Young Writers Society

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.

Yes, I'm from the UK. I've never seen that spelling but usually when it appears mispelled its because of the way a character says his/her words.

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!

Right... I see now. I only thought it 'cos it said his pride was to be stripped like his uniform.

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?

That's a form of corpal(sp?) punishment right? Or some other way to punish..?

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...

Ah, then I'll have to hurry along to that part.

‘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!

Ugh. I hate it when that happens. I usually have to consult a dictionary to find if certain words were used in the time of my own HF works.

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

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

You're welcome.

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*

No, silly Fishr. The word 'had' was missing in your sentence so I added it in my suggestion. XD

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.

90-95 percent? Well.. It seems we are quite alike in some ways too.

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?"

I hope to find out soon then!

:D 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.

I'm a little embarrassed. I can't help getting attached to main characters and Samuel is a real peach. I'm a sucker, I know. XD

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.

Wow! I had tried to make it a sort of simplistic 'Dickens' type of story. I'm glad it was liked.

Now I'd better get onto the next part and notice all the tiny things that pester to be editted.

Needless to say, after much practice, I became skilled enough to reload in thirty seconds.

Now I don't know much about guns but is this the type where you get some kind of a ball and shove it in with a metal stick? Thirty seconds is quite long to reload, isn't it?

I smiled in return and nodded. "And you were born in seventeen hundred and six. Boy, did you grow old quick," I joked, and my grin grew broader.

Samuel making a joke, that’s a first.

Gifts? What possibly would he give me now? He already trusted me with his musket, and as far as I'm concerned, that is the greatest gift I've ever received.

Are these thoughts Samuel had at the time or when he is recollecting? Remember to have thoughts in italics.

I laid the musket gently on the earth, and looked at father's expression one more time.

Instead of ‘one more time’ you could try using ‘once more’. It flows better.

I peered into two eyes that appeared to be studying me. He was not only grinning but it was as if father had aged backwards. Perhaps, it was the intense sunlight reflecting a false image upon his face, but father's eyes sparkled with excitement, as if he was a young boy again.

Here, it seems, you have given Welcome a sort of ‘Saumel-ish’ appearance, I like that.

I brought my hands forward, closed my eyes, and waiting.

... and waited.

At first, I disobeyed and kept my eyes shut. I hadn't a clue what were in my hands but the weight was decent and there was metal mixed with something coarse and pointy. At first, I tried guessing what were in my palms.

Repetition. The second sentence can easily be: So then I tried guessing what were in my palms.

That would explain the metal and wood in my hands but why on Earth would father be excited about a saw?

I don’t know if ‘Earth’ should be capitalised there.

"Samuel…," he grunted.

Chose to use the comma or the ellipses.

Father stopped immediately and shot me a glace.

Typo: glace should be glance.

Finally Samuel is maturing. I'm suprised there is no love interest, he probably loves questions more than any girl he has ever met. So, will there be any possible attractions or do I have to find out for myself.

And I am dying to know his grandfather's name. I know it begins with A. Probably something weird like Algernon, Annoying or maybe Arrogant?

I'm assuming you got my PM but I just couldn't resist commenting, now that I'm feeling much better.

Finally Samuel is maturing. I'm suprised there is no love interest, he probably loves questions more than any girl he has ever met. So, will there be any possible attractions or do I have to find out for myself.

At least someone has noticed. I was wondering if I had achieved maturing Samuel. You'll have to find out for yourself, because I have no control over my characters, lol. The only control I have over them is editing. It'a funny what the subconcious spews from your fingertips.

And I am dying to know his grandfather's name. I know it begins with A. Probably something weird like Algernon, Annoying or maybe Arrogant?

:D

Annoying? LOL! That's good, but nope. Arrogant? I honestly wish, but sadly that's not the case either. But the name may not be exotic as you think. Still, the name is rarely used, even today. I will mention, it took one very acute event to have Welcome spill his guts again. Otherwise, I think that portion of his past would have remained a mystery, It was such a pain to find a loophole too!

For some weird reason I got it today! Now that mystery of the name will be solved soon! I'm about half-way through the critique of BFG.

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Green = Comment/Correction
Blue = Suggestion
Black = Review

Since the three Acts, what were talks and planning early on in the Sons of Liberty became physical disturbances.

I didn’t understand that sentence. What did you mean by’ what were talks and planning...’?

He has been spending time in town to catch up on events or find new news.

new news? Ach. How about ‘reports’?

He wanted to know why such force, and the purpose of it?

That question mark ought to be replaced by a full stop, as it isn’t really a question.

"Are you telling the truth, Samuel?" he asked for the third time today.

"Father! What more do you want from me? My blood? My hair? How about my neck?" The same question was usually asked by him and my answer was always, "No." Although, after defending myself for days on end, I was losing my patience.

It seems father and son are switching roles. Welcome is persistent and Samuel’s not too keen on answering his father’s questions.

A stick hovered over my scalp, causing me to close my eyes tightly, ready for a lickin'.

Was lickin’ spelt like that intentionally?

I watched father slowly stand and arched his finger, trying a different approach. "Samuel…," he called, taking a seat in his rocking chair afterwards. "We could go at this all night, son. What say you quit being stubborn and obey me?" his voice starting calm.

Welcome is just so... Welcome! XD What I mean to say is, you have characterised him so well that he tries to get Samuel to obey him by calming down – I know a lot of parents who use this method to get what they want from their kids and it usually works – so excellent job there!

A palm silenced me.

Was he slapped or did Welcome raise a hand for silence or another gesture? I wasn’t too sure.

Knowing you are apart of this group… Samuel, there is nothing in this world, I fear more then to lose my only child."

*Ahem* A lesson from Miss Myth: ‘apart = separate’ and ‘a part = connected with’. All right? So the sentence would be: Knowing you are a part of this group.

Father was faintly smiling; I frowning, looking into a familiar face that I've grown with since birth.

I frowned...

I heard a door slam shut and an object moved around the house; footsteps shifting quickly around the kitchen. The object eventually made their way into the foyer. "My, what is this? Samuel? Are you becoming a lovey-dovey?"

Martha makes me laugh so much!

I'd really like to see Samuel in action or maybe meeting with the Samuel (A)'s group. Although you refer to its existance there is no evidence for its existence. I don't know if you're doing this later but it would be great to see what talks go on and how they inspire/motivate Samuel (G).

I have to say since reading BFG I've taken an interest in American history and the Sugar Act,etc. I've borrowed a few books from the library (that's how keen I am) so I get a better understanding of what is going on.

Howdy, Myth!

Oh, you will definitely meet Mr. Adams, Revere, and a slew of others! After all, this story is "ridged" historical fiction (except with minor fictional flaws with the non-fictional characters), and without the actual people involved, it would fall flat on its feet long ago. Presently, because the opening paragraphs showed Welcome in such a harsh, and seemingly "cruel" (or over-irritable) light, I had to bring father and son together. I had to show the bonds, and that Welcome isn't the tyrant he was first presented in the very beginning. He's a father, an over-protective one, but a father no less that doesn't want to see his son make costly mistakes. Anyway, yes right now, the infamous Sons of Liberty are tucked in a shadow, but rest assured, you'll meet S. Adams, Revere, and every face that was absolutely imperative to the started the crisis's in Boston, and undoubtly, some of the events that occurred, leading to the American Revolution.

You know, that WAS the GREATEST compliment I will ever receive for my hard work and efforts. If anything, if I never see it published, knowing that the storyline was intriguing enough to "fancy" someone's interest into reading for pleasure is the most satisfying thing I've yet to see through this project. This is why I'm so intrigued by history, and why I started such an advanced and hardworking project. I started it, not just for my love of the era, but to teach. That's why history is so enjoyable because of the discussions, and passing on the banter to the older or younger generations whom will spread the knowledge, thus a continuous circle is born. I do hope you enjoy yourself and have as much fun as I do every time I pick up a book of the period!

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Ahh... now for the story itself, lol

Since the three Acts, what were talks and planning early on in the Sons of Liberty became physical disturbances.


I didn't understand that sentence. What did you mean by what were talks and planning...?

Well when I finish editing chapter 3, I'll have to be more clear with that sentence (that is when I'm totally finished. I'm not going backwards; takes up too much time. I apologize.) What I meant was, because the Sons of Liberty were such a small group (Adams in the story mentions it by claiming Samuel is the ninth member), all the members did were discuss and plan, but nothing associated with violence or boycotting hadn't occurred yet, not until 1765 - the Stamp Act. In this year, chaos among the colonies were at its peak for quite a while. But you will read a few accounts that actually happened in BFG in 1765. Many of the colonies acted on different levels, some extreme while others strayed away - (the Tories).

