wow! You always catch the tiniest mistakes, and for that, I'm grateful. I have a couple of questions, so if it's not too much trouble maybe you can help me? When the time comes and I have to edit chap 1 and 2, I want to make sure I know what to exactly change.

Questions:

Serjeant. Was that intentionally misspelled? And can you describe blood being stale?

Well, 'Serjeant' is an older spelling of Sergeant, so I think I remember you mentioning you're from the UK? Have you ever seen that type of spelling of the word? I haven't decided, but depending on how many complaints ( ), I might change it to the modern version.

Quote:
He was clothed but his pride had to have been stripped, the way his uniform was stripped from him."


I’m very sorry if I took this the wrong way but was the man missing his private part, because I’ve read it has happened in a few battles, I mean it’s unavoidable. Otherwise I don’t think his ‘pride’ was clearly labelled.

Heh, that actually never occurred to me but yes, I'm sure all types of limbs were taken clean off by some unstoppable force.

Now, when you mean 'pride' isn't completely labeled, do you mean details are lacking? If so, I'll use Samuel's curiosity for me, and expand. For reference though, that is if you're curious, in any regiment if a soldier is stripped (taken away) of their uniform (basically their identity) is an insult to that soldier and it could probably be embarrassing in some sense. A uniform to a soldier symbolizes, 'you're a team player and apart of that team,' so for that identity (uniform) to be taken, it's an embarrassment, an insult, and shows that soldier has no place or rank anymore.

Hmm... I guess I will have to further on that sentence, after explaining, LOL!

Quote:
After decades, I still remember the Serjeant's words. 'In which the criminal act, that hallow be our brother, has committed, he shall receive one mercy under God, and not endure the penalty of gaping into his own defiance, such as death.' My commanding officer was a fair but strict gentleman.

Samuel, the man I was about… I was about… Well, my victim was a British spy; a soldier fighting on our side, but he was secretly discussing plans with the French. He had suffered a tremendous amount of abuse already but I was ordered to carry out the Serjeant's command. While I was kneeling and my arm still raised, I looked into the man's perfect eyes, and said a silent prayer, for even in War, Samuel, no person should have to endure staring into Death's Eyes. Tears…," father gulped. "A few tears dripped from the only part of his body that had not been beaten and battered. My hand was suspended, and I heard the Serjeant's shouts to obey orders or I would be branded next as a traitor. With my right hand, I fingered the cloth into a blindfold, and placed it over his eyes. Without thinking, I slammed the blade down. My countrymen's head rolled and I watched another stare blankly."


You seemed to have forgotten the speech marks for the above conversation, I had thought it was Samuel thinking back to when he was told the story.

Well, I did catch 'While I was kneeling' for one of the speech mistakes. Whoops! I had a feeling that would happen eventually since I'm playing both dialects - Brit and American.

But what else brought you to the conclusion that speech marks were missing with Welcome? Just wondering.

At this part though:

After decades, I still remember the Serjeant's words. 'In which the criminal act, that hallow be our brother, has committed, he shall receive one mercy under God, and not endure the penalty of gaping into his own defiance, such as death.' My commanding officer was a fair but strict gentleman.

Did you follow what was happening in this paragraph?

Now on to the fun part!

My comments:

Martha's a proud mum.

She is, Just wait until Chapter four! Then you'll have free roam and able to decide if she's still proud... or just bold. The apples don't fall too far from the tree...

‘Rest my little Patriot’, that was a nice touch.

Thank you but I think I'm going to have to substitute another word for 'Patriot.' Which is my fault but the word has or had a very pronounced meaning, and wasn't mentioned until 1775, I think. So, whoops to me!

. pre say ... Was that meant to be prevent?

Nah, I meant to type per say but I actually like prevent better. Thanks!

Quote:
When I finished, I waited for his reaction. Father at first, didn't reply. He sat in his chair, staring wide-eyed into thin air. After a few seconds, I wondered if he fallen asleep with his eyes open, so I waved a hand in front of his face to snap his attention. It worked; snatching my wrist tightly, he pulled me into his face.


I wondered if he had fallen asleep...

If Welcome does, he has skills I'm unaware of! *chuckles*

Now I’m really curious, like Samuel, to know more about Welcome’s father.

In ways I can related to Samuel’s excitement and his interest in family history. I had no idea on my own until my mum told me a bit about her ancestors and I remember asking questions and pestering her until she said she wouldn’t tell me. So that’s an excellent supplement.

It's interesting you say that because the way the character of Samuel is portrayed, he's 90-95% like me, so everything you read (apart from the history prospective) I did or went through in some form or another. Currently, I'm pestering my second uncle about my great, great grandfather who served in the Civil War. My uncle is being a little mieser, and telling me bits and pieces which is becoming frustrating. Sound familiar? And thank you for the compliment. At least I'm doing something right, lol.

As for Welcome's father, another uncle of mine said the same thing that you mentioned, Myth. His exact words, "Man, when do I get to know?"

Too funny. I'm glad you're enjoying yourself and latched onto Sammy, so it seems. That's a good feeling, and like I mentioned, at least I'm doing something right.

Have a good one, Myth! By the way, I did read, The Hanging, and it was written very well. The story reminded me of the Puritans and the Salem Witch Trials.

Cheers!
fishr

I normally capitalize Redcoats lol. And fishr, after I crit DD's story, yours is next on the list...I just hate having to do school! Ah, to be free from the shackles of geometry! Woe is me!!!! *stops Shakespeare rendition* All right, all right, I suppose I could find the time...