He has been spending time in town to catch up on events or find new news.


new news? Ach. How about reports?

Heh, I'll keep in mind but dialect in colonial America was "off-beat" than our speech today. For instance, Boston would have been spelled this way: Bofton. Their "S's" looked like "F's." The other thing, it seems, at least the citizens who represented the public had an immense or decent vocabulary. They knew how to use the "dictionary" to their advantage and simple words often caused bickering,without raising a finger. It is said that Patrick Henry could change the laws in Virginia with the "lashing of his tongue." Henry was that boisterous, fiery and tactless with his speeches, and that much believable in the public eye. Anyway... lol, I apologize for dumping facts. I will definitely keep the suggestion in mind when the time comes and I have to edit these two again.

Quote:
"Are you telling the truth, Samuel?" he asked for the third time today.

"Father! What more do you want from me? My blood? My hair? How about my neck?" The same question was usually asked by him and my answer was always, "No." Although, after defending myself for days on end, I was losing my patience.


It seems father and son are switching roles. Welcome is persistent and Samuel's not too keen on answering his father's questions.

Well, they are related. How do you think Samuel became so curious? lol. Again, the apples don't fall too far from the tree, he he.

Quote:
A stick hovered over my scalp, causing me to close my eyes tightly, ready for a lickin'

Sam actually brought this to my attention a while back, and I will remove the word because it gives the the family a "backwoods" feel. They are not hillbillies, even though their home is not directly in town but the outskirts of it. Thank you for reminding me.

Welcome is just so... Welcome! XD What I mean to say is, you have characterised him so well that he tries to get Samuel to obey him by calming down. I know a lot of parents who use this method to get what they want from their kids and it usually works so excellent job there

LOL! It's true, and fun bringing back your childhood. I always remember when I was in deep *beep* that the best solution was to stay as far away as possible. But of course parents are evil, and they always found a solution in coaxing me to come closer...

Quote:
I heard a door slam shut and an object moved around the house; footsteps shifting quickly around the kitchen. The object eventually made their way into the foyer. "My, what is this? Samuel? Are you becoming a lovey-dovey?"


Martha makes me laugh so much!

LOL! She's a fun character but man oh man, was she a little hiedon herself during the beginning stages of char development. Martha was a hard egg to crack, and admittedly, she still is!! But she seems to define sarcasm at its best in certain areas, and she's one person I would definately not want to cross! Just thought I'd throw that out there to whet your interest further, lol.

So, between the three characters you've met so far, who is your favorite?

Well, thank you so much for taking the time to help me, Myth. If you ever need help with any of your stories let me know. I can't promise I'll get a quick editing job done, as my work schedule flux's too much, but I will do what I can in the spare time I find.

From the very beginning (you may remember) I said it was Samuel. Now I find it hard as each character has something about them that draws attention and I can't say which would be the best.

You know, even if this wasn't published I'd still read it. Nothing can stop my interest in history or reading.

I hope to see more of Martha, though she appears shortly for a few paragraphs it would be interesting to see how Samuel developes with both his parents. Plus, is there any background on her side that her son would want to know?

Ah, well, I do have a horrible short-term memory. So I apologize for repeating the question. But, it's good to see the others might be prusading the decesion, lol.

You know, even if this wasn't published I'd still read it. Nothing can stop my interest in history or reading.

Ah... Thanks, Myth!

You will see more of her, trust me. I would be curious to see what you think when she's more "available," as Martha's role becomes more permanant. Man, I can't wait for you to meet S. Adams and Revere!! History fanatics might stab me with a fork, but I love how they're protrayed.

Plus, is there any background on her side that her son would want to know?

Good question, and I've thought about it many times. The answer is, I'm not sure. It seems that only Samuel is interested with his Father's background, and military, being the young "boy" he is. I guess I could call it a "father-son"..... thing. I won't force it but if it the subject arises, than we'll both know.

Green = Comment/Correction
Blue = Suggestion
Black = Review

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Mum ignored my question, walked briskly into the sitting room and resumed a spot on the wooden bench, next to father's rocking chair.

Isn’t the room they are in the sitting room? That would mean she’s already in there (since she nudged Samuel).

Suggestion: Mum, ignoring my question, resumed a spot on the wooden bench, next to father’s rocking chair.

A lump began settled into my stomach and I lurched forward, gripping my waist as I coughed.

Either take ‘began’ out or change it to: A lump began settling into my stomach...

I peered up and locked gazes with fathers'.

...father’s.

“She would pierce me a new belly button if I informed you but late in the night when you are snoring or off with Adams and Revere, I have to listen to Martha sob into her pillow.”

Belly button? Would it have been said like that in the 18th Centaury?

“I'm not sure. I thought a little when Mum was in the sitting room while you were sleeping.”

How about: when Mum was here...

On a bed, under a large bear skin cover, lied mum.

‘lay’ not ‘lied’.

She nodded in the room, lit brightly by the sun's rays and told me she would be a moment.

I wasn’t too sure about the above sentence.

I stepped into the sitting room, walked passed the fire pit, careful to not trip over shirts near my bed and resumed my position in front of his knees. "Yes, she is coming, Father. She said she wanted to put her dress, bonnet and apron on first."

You wouldn’t necessarily need to include him going back into the sitting room. As Welcome speaks the reader immediately assumes Samuel has returned so you can just say he sat back in place, etc.

I heard mum walking behind my body and stopped suddenly.

‘behind my body’... that was an awkward way to suggest Martha pass him.

“Samuel cannot disband from them because he is apart of them.”

Remember this:

*Ahem* A lesson from Miss Myth: ‘apart = separate’ and ‘a part = connected with’. All right?

"We can prepare him," father said firmly. "I may be nearing sixty, but that is some distance away. I am still able to move around a little. I will train our son thoroughly in all aspects of fighting."

Upon hearing that, I edged closer, excitedly.

That’s typical Samuel for you, excited only when he hears about ‘fighting’ and his father’s history.

"Are you angry with my choice being apart of the Sons of Liberty?"

Again, the same applies with the old comment. It should be ‘a part’.

"I'm not happy, but no Samuel," she frowned.

A little confusion there. Try rearranging the dialogue there so she answer the question first and adds her opinion last.

Then she stood and I watched her walk to the house's entrance and slammed the door.

Ah. The doors will soon break off its hinges if they are slammed too often. XD

"Father," I giggled. "I think you forgot something."

"What now?"

"Look down."

He did, and yelped, trying to cover himself and bolted back into his quarters.

A little humour goes a long way. I’d cringed reading this.

I see what you mean about Martha. I would have expected her to be more supportive of Samuel, like Welcome, but her concerns are far greater than impression.

It should be interesting for Martha to teach a boy to sew and I’ll be anxious to know what he thinks about that as most boys would hate to be doing ‘a woman’s job’.

I should add I can't say the word 'welcome' without think of W. Garrison.

It is quite difficult to know when a chapter statrs/ends, think about titling them it'll be so much easier then.

Hiya, Myth!

Heh, well I can see when I return to chapters 1 and 2, I'll have some more editing to do, lol! You've made some very excellent points, and aside from spelling errors, I'll have a few things to play around with.

Mentioning that, I've taken your advice, and started writing up Martha's history, and what a history that's becoming! It's no wonder Welcome and her get along, lol! (you will see) I can say, I didn't plan, but it sorta jumped me unexpectedily. So while Welcome's past is large, Martha's is becoming pretty interesting the more I'm plugging away. Hense, chapter three is becoming VERY broad where some loopholes are being tied.

Quote:
"Father," I giggled. "I think you forgot something."

"What now?"

"Look down."

He did, and yelped, trying to cover himself and bolted back into his quarters.


A little humour goes a long way. I’d cringed reading this.

LOL! I wondered about the reactions with that scene. You got a pretty bad visual, I take it?

I see what you mean about Martha. I would have expected her to be more supportive of Samuel, like Welcome, but her concerns are far greater than impression.

That it is, that it is. I'm glad you're making that connection.

It should be interesting for Martha to teach a boy to sew and I’ll be anxious to know what he thinks about that as most boys would hate to be doing ‘a woman’s job’.

Since you've already came to that conclusion, which I hoped, I may not describe that senario. Then again... when another character takes the stage much later - Garrick - I could use the sewing experience to my full advantage and have a good laugh! Hmm... Actually, LOL! Actually, I could have so much more fun with S. Adams, Samuel and the sewing! LMAO! Ohh... I just got a nasty and hilarious visual... Haha! Thanks for that, Myth! You've given me a nice idea, and now it's time to write up a script for reference, haha!! I'll PM it to you,

I should add I can't say the word 'welcome' without think of W. Garrison.

Yes, it's becoming weird, lol!

Many thanks again for taking the time to read and offer assistance.

Note:(I tried to attach an image; a map of colonial Boston but my comp is not letting me. At this point, the map might have been more of use to those who wished to follow the precise footsteps as the reader will travel with the characters in Boston's streets - PM me if you want the map and I might be able to attach it in another route. Fortunately, the story is setup even without a visual, the reader shouldn't be too confused - I hope! However, the street names you will see, were actual names in colonial Boston, even today some still exist. Without further ado, Chapter 3.)

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

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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 raised high over some of their heads, while 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 undisputable, 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 Whigs. "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.

"Hunting deer mainly," I replied. "I have become skilled in the art of hunting."

"What of your exploits in Boston? Are you still stealing from the Colonists and burning the goods?" Mister Samuel Adams asked.

"I discontinued those practices a few years ago, sir. I hunt to provide for my family now."

"A gracious cause, I am sure. Remind your parents of all that was spoken today and if they do not know, remind them; take heed about the Townshend Act," Mister Samuel Adams said.

I wrapped my gray tunic tightly around my chest so it covered a black waistcoat, nodded and said, "Farewell; until another day."

The cousins nodded also, with grim expressions and turned, leaving me staring at two spines, their waistcoats damp.

When I reached outdoors, I winced. The sun blinded my vision at first from being inside many hours. I readjusted my tunic, tugging at the knot and checked the knife with my left hand. The handle of the blade was still firmly snug between my breeches, behind my back. The blade rested vertical against my skin, in which case, I consciously watched where I stepped, so as to not trip and impale myself. I always carried it wherever I traveled now. It was easier to conceal then the bulky hatchet.

Walking home, I played the Whig's meeting over in my head, dreading the news I carried, if mum and father weren't already aware. When I reached the end of Newbury Street, which bordered the town and a local forest, I trudged into the woods that eventually lead me home. The Whigs weren't much of a secret society anymore, so hiding in a forest seemed a bit ridiculous. However, the reason for venturing into it was to further father's training. On the occasion, when returning from a meeting, I'd toss the tunic over my head and crawl on the filthy earth like a worm. Eventually my ribs became sore, so I brought myself to my feet and practiced the techniques, pretending the tree trunks were redcoats, and I slashed each one in the heart with the blade.

I closed the door, and a voice called before I entered the sitting room.

"Samuel? Is that you?"

"Yes, Mum. I will be with you in a minute," I called.

Untying my tunic, I rested it by the entrance on the floor and removed the knife from behind my back and set it next to the tunic. When I entered the foyer, mum was sitting and reading. I walked briskly towards her and sat on the bench also.

"Good afternoon, Mum. Your day; how was it?"

She rested her book in between our bodies and peered into my eyes. "Fine, Samuel, except worrying sick about your welfare. Your Father is sleeping, if you decide to look for him."

I nodded slowly, rubbing my chin. "Mum, there is something very important I must tell you both. Please, wake Father."

"Is it that urgent? If it can wait, you should let him rest."

"It is urgent, if he isn't already aware of it. In which case, I'm risking my ears being boxed for waking him without reason. But I must take that chance. Wake him, Mum," I ordered softly.

"I assume it is, if you're taking that chance. Wait here, Samuel." She quickly walked across the sitting room, past the fire pit, into a small hallway and turned to the right, which led to their quarters.

To pass the time when a dazed person would approach, I started to count my toes. When I counted to ten twice, I began with my fingers. Finally after a long silence, I spotted mum and called her over.

"Is Father coming?"

"That overgrown ox could sleep through a thunderstorm, but yes, he is dressing and will be out momentarily."

"Good."

A few minutes passed and I heard awkward footsteps approaching. A silhouette of a tall and large figure stepped into the sitting room. He was wearing brown breeches, but no shirt. Clumps of black hair stuck out wildly on his chest and shoulders. When I saw father wobbling on his feet, I asked if he requested my assistance.

"No, I am alright, Samuel," he said, yawning loudly.

When father reached his rocking chair, he laid his stick next to his right leg, and then glared into my face. "Well?"

"Afternoon, Father," I said, smiling weakly.

"Afternoon, son. You were out with them again, am I correct?" he yawned.

"I arrived quite a while ago. I have news."

"So, your mother has informed me already. Out with it, Samuel. The sooner you speak, the sooner I can sleep again."

I frowned. "You don't seem too interested. Perhaps waking you was a mistake. Are you still tired?"

"Exhausted is the word, but you two dragged my carcass out here, so speak up, Samuel. What news do you bring?"

I inhaled a slow breath and released it calmly. "I asked Mum to wake you Father because I have reached word of a new Act."

"Oh?" father asked curiously. "And what is the name of this Act and what does it involve?"

I moved away from the bench and sat in front of father, so I could peer into both their faces. I watched him nod in my decision, mum staring blankly into my face for answers.

"I will offer both of you a clue; it is a new-"

"Tax, yes?" father asked.

I nodded. "The Sons of Liberty were in an uproar. I wish you were with me, Father but alas, you're not apart of the group," I sighed. "They spoke of, or rather roared about liberty."

"But what does that have to do with this news you bring, Samuel? Stop stalling; I am growing thin of patience."

"Sorry," I moaned. "Please, bear with me, both of you," I said, pointing towards their faces. "The news is something you two may already know but I couldn't risk not mentioning it. The Whigs were preaching about liberty and such because of the Townshend Act. Paril-"

"Bloody hell! What in the Holy Heaven does this one entail?"

Whack!

"Ouch! What was that for, Martha?" father asked, rubbing his left shoulder.

"He is trying to tell us, Welcome. Remember, you were the one that asked for this to be over with, so you could sleep again. If you shut your trap long enough…"

"Quiet, Martha. Go ahead and continue, son. I will try and not interrupt, in fear of being slapped again," he said, glancing at mum. She ignored father and continued to stare at my face.

"Parliament has passed the Townshend Act. Its purpose is to collect revenue from the colonies by putting custom duties on imports of glass, lead, paints, paper, and tea. One of the men in the group mentioned a name - Charles Townshend, Chancellor of the Exchequer. Judging from his last name, he is the creator. I do have one question, Father. What is a Chancellor of the Exchequer?"

He shook his head slowly, and spoke quietly to the floor. "In the common tongue, it means Townshend is from England and he is responsible for all financial affairs in the British cabinet. I presume they are at it again." He raised his head and glanced at mum. "What is your view on this?"

"I think we should thank our remarkable son," she said simply.

I smiled faintly. At least one person was on my side.

"You what?" father remarked sharply and then frowned afterwards.

"I agree; it's time to stop belittling him and focus on the important matters. For years, we've worried more about his namesake then to observe the events that were taking fold. Our son has stayed true to his beliefs, no matter the hardships that were thrown into his lap. We, on the other hand, have not supported his reasoning or sought to offer assistance, but rather sat with our wrists bound and done nothing. Though, I love Samuel, with all my heart, and worry for his safety the moment his foot steps outdoors, we need to help him more. What say you, Welcome?" She turned questionably to meet the dumbfounded expression on his face.

I watched a wide smile beginning to spread. "Mocking my phrase?"

"No, I wanted your attention," she said.

"Bold words, Martha and I suppose you are correct. You and I will offer more substantial assistance. Here that, son? We will not pester you anymore about your endeavors with the Whigs. Pleased?"

"Yes, I am," I smiled. "It is about time you two farts saw it my way," I replied, grinning.

Father smirked. "Farts? Who is a fart? Martha, our boy is mocking our age."

"I suppose, compared to him, we are," mum remarked.

He shook his head, and pointed to her with a thumb. "She has the humor of a stone wall some days." I watched father duck, and apologized by hugging mum. "Right then; Martha is there anything else you wish to speak of?"

"As a matter of fact, there is," she said immediately. "Samuel, how are you feeling?"

I shrugged. "I feel fine."

"No, I meant how are you feeling?"

"I don't understand. Didn't I just say-"

"Samuel, through all the ordeals we have been together as a family, I don't believe once we actually discussed your internal emotions. You must have something built inside?"

I frowned, and felt my heart quicken its pace. Father stroked his smooth chin, and then rubbed the hairs on his stomach. "She does make a point, son. We never talked about your exploits and decisions, joining the Sons of Liberty in depth, but rather persuading by means of pleading. Is there anything you wish to shove off your chest?"

Licking my lips, I glanced towards mum, and then father. I could feel my cheeks becoming warm and my stomach quivering. Their eyes seemed to burn into my face. What should I do? They are calling upon the demons I have longed vanished, I thought to myself. The only solution was…

"Mum, could you please leave? I want to speak with Father alone."

"Boys…," she said and patted my head. I watched her headed for the kitchen.

"Well?" father asked, yawning. "What is wrong?"

"I… Uh… Can I have a minute to think?"

"Of course, son. Pay no attention to my yawning. I am not as young as you. Fatigue seems to grip my body easily these days. Take your time."

I stared blankly into thin air, pondering. My life seemed to change drastically from fifteen – the Sugar Act, and father requesting my assistance, clubbing unexpected citizens' unconscious, bumping into one of the founders - Mister Samuel Adams, and becoming a member of the Sons of Liberty. And mum… How strange that she barely speaks anymore. A spirit? No… A spirit cannot communicate; mum can, but says little when the three of us are together.

I ran further through the course of history of my life and stopped when I reached the hanging of Andrew Oliver. The memory rose from deep inside and hovered in my brain. NO! I shouted to myself. I am not part of the grisly display. I shook my head fiercely, closing my eyes and smashed the sides of my fists into the floor.

I felt a heavy hand perched on my shoulder. "Samuel, what is it, son?" I noticed the concern in his tone. It was soft spoken, rather then his usual deep voice.

"It is nothing!"

Regretting my sudden outburst, I opened my eyes to notice father gaping. I glanced towards the kitchen, mum was watching me too. "I am fine," I called, waving a hand to signal to her to leave again. She nodded, and turned to tend to other businesses.

When I returned my attention to father, he was frowning but said nothing to question my reaction. Closing my eyes, I continued to pass through the memories. An article popped up instantly. I remembered a warm morning, and I, sitting on the floor reading about another house being burned; someone's home, gone in a fiery blaze. I thought about the taxing and how they directly affected my family. It has caused nothing but turmoil, trouble and friction. Is it my fault for joining the Whigs? Have they jeopardized my happiness? No, I thought. They wouldn't have a need to expand and terrorize Boston, if… if…

A lump started to grow in my bowls and I felt it burn. A switch flipped inside my head. My emotions bubbled and rumbled beneath my heart. The only scapegoat to blame for my suffering…

"Damn, them! Damn those bloody bastards all to hell!" I screeched with my eyes still pinned shut. "I will strike those lobsters down; one by one!"

In my rage, I heard two voices, ask simultaneously, "What is wrong?"

I opened my eyes, panting heavily. Mum had decided to come into the sitting room. I glanced at their expressions. Her face was a palish colour and father gawked in disbelief in my direction.

"I meant what I said," I replied, glaring into both their eyes.

"Uh, Samuel… Your mother and I… We are a bit confused… What is wrong?" father asked again.

"Them! The redcoats! No, it's the person they serve. That tyrant overseas who is controlling them and us. Everyone who is loyal to the King deserves to die!"

"Samuel, you are not making sense, son. Try and calm yourself. May we inquire the outburst and why the overwhelming hatred?"

"I have come to realize something."

"Yes, go ahead," he urged with a hand, "Say what is on your mind."

"Mum and Father, I was thinking about my past, when I was fifteen. I thought about how I bumped into Mister Samuel Adams, and became a Whig. I thought of Mister Oliver. The poor man was fleeing for his life, only to find that he was homeless? And Mister Hutchinson; his house also burned. I thought of taxes and such and how miserable it has made us. Through my memories, I came to one realization – it is all King Georges' fault and the men whom serve with him. If it had not been for their meddling, we and our countrymen would not have to suffer as a whole."

When I finished, their faces shown only concern, but that was the only emotion I noticed. Father spoke and offered mum a seat on the bench. He said she was not to leave, no matter my requests. He also mentioned that the three of us would solve my problems, as one, a family.

"How long have you had this anger built?" he asked.

"Years," I replied, starting to calm myself. "Since the Sugar Act, then it escalated as the years passed."

"And you buried it that long? To think, if your mother had not suggested for you to open up…," he shook his head and continued. "I wish not to contemplate about it. I understand partially the rage that you are feeling. How do you presume I feel? I was born in Britain but I have not lost my head and lashed out. The anger that is consuming you, please Samuel, do not attempt something foolish as a way to seek revenge for your feelings. There are ways to fight this, such as boycotting. If we ignore the shipments, then the British government cannot profit."

"There is something else," I began; ignoring father's long winded speech. "I hold myself responsible for the effigy hanging of Mister Oliver. I always attempted to clear my conscious and remind myself he deserved it for collecting the stamps. But I played a part, by being with the Whigs. I-." Dropping my head to the wood floor in despair, I waited for a response.

I overheard whispers. Mum and Father were talking about something. The sounds were faint, but I ignored it. I wanted insight or a solution to repeal my sorrow, so I continued to stare at the floorboards, feeling insecure and obsolete. Though, the age of nineteen was nearing, the stress and pressure had taken its toll. It was not the matter of intense fatigue, but rather mixed emotions of anger, confusion and anxiety; fear for dieing and never returning home. Deep down, I knew if I allowed these emotions to burn vibrantly, they potentially could crush my desire and will to alter the cause for liberty. Now, that my kin has called upon me to release those emotions - It is the entire band of redcoat's fault, I reminded myself. It was my one security – blame them.

"Samuel? Son?" A sharp jerk toward my collar bone caused my head to snap upwards from my morbid thoughts. I glanced into father's face and waited.

"Your mother and I were discussing alternate measures to aid in your… difficulties, if that is the correct phrase to be used. Before I begin to reveal our conversation, we both agree that you have suffered a tremendous deal. For someone so young, nearly a proper gentleman, you have endured the brutality of human nature. I hope now, you finally understand why I lecture you the cruelties of warfare. You are fighting a war, as we speak, Samuel. And what was the cost? Hatred. The very word is a parasite that affects our rational judgment. Do not allow that fiendish thing to incorporate a nest in your soul, son. Fight it! Fight it, Almighty God! Do not lower yourself and become a killer, which acts with rage." He hunched over, grabbed his walking stick and jammed the end lightly into my breast and then he tapped the side of my head. "Use these two, Samuel. You have a loving and truthful heart; use it to wash away the anger and sorrow. Use the brains God has bestowed upon you. Rationalize and try to plan, before acting in haste. Do you understand?"

I nodded slowly. It was comforting to hear his deep voice and the wealth of knowledge he knew. But the anger towards the British for causing so much friction with my family especially, it was difficult to use that beating instrument to wash a shred of the emotion away.

"Tell him, Welcome. It should help ease his pain," mum suggested, clutching his left knee.

Father beckoned for me to sit next to mum on the bench. I obeyed and rose slowly to my feet, and resumed a spot in between them.

"My boy…," he began, delivering a faint smile, "Face me son."

I turned my vision from a wall and met his gaze. "Yes, Father?" I squeaked.

I felt heavy hands stroke my hair. I allowed it, and let father fiddle with the strands. Mum began to lightly massage my shoulders. "Look, at you," he said, beginning to rub one of my cheeks. "You have grown too quickly, son; from a mischief toddler to a stubborn, but determined man. I know we have not shown gratitude in nearly three years, but your mother and I want you to realize, we are both very proud and thankful for any accomplishments in Boston you were a part of."

An earsplitting laugh rang throughout the little house. "Look at his expression, Martha. I think he is in shock."

Mum pulled me into her arms and hugged. "Save one for me!" he demanded, then ripped my body from her grasp and hugged tighter. While my face was buried, I felt a smaller weight lie on top of my back. A human sandwich, who would have thought?

"I cannot breathe guys," I said, in a muffled voice. Father released his hold and I felt mum's weight disappear too. When I stretched and rotated my neck, I glanced in each of their eyes. Returning both their smiles, I said, "Thanks. I appreciate the support."

"We pledge to offer any assistance or council in your darkest needs. In fact, we promise that no matter the time of day, if you require someone to speak with, we will always be here for you, Samuel," mum said.

I glanced questionably into her blue eyes, "What if it's in the dead of night and Father's snoring?"

"Wake us, son. But be prepared for a grizzly bear at first," he laughed. "That was the main parts of our conversation. We were discussing a significant way to aid your troubles. We wish for you to never feel so lost that you have to hide your feelings, to the point where it erupts. Your mother and I agreed that; day or night, please by all means, speak with us. Conversing is the strongest course a person should engage in to abolish anxiety or discomfort. If all else, remember this, son," he said and pointed a finger into my face. "You have the Mighty Lord's greatest gift we shall ever receive; a family and one that loves you so much, we shall slay our own wrists and boar blood for your survival, Samuel."

"I… Uh…," I began.

I turned from mum and stared towards the fire pit, astonished. I was at a loss of words and saying 'thanks' did not seem enough. For the first time in a while, I felt their support was genuine. What could I do to signal to them I was grateful? The answer came instantly. I wrapped each of my arms around their necks and squeezed the two largest saps in all of Boston.

The anger and frustration I felt earlier had long passed, and a new emotion hovered inside. I understood how powerful the heart was; father was correct. It served to pump the crimson fluid through my veins, but it also temporally washed away the hatred.

"I love you," I mumbled, feeling tears starting to emerge.

Simultaneously, the voices said, "We love you too, Samuel."

Upon hearing their tender tones, I released my grasp from around their necks and buried my face into my hands and cried loudly. I felt one light hand rest on my left shoulder and a heavier one, caressing my right cheek.

I sobbed for many hours, draining the remaining demons that lurked inside.

*

Running swiftly – the clank of shoes hitting the cobblestones – looking behind my shoulder, an object on hot pursuit – glance towards the sky; gray clouds and lightning bolts flashing wildly – feel stomach heave; must stop for oxygen – peer over shoulder again – the object is on my heels – I turn and run faster – buildings and corners accelerate with the speed of my feet – I trip over my ankle and smash face – turning my body quickly over in preparation to flee, the object hovers high over my chest – I try to scream – no sounds come – blood trickles down corners of my lips – I feel my eyes widen and watch in horror at the object; a noose floats up my chest and wraps itself firmly – try to tear it lose – useless – the rope become taut – I cough and gasp - lightning flashes through the clouds, illuminating Mister Andrew Oliver's somber expression in the sky - I cry out - no sound - running out of air - the noose, tearing into my flesh - my eyeballs begin to pop, then the world goes black. My eyelids flitter and the last thing I see before death is a translucent man standing over my body, with another noose secured around his own neck…

"NO!" I yelled, bolting upright, and hearing a crack of thunder outside. The darkness around the sitting room; it seemed like a horrible and gloomy predator was waiting to swallow me whole. In a panic, I searched for a weapon through the scraps of shirts and animal skins but to no avail, I found none.

I felt my heart thump and my chest ached from breathing heavily. I stared into the shadows, wondering about the vision. It was a dream, I reminded myself. But the thought did little to comfort me. I crawled from underneath the linen and skins, rubbing my hands all over my bare chest, and then I checked my calves and feet. After I examined the limbs and muscles thoroughly, I gripped my neck. Yes, it is alright. There is no rope tied around your neck.

Playing the dream over, it was so real. I actually felt a rope tied tight and Mister Oliver's face; a crooked and snapped neck. Was this a warning? Am I to die? A ripple of fear gripped my body and I began to shake.

Two small voices entered my mind and I remembered their encouragement earlier today. Slipping on a pair of breeches, I brought myself steadily to my feet. As I walked, my kneecaps buckled and I crashed onto the floor. Standing again, I stepped into the tiny hallway, turned right and knocked on the door.

There were sounds of life on the other side; father was snoring loudly. I decided to knock harder.

Silence.

If they are not going to answer, I'm barging in, I instructed myself. Inhaling one gulp of air, I opened the door and crept into my parent's room. At first, I barely saw anything, except two lumps on a mattress. Mum's head was facing my body and to the far left, slept father. For several minutes, I stood in complete darkness, feeling very nervous and wondering what their reaction would be if I woke them in the dead of the night. They said I had permission to wake them, no matter the circumstances but some doubt started to seep inside.

When my vision finally adjusted, I saw their room almost perfectly through the light of the moon. There were three windows; one to the left, center and another to the right, near the entrance. Towards the center and under the window, there was a small, wooden box with a hole cut in the middle. The hole was only wide enough to support a person's bum. Underneath the box, another hole was cut through the floorboards and a circular ditch was dug nearly seven feet into the earth. In the colder months, we used the indoor privy. Fortunately, when the privy was built, it had a door bolted, so anyone that lifted it to relieve themselves, could push the door shut to ensnare the stench. I cannot say the odor emitting from underneath the privy's latch was appealing but it was tolerable; at least I was mildly used to it. To the right of me, under the other window, was a hole cut into the wall. The cubby served as a place to store linen and shoes. On the floor, I noticed a dress, apron and bonnet in front of my toes.

I decided I would call upon father, despite his horrendous snoring, so I side-stepped mum's clothing and tiptoed around the other side of their bed and stared at the contours of his face. Their covers only wrapped half his body, allowing thick chest hairs to stick wildly outwards. His left arm was tucked behind his neck and the other was under deer skin and his head was facing directly at my hips.

He reached with a free hand from under the covers and scratched his chest, stretched, than rolled over and continued to produce a racket. I anticipated the moment when I would shake him, but every time I reached a hand toward one of his shoulders, he grunted and tossed into a new direction, which left my stomach fluttering and I stopped.

This is ridiculous; shake the man, so you can sleep again. Without thinking, I reached out and shook father, and stepped away from the bed. At first, he grumbled and pulled the sheets higher over his stomach. I gritted my teeth and shook a shoulder harder.

Before I had a chance to ease away, father groaned, rubbed his eyes, and sat up to meet my face. "Who is that? Who are you?" he said, yawning loudly.

"Uh… It is me Father… I… I came to speak with you."

"Samuel? Is that you? What on Ear..," he said in a hoarse whisper, yawning again. "What are you doing in hear? It is in the middle of the night. Go to sleep, son."

"But… I…," I stuttered and then licked my lips nervously. "I… Remember you said I could come and wake you two, if I needed something?"

Another yawn and I watched him scratch his side and rotate his neck in a circular motion. "Yes, of course I remember, Samuel. But I had not expected an interruption so soon," he whispered.

I glanced over his body, "Is Mum still asleep?"

"She would sleep through an earthquake. Honestly, your mother is a heavier sleeper than I. So…," he yawned and scratched a cheek, "What is the problem? What do you need?"

"I… Uh… I had a terrible dream, Father. It seemed so real and I cannot sleep. I'm afraid the nightmare will return," I whispered.

"Oh? What was it about?"

"A noose and it was chasing me. It eventually caught my body and I felt like I was suffocating. Before I died in my dream, I pictured the tax collector, Mister Oliver and he stood over my body with a noose secured around his own neck."

He yawned and stretched his arms high above his head. "It was a dream, Samuel. Has it frightened you that much?"

I nodded. "I was spooked so much when I awoke, that I searched for a weapon immediately. I didn't realize at first, I was awake. When I slowly came to my senses, I examined my entire body for wounds, even checked my neck."

"What do you presume should be done, so we can all sleep?"

I scratched an arm and rubbed a shin with a toe. "Uh… If it is not much trouble…-"

"Out with it," father said in a hoarse whisper.

"May I sleep in here, tonight?" I whispered nervously.

"I suppose that should not be a problem. It is almost dawn anyway," he yawned. "Go on, and make yourself a bed on the floor."

"Uh… If it is not much trouble, Father, could I sleep with you and Mum in your bed? In the middle?"

"Alright…," he growled quietly. "If we let you sleep in our bed, will you finally rest?"

"Yes, Father. I promise."

"So be it. Do me a favor, Samuel. Before you hop your bum into the bed, turn around and face the wall. I will wake your Mother so she can slip into a nightgown and I, into breeches.

Nodding, I walked away a few paces and turned so only my bare back was exposed. I heard a loud groan from mum; father whispering our conversation. Then the bed jiggled and thumped.

"Come on, Samuel," mum called in a weary voice.

Turning, I walked steadily, as quickly as my legs allowed, crawled into their bed and kissed them both on the cheek. "Thank you," I smiled.

Their reaction was ignoring me completely. Mum turned to the right and father pulled the covers over his shoulder and turned to the left. I yanked the deer pelt above my hips, turned to the left, slid and arm underneath his armpit and stroked his chest hairs.

He reacted with a grunt. "Good night, Samuel." Shortly after, he was snoring again. I smiled in the darkness and closed my eyes. I slept within a few minutes.

*

"Morning, Samuel. I expected you to sleep later."

Father and I were outside. I rose shortly after the sun illuminated the sky. There was an internal clock inside my brain and I usually greeted the early morning daylight.

I was practicing on throwing my knife into the side of the house when father greeted me.

"I would have, if I could. I have never been able to sleep at dawn. The sunlight always keeps me awake."

"Early bird, I see. How are you today?"

"Exhausted. I apologize for causing any problems last night." I walked towards the blade and yanked it from the soft earth and sat. "Where is Mum?"

"Sleeping. I do not think she slept well either."

"Why not?" I asked, and looked up to meet father's face.

"Because, you are a dangerous man in bed," he laughed. I watched him drop his walking stick and joined me.

I cocked my head, "How so?"

"Well… If I tell you, promise to not beat me?" he smiled.

"Was I that bad?"

"We will say, you hogged most of the covers, leaving your mother and I bear."

"Oh, sorry," I said and peered away sheepishly.

"That is not all, son. If robbing the one thing that keeps us warm was not enough, you pushed your mother onto the floor with your foot last night. She is fine, but with a lot of effort, she was able to move your entire body into the center again."

"And I never woke at all?"

"Never stirred a bit," he laughed. "You are a heavy man, Samuel. Next time, you sleep on the floor."

"Sorry," I groaned, and felt my cheeks flush.

"It is fine, but you will still sleep on the floor."

I glanced into his face. "What's with the smile?"

"Just reminiscing about last night," he smirked. "What plans do you have today, son?"

"I feel too weak to hunt but there is some bread and water inside."

"I fancy grubs myself," he retorted.

"If I gain energy, I will track some fowl," I sighed. "I'm considering about town too."

"You are planning a trip into town today?"

"Yes, I believe so. I am curious if there is new news. Would you like to come, Father?"

I watched him grimace at his injured knee.

"Is your leg bothering you?"

"It is always a burden, Samuel. But if you would allow me to lean on a shoulder, I will survive the trip."

"I am tired but I can support you, Father. Should we wait for Mum?"

"Let us eat first, and then we will decide. Hopefully, when we are finished, Martha will be awake."

I stood and placed the knife in my other hand and extended my left to father. He gripped it and I leaned backwards, pulling his weight. When he was standing, I reached down and grabbed the stick and handed it to him.

"Thank you, son. What say you and I dine on that delightful bread?"

"I would prefer grubs myself," I remarked and then smiled.

I watched father's stomach bounce as he chuckled. He leaned on my left shoulder; I held his weight and led him inside.

When we entered the cabin, a voice called. I slipped from underneath father's left shoulder, checked behind my back and asked if he would be alright without my support for a moment.

"Yes, I will be fine. In fact, I will follow you into the kitchen."

I nodded, and followed the voice that called for us. A tiny woman, wearing a bonnet and a blue dress was molding and punching dough.

"Hello, Mum. We thought you would still be sleeping. We were about to have breakfast."

Creak, thud! Creak, thud! Creak, thud!

The sound of father's walking stick, as he leaned on it, echoed in the hall. In a few seconds, a large hand clasped my left shoulder. "Mind if I lean on you again?"

"It's fine, Father. I can hold your weight."

"Thank you, Samuel."

"My pleasure. So, Mum, we were planning on eating some of your homemade bread and possibly walk into town."

She turned around, greeted us with a smile and mentioned breakfast was already prepared. "Take a seat Welcome and Samuel. I have corn cooked and ready to serve."

Father reserved a seat at the head of the table in the kitchen. I sat next to him and watched how he rubbed his hands together and licked his lips eagerly.

"No bread for us today," I giggled.

"Praise God too. Grass might have been more preferable. Anyway, where did this corn come from, Martha?"

Mum brought three plates over and handed one to each of us, and sat across from father. "I have my ways. There is quite an amount of food rationed, in the event we run low. But don't ask where I have hidden it. You two would eat it all. So, I hear a trip into town is the order of business today?"

"Yes, I wanted to visit and catch up on any news, since yesterday," I said, and dug my teeth in the fresh ear of corn.

"Yesterday? Oh… That's right; your meeting with those Sons of Liberty was yesterday," mum remarked casually.

"Yes, the meeting… The Whigs were quite… Not sure the word to describe it. There was a lot of energy among us, and from past experiences, I know that energy can wield into action." I glanced at both their faces and produced a sly smile.

Father returned my glace, with a mouth stuffed with cornels. "Whuth with tha smuck?"

"Hmm… What was that?" I asked.

He chocked down the food and repeated the question. "What is with the smirk?"

I glanced towards mum, grinning. She met my eyes, but shrugged and continued to eat. "Remember the support you two offered me? There is a good chance we will bump into my allies. I suppose I'm curious how you both will react, if we do."

"I see; a test. I cannot say we do not deserve it. Here that, Martha," pointing a thumb in my direction, "Our son is testing us." His expression was stern, unlike the cheerful demeanor he displayed earlier outdoors today.

"Than we should not disappoint him," mum remarked, causally. "Give me your scraps and I'll dispose of them." We handed her the wood plates and wiped our mouths with our hands.

"Delicious, Martha. Your skill in the kitchen would be difficult to match," he said, licking his fingers with his mouth. "Right then, are we all ready to venture into town?"

"Mum, you are coming, right?" I pleaded.

"I'll come, Samuel and tend to the kitchen later."

"Good. When are we leaving?"

"Right now, son. Martha lead the way, please. Samuel has given his word that he would allow me to rest on his shoulder for support."

I nodded, and slipped my left shoulder under the wing of his arm and lifted his weight until he was in a standing position. "Let me get my knife. I'll be back shortly."

"How about fetching my walking stick, too? It is by my right foot."

I walked swiftly by a chair, grabbed the knife, and than picked up the stick and held it outwards.

He gripped it and leaned heavily to the right.

"May I get a tunic?" I asked.

"What do you need it for?" mum asked curiously. She was standing near the entrance waiting.

"I use the tunic to conceal my knife. I slip the handle into my breeches, behind my back, so that the blade is upright."

"Which means you are always armed. That is clever, son. There is a dark green tunic in our room. You should be tall enough so it fits. Run along, time is a'waisting."

I scurried away and found the tunic resting neatly on mum's side of the bed. I tucked the knife into my breeches and tied the tunic around my neck, then walked from their room and shut the door. "I'm coming!" I hollered, and sprinted to meet them.

When we arrived, the people in the streets seemed to be in a buzz. There was much activity. The bodies were racing back and forth, as if something were chasing them. I had not seen the Colonists energized since the repeal of the Stamp Act; quite peculiar indeed.

"I wonder what has them in a tizzy," father said, pointing a finger towards the streets.

"You have noticed it too?" I asked.

"Yes, of course. I am not sure about the excitement but I am sure we all will be informed eventually."

"Their fast pace is unsettling. I do not like it," mum said worryingly.

"Where should we head, Samuel? This was your idea. Point us in a direction," father said.

The answer came instantly. "We will walk to the Old South Meetinghouse," I said with authority.

"I am not sure if I am in the proper mood to worship, son. Martha?" he asked, glancing questionably at mum.

"I assume tha-," she began.

"My intentions are not for worshiping," I interrupted. "There is a person I want you two to meet, if he is present. He has become a close friend."

"That is quite a distance from the beginning of Newbury to the corner of Milk Street, son." I watched him temporally glance at his right knee. The wrinkles by the corners of his lips contorted diagonally. "The shortest distance is north, if we walk straight until we reach Marlborough Street and then make a right hand turn onto Milk Street. If I am correct, that is about four blocks, five at most."

"I'm strong enough; I will be able to hold your weight, Father. We can do it, right Mum?"

"I suppose," she sighed.

"Good, come on! I do not want to miss our chance."

"Will you quit tugging my arm, Samuel! I am only able to walk as quickly as my leg allows me."

"Yes, Samuel. Take is easy. We do not want your Father's knee to pop from its joint," mum said, sharply.

I sighed. "Alright, I will walk slower." I peered up into father's face. His expression was grim, not a trace of humor at all. "I'm sorry."

"Let us meet this person you seem to speak so highly of," he said, refusing to return my gaze.

The distance for mum and I would have been fairly simple in normal circumstances but for father, it proved difficult, even with my support that held his massive weight. We had to stop twice, so he could sit and massage his injury before we continued. I paced while he rested, worrying if I would fail to meet my friend again.

"May I inquire about this mate? Who is he?"

"A surprise, Father. You will like him; Mum, I think you will too. He is a bit of a hothead though. But nonetheless, he is a remarkable man."

"What is special about this man?" mum asked.

"Are you ready, Father?" I said, ignoring mum's question. "We are near Marlborough Street; another block and we should arrive at Milk Street."

"Allow me one more minute, son. Are not you exhausted?"

To answer his question, I rolled up my shirt, and showed him a six pack that rippled through my skin. Then I dropped my shirt and flexed my left arm. The muscle jerked and penetrated through my flesh and the size of it was round like an apple, as the muscle popped upwards. "I think I am capable for a while longer," I boasted, and then grinned.

When he called for my help, I extended my left arm, and pulled him onto his feet, and handed Father his walking stick.

"Come on, let us go," he ordered.

I resumed my usual position and steadied his weight. After a few minutes, we reached the building. It was massive, the most extravagant in Boston. Before entering, I glanced up to see the large wrought-iron lantern secured to the top of the entrance; the flames dancing and rolling inside.

Inside Old South, there were a few Colonists praying silently. Towards the front, a tall and white balcony hovered over us. It served as the proper place where teachings were preached by the Reverend. His perch was as high as the heavens itself. There were carvings of angels and each one held a harp. A carved cross from marble was hung in front of the Reverend's balcony. In the center of the cross, was a replica of Christ, with small fingers touching His shoulder. It symbolized He was never alone and God was always with Him. Christ's head was hung low, with carvings of four nails; one nailed into each wrist and ankle. The lower part of His body was wrapped in a maroon sash, with the North Star showing in the center of it.

Along the far left and right, were ten iron chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Each chandelier held six tall candles. They provided enough light to display the half-circled, painted, glass windows, and each one displaying a significant scene. One showed baby Christ lying in a cradle, with three hooded men offering one gift, celebrating His birth. Another, Mary and Joseph had their hands clasped and His guardians were praying above the clouds. Wide, yellowish stripes that represented the sun's rays were underneath the white clouds, where Mary and Joseph kneeled and the rays were directed towards the cross in diagonal lines. I assumed it meant in our darkest hour, light would pave a way for mankind.

Mum lowered her self on her knees under the cross, nailed against the balcony, and prayed silently. A finger by her moved down, up, right and than to the left against her chest. "In the name of the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit; Amen." she said mumbled.

Father and I stumbled next to her. I sat, with my legs tucked under my bum and father kneeled on his left leg, the injured kneecap remained in a bent position. Father and I preformed the same ritual as mum.

After I finished, I peered slowly around the room, searching. There was one man, towards the very front and center, under the Reverend's balcony too, with his hands clasped and his head tilted towards the cobblestones.

"Father and Mum, he's here!"

"Shush, Samuel. You are too loud. Who is here?" father said sternly.

"Look," I said, pointing to a pew, not far from us. Both their heads turned to follow the direction of my finger.

"Who is that man, Samuel?" mum asked.

"The person I wanted you two to meet, my friend. Father, here is your stick." I dropped it into his lap and tugged an arm. "Come on, let's go."

"Alright, alright; calm yourself son, before you suffer a heart attack. Help me up."

I slipped under his left shoulder and lifted until he was standing and steady on his feet. "Have your walking stick?"

"Yes, son. I am using it now." He glanced over his shoulder, "Martha, are you coming too?"

She lifted herself to a standing position and nodded. "I think it would be wise, so he doesn't become more excited then he already is."

"Yes… This is true. Well, come on. Let us meet this man. Samuel, you will make the introductions."

I nodded and tugged father's shoulder.

"Quite yanking my arm! Be patient, Samuel," he growled.

When we crept along the right side of the man, he acknowledged our presence by nodding and resumed his gaze to the floor. Father and Mum were standing directly behind me. "Uh hem…," I mumbled.

The man glanced more thoroughly into my face and smiled. "Master Garrison, I did not recognize you. How have you been?"

I bowed deeply, to show my allegiance. "Mister Adams, I would be honored if you met my parents."

He peered over my shoulder, nodded and then stood. Mister Adams extended a right hand out to father; he shook it and so did mum.

"We have heard a great deal about your exploits in Boston, Adams. My overanxious son dragged us here," father said, flashing a faint smile.

"Oh? Ye traveled to find me personally?" Mister Adams gawked questionably in my direction.

I bowed slightly. "I have told my parents a great deal about you and our group."

I watched the smile diminish from Mister Adams lips immediately. He cocked an eyebrow, "They know?"

Father pushed me away hastily with a hand. "We have known about your society since Samuel was fifteen. He has kept true to his word but I forced him to speak because his mother and I feared for his safety. He is as loyal a man you will find… And as equally as stubborn," father remarked, and then smiled in my direction. "The three of us are with the cause," he added shortly.

A broad grin appeared on Mister Adams lips. "I see. I admire the thoughtfulness. Our… Society as you so delicately put it, is a committed group; much a family more than anything. I understand the fears for your son's safety but we all look out for one and another. He is in good hands. Tell me," he began by clapping his hands loudly. The sharp sound startled mum but if it made her uncomfortable, she did not show it. "May I have the names of your parents, Master Garrison?"

"Oh, sorry. I forgot about my manners. This is my Father," I started, gripping an arm and squeezed it, "Welcome and my Mum's name is Martha."

Father bowed slightly, careful to not lose his balance. "Please to finally meet you."

Mum curtsied, "And I," she muttered.

"Pleasure is all mine," Mister Adams said, and then bowed. "If ye say you've heard of me, than I assume you already know my first name but I will say it anyway. I am Samuel Adams, at your service," he said with another bow. "How have you been, Master Garrison?" he repeated.

"I… Uh…," I gawked at father sheepishly for help.

"I believe my son means that he had a rather rough time sleeping last night."

I felt my cheeks starting to flush. "We actually came into town to find new news," I said, attempting to change the subject. "But I wanted them to meet you in person first, Mister Adams."

"Address me as Samuel or Sam. While there has not been news since our meeting yesterday, the people have already acted."

"We have noticed the people acting peculiar. We have never seen so much hustle on the streets," mum said, contributing to the conversation.

"If your Father is able, Master Garrison, I believe you two will find an intriguing display by the Old State House; that is, if it is still there.

"The Towne House? What is there?" father asked curiously.

"Did ye mentioned the Townshend Act?" Sam Adams said, facing my direction.

"I have, Mister – I… I have Sam," I said, smiling awkwardly.

"Than remember this; the three of you. It does not require a majority to prevail, but rather an irate, tireless minority keen to set brush fires in people's minds. What you will witness is our countrymen displaying allegiance; the same as you have shown us, Samuel Garrison, through the years, if the spectacle has not been removed."

"Thank you," mum said.

"Yes, I believe I say the same as my wife that we are appreciative and humbled by the dedication."

I smiled by the outcome and was pleased by it. "Many thanks, Sam," I said and bowed. "Farewell, until another day." Father bowed slightly again and mum curtsied.

Sam Adams flashed a thin smile, resumed a seat and clasped his hands, beginning to pray again.

I noticed father's knee beginning to buckle, so I rushed under his left arm and led him to a different seat, away from Sam Adams, to rest. Mum followed us and sat also. She was to the left, followed by father in the middle, and me.

"How is your leg?" I asked.

"Sore. But I will manage with your help, son. Your support is graciously appreciative also. Without it, I may not have lasted."

"So, Mum and Father, how do you like him?"

"He seems to be an upstanding citizen," mum said. "But very serious though."

"I agree wholly with that statement, Martha. However, I was very impressed how Adams carried himself; a fine and polite gentleman and a knowledgeable politician. I think we can rest a little easier at night, my wife. I am relieved that Samuel is actually serving under benevolent men whom support the cause of Liberty."

"Excuse me? I am still here," I said waving a palm in father's face.

"And so you are," he grunted. "What is it, son?"

"First, I don't entirely understand your conversation but from what I do understand, you like Sam?"

"Yes, he appears to be a kind man, although I'm still uncertain about your safety," mum said softly.

"Come off it, Mum," I said gruffly. "I have been trained and I know how to defend myself. And I am always armed."

"He is right, Martha. Chin up. If Adams is correct about the group protecting each other, Samuel should be alright."

"I am his mother, it is my job to worry," she sniffed.

"Can we visit the State House?" I asked eagerly.

"I foresee many hours of sleep tomorrow, but yes, we will go. I am as curious as you, Samuel. What say you, Martha? Will you join us?"

"Of course. Someone needs to keep your two arses inline," she smiled. "Hmm? What is with the open jaws?"

"Uh… You…," I started.

"It has been some time since I heard anything remotely related to a curse. I suppose, Samuel is as shocked as I."

I nodded. "I have never heard that word pop from your mouth, Mum."

She shrugged in response. "First time for everything," she retorted.

I turned my attention to father. "Ready?"

"Yes. Help me, please."

I picked up his stick and handed it to him. When father gripped it, I leaned backwards, holding his left hand and hauled his weight until he was standing again. Mum filed from the seat and walked up the aisle. Father grasped both sides of the seats, lifted his injured knee in the air, hopped into the aisle on one foot and than leaned on his walking stick. I scurried by his left side and placed his arm around my neck. Before I began to walk, I reached behind my back and checked the knife. Yes, it's there, I said to myself.

I peered towards Sam Adams, who was still praying. "Farewell, Sam!" I hollered.

A sharp jerk to my stomach caused me to gag. "Do not yell in a place of worship. Let us go already," father said. I sensed he was becoming irritable, so without waiting for a response from my fellow colleague, I pressed foreword, one step at a time until we reached outdoors with mum waiting.

As the three of us slowly walked further north, I wondered what we would find. What possibly could be at the State House? Would something there signal a clue about the Colonists pace on the streets? The route from Old South to the State House was not extraordinarily long in normal circumstances. If we walked north from Marlborough and the corner of Milk Street, two more blocks, the State House is on our right at the beginning of King Street.

If I was traveling alone, I would have arrived at the two destinations before mid-afternoon. However, with steadying father's immense weight and his slower pace, the trips were longer. We only walked about thirty yards, when father and I had to recuperate. While he nursed his injury, I flexed and stretched my muscles in my neck and the lower part of my back.

"Are you alright, Samuel?" mum asked. "You appear to be suffering."

"Am I?"

"Your cheeks are bright red, and you flinch every time you rotate your neck or hunch your spine. Why don't you sit and rest with your Father."

I obeyed, and plunked my bum on the cobblestones next to him. "I am starting to feel the toll of Father's weight, Mum. It's causing my muscles to ache."

"Then we should return home, son. I do not want you to suffer on my behalf."

I shook my head fiercely and gazed into his brown eyes. "No, I want to go to the State House and see this 'spectacle.'"

"You are chancing your health if nothing is there, Samuel."

"I do not care about my health, Father. I will heal and I want to go."

"Stubborn, old fool," he chuckled. "I am ready, if you are son."

I nodded. "I feel a bit better. Have your stick?"

"It is in my hands, thank you. Help me up."

Standing, I offered my left hand and waited until he gripped it. When I pulled father to a standing position, I tucked my head under the wing of his arm and the three of us pressed forward.

As we walked passed brick or stone buildings and a few horse-drawn carriages, a familiar memory tugged at my memory. I turned to the right so I was facing mum's waist.

"Mum, I have a question."

"What might that be?" she said, refusing to return my glance.

"I don't know how to say it, without having my ears boxed."

"Go ahead, and speak your mind, Samuel," father urged.

I sighed. "Mum, why have you been so quiet? When I was a young boy, you never stopped blabbing. You barely spoke a word when I introduced Sam Adams. May I pinch your hand to see if you are a spirit?" I said, with a sly smile.

"You pinch me and you will be sleeping with the wolves tonight!" mum snapped. "Welcome Garrison, if I hear one more chuckle about this matter, so help me God, you will join him."

"I apologize, Martha," father said. I noticed the corners of his lips were twitching. I think he was fighting off laughter to the best of his ability.

Mum did not return his apology. "An answer to your question is rather complicated. I don't know how to react, I suppose. My mind is always swirling inside, with internal conflicts. What with all the events that have occurred…"

"Martha? Your hands are trembling."

"With all the events that have occurred I feel empty inside," she continued, and covered her hands. "Hollow more than anything. Meeting Samuel Adams… The thought of him connected to our family in some way… I cannot explain, except that my emotions are entangled with an internal battle. I'm waiting for the winner to arise, so I truly know how to feel."

Neither father, nor I commented but I sensed he was as concerned as I was. When we finally passed the first block, I heard someone call my name from the side of a street.

"Who is that man, son? And why on Earth is he waving towards us?"

"The only thing I see Father, is my bare feet and the cobblestones. I will check." I slid from underneath his bulky arm and searched for the person that called for me.

"Over there, Samuel. Look, he is waving his arms," father said, pointing a finger.

"Where? I don't see anyone."

Two heavy hands jerked my shoulders to the right. "There, son. He is a few feet from your mother."

I pressed a hand to my forehead to shield the rays of the sun and searched the streets again. Finally I spotted a thin man of medium height, who walked briskly towards us. As he approached closer, I recognized the man instantly and felt a wide smile growing.

"Good afternoon, Mister Garrison." The man extended his right hand, and I shook it.

"'Afternoon, Mister Henry. These are my parents; Welcome and Martha."

Mister Henry gave a slight nod. "I am pleased to meet you both."

Father cocked and eyebrow suspiciously but nodded nonetheless and mum curtsied.

"Forgive me for prying, but who are you? And how do you know our son?" father asked uncertainly.

Mister Henry glanced in my direction for council. His bushy brows hunched forward and he began to blink frequently. To me, he seemed a bit wary of my kin.

"May I tell them your full name?" I asked.

"You may," he replied.

"Father, Mum; allow me to introduce Mister Patrick Henry. He is a member of the group."

Mister Henry hunched so that his lips were at my eye level. A brownish and gray ponytail slipped from behind and the strands tickled my nostrils. I brushed away Mister Henry's hair and he did not object. "Do they always greet newcomers with open mouths, Mister Garrison?"

"I think they're shocked," I gigged. "I warned them earlier today we were bound to meet some of the Whigs. How is your visit into Boston?"

"Visit?" father asked.

"Yes, where are you from?" mum asked.

I noticed Mister Henry cock an eyebrow but smiled nonetheless. "I was born in Virginia. I am a lawyer by profession and a politician. I am here in Boston to finalize the procedures and be of assistance. I will be departing and returning home tomorrow."

"My deepest gratitude than," father said, with a slight bow. "I speak for my wife, I am sure, when I say we are honored for any sacrifices you may have endured by traveling to Massachusetts. I, for one, am humbled to meet so many fighting for the cause."

I watched Mister Henry nod. "Your compliments will cause me to flush, if you do not stop," he smiled. "Mister Garrison, where is the youngin' headed today on this glorious afternoon?"

"We are heading to the State House," mum replied instead. "Samuel Adams has instructed we are to venture there. He mentioned the people acting by some means of allegiance and I suppose rallying against this Townshend Act. So, we are set to discover what possibly will await us."

Mister Henry cringed upon hearing that news. "I have visited the sight that Sam speaks of. Actually, I was coming from the Towne House now. You are a young lad, Mister Garrison." He stepped up beside me and rested a right hand on my shoulder. "Such things a person should never witness, especially the likes of you."

My head fell. "You sound like my Father," I said glumly.

"And I am sure he was absolutely correct. A young lad should never be exposed to atrocities as cruel as the human mind."

I lifted my head and noticed his grim expression. He was frowning and both his brows furrowed further, so much that half of Mister Henry's brown pupils were covered. "I do not understand. What is-?"

"Yes, what is there?" father interrupted.

"I wish to not describe it," he said, shuddering. "It is a sure sign of the troubles to follow. The place I am sure is surrounded by now with Tories and such. I have a spare dagger, if you and your parents should run into trouble."

"I have one concealed, thank you," I said.

"That is fine. My soul would not rest easy if I read about you or your family members in the obituaries," Mister Henry said firmly. "Where did you see Sam?"

"He was in the Old South Meetinghouse," father mumbled. His voice was soft-spoken that I barely heard him at all.

Mister Henry bowed. "Many thanks kind sir. Young Garrison, a word, before you continue with your travels."

"Yes?"

He removed his grasp from my shoulder, placed a large hand that nearly swallowed the top of my head and pulled my neck backwards, forcing me to meet his eyes. He kneeled on one knee and whispered in an ear, "May the Almighty Lord travel with the soles of your feet and protect you and your family in these dark times."

After he delivered the message, he stood and shook father and mum's hand fiercely. "An extraordinary child you have. Proud guardians, I am sure," Mister Henry boomed.

"I… We are. Thank you," father said.

"I must be off but we should meet privately in a tavern sometime and engage in a conversation."

"Farewell, Mister Henry," I said glumly, and waved as he passed us.

Mister Henry grunted in acknowledgement and walked south of Marlborough Street.

He would be returning to Virginia, I knew, and it saddened me slightly. Mister Henry is an honest but an intelligent man. I am grateful I had the pleasure of acknowledging this fact and the opportunity of acquiring another friend.

"What did he say, son?"

"He wished us safe passage," I muttered, watching intently as Mister Henry's lanky legs disappeared the further he traveled. After his body vanished from my sight, I returned my attention. "I have a question Mum and Father - What do you think of the Whigs now?" I whispered. I was fairly certain we were alone, but I was not chancing a loyalist spying nearby; whispering seemed ideal.

"I say, I am exceedingly impressed. They are dedicated men. The two we have met appeared to be uneasy around your mother and me but I suppose what with riots, this is understandable. That Henry fellow, I swear, had one fixed eye on my body, the entire conversation," father remarked.

"He genuinely seemed to care for your well-being especially, Samuel," mum said.

"Sam Adams did mention, Mum, we are a family whom supports one and another."

She stroked the strands of my brown hair and kissed my forehead. "Thank you, Mum," I said and lightly hugged her. "Father, another block and we will be there. Do you need to tend to the knee?"

"It is sore, but the warning Henry displayed has fully electrified my mind. I refuse to nurse my knee. How are you holding, son?"

"I'm sore too but I will survive. I will not be able to move tomorrow but that is some time away."

"Alright, a little assistance by you son, and we will be off."