Sprig of Liberty

The Sprig of Liberty

Autumn, 1786

 

          The carriage lurched sharply as it approached the farmhouse.  The pock marked road saw mostly horse hooves, or an occasional wagon wheel.  The carriage was simply out of place.  The driver halted his team and opened the side door. 

 

          The first thing I noticed about the passenger was the whiteness of his stockings.  They were so crisp and fresh looking.   I don’t know that anything I owned had ever been that white.  His outstretched hand grasped mine firmly.  “Martin Carter?” he asked.  I nodded.

          “Alexander Brach,” he said.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

          “Likewise, sir,” I replied.  “Would you like some coffee?”

          “I’d love some, thank you.”  We proceeded to the kitchen.

 

          Taking a sip from his tin mug, Mr. Brach spread out six silver coins on the oak tabletop.  “The amount we agreed upon, plus an extra coin because of your generous hospitality and brave service to your country,” he said.

 

          “But sir,” I replied, “even with the extra coin it’s still a trifle what these bonds I’m selling you are worth.  I should get ten times what you’re offering.”

 

          “Mr. Carter, I couldn’t agree with you more.  It’s a shame what has happened to all you veterans of the Revolution.  Why, it’s because of you that the Revolution succeeded in the first place.  But, the free market is sometimes an ungrateful beast.  I know for a fact that you couldn’t find a better offer anywhere in Boston than is sitting right here on this tabletop.  Now, do we have a deal, or should I just get back in my carriage and go down the road to your neighbor’s house and make the arrangement with him instead?” 

 

          He was right.  It was more than I could get anywhere else.  Still, as I watched the carriage fade away into the horizon, I couldn’t help but feel that my country had abandoned me and all those who had fought for it with me. 

 

          The silver would last us for awhile, but it was only a temporary fix to a permanent problem.  The farm, which had once been more than enough to sustain my family, was now almost worthless.  The chickens, cows, and sheep that used to be such valuable trading items were now only good for feeding my family.  The merchants in town don’t barter any more.  They’re demanding cash money for goods.  I can’t blame them, though, because the same demands are being made on them by those to whom they are indebted.  It’s ironic that the cost of the war which was fought to obtain freedom from unfair taxation is now causing many of us who fought for that freedom to lose everything.

 

- - - -

          “When will you be home?” asked Anna, my wife.

          “Late,” I replied, pecking her on the cheek.

          “Where are you going?” she asked.

          “ I told you, it’s a secret.  It’s better you don’t know.”

          “Don’t do anything foolish,” she said, straightening my collar.

          “Don’t worry, Anna, I’ll be fine.  I’m just going to listen to a man talk.  What could go wrong?”

- - - -

          The cracks in the walls of the tall, gray barn glowed with the light of the lanterns within.  Inside, the men were huddled together in small groups, talking quietly amongst themselves, awaiting the speech, which was to begin shortly. 

 

 Daniel Shays stood before the crowd of about 30 men with the posture of a man who feared no one.  His back was straight, shoulders back, eyes confidently scanning the room, making contact with every single man.  His blue and buff uniform was faded, but still fit perfectly.  The spring of evergreen pinned to his lapel looked as glorious as the idea of liberty that it stood for.

 

          “At Lexington, we didn’t back down,” Shays began.  “Those Lobster backs thought they could push us around, but they were wrong.  On Bunker Hill, did we run away?  No!  We fought ‘till the last speck of gunpowder had exploded!  At Saratoga, we surrounded the enemy until 9,000 men lay down their weapons.  Many of you were with me at these battles.  Many of you lost friends and comrades.  Every man in this room has what it takes to stand up and not back down, no matter what comes at him.  Our enemy is different now, but our mission is the same: overthrow the oppressor!  If any of you is uncomfortable fighting against his own countrymen, leave now.  For those of you who choose to stay, welcome to the fight!” 

 

          Cheers resounded as the men pumped their fists in their air and slapped each other on the back.  A few men slunk out the door, but everyone else was committed.  After Mr. Shays explained the plan to us, a short prayer was given by a preacher before everyone started for home.  As each man exited through the barn door, he was presented with two things: a handshake from Mr. Shays, and a sprig of evergreen.

 

- - - -

          I arose before dawn the next morning.  Anna awoke with me and fried eggs and salt pork for breakfast. 

          “I wish you’d change your mind, Marty,” she said.

          “I have to do it Anna.  It’s for the good of the country,” I said.

          “You haven’t even thought this through.  You could get hurt,” she said.    

          “We can’t live this way any more.  There’s no time to think about it, Anna.  The men are marching to Springfield today.  Besides, when we all show up in such force, they’ll be so amazed at our resolve that we’ll probably take the arsenal without firing a shot.”

          “May God bless you Martin, you stubborn, stubborn man.”

 

          I kissed my son Jacob and daughter Ella as they slept.  Anna walked me to my horse.

          “I’ll see you in a few days, Anna,” I said, giving her a hug.  She spoke no words, but the tears in her eyes told me everything I needed to know.

 

          I caught up with the group as they were heading up the Boston Road toward Springfield.  There were men as far as my eyes could see, from all parts of the Boston area.  My skin got goose bumps as I slipped in with the crowd.  We were all in good spirits.  Most of us wore our old blue and buffs.  Everyone had their spring of evergreen pinned proudly to their chest.

 

          The march to Springfield seemed to pass quickly.  We were eager for the confrontation, so our steps were light.   Once we gained control of the national arsenal, we would be one step closer to making some real changes.  The weapons would give us the credibility and power we needed to convince the elitist lawmakers of what needed to change.

 

Finally, the arsenal came into view.  The brick building was wide and imposing.  There were a handful of soldiers guarding the arsenal, but we had them outnumbered.   Commander Shays broke us into three groups, one for the front and two for the sides.  He had told us the back would be covered by troops coming in from a different direction.  I didn’t see anyone, but Shays knew what he was talking about, so I’m sure it was as he said. 

         
          I was lucky enough to be in the group that would approach the front of the arsenal.  I would be no more than 50 feet from Shays once the attack began.  We waited for a few moments, catching our breaths and preparing our minds for what was to come.  Finally, Shays shouted, “Charge!”  We began our calm, deliberate approach.  The men moved in unison, muskets shouldered, slowly closing the gap between the arsenal and us.  Suddenly, I saw puffs of smoke come from the cannons sitting in front of the arsenal, and heard two loud “BOOMS!”  Everyone stopped marching.  I looked up and saw a black cannon ball sail right over our heads and land with a thud in the grass about 100 feet behind us.  I don’t know where the other cannon ball landed, but neither of them had come even close to hitting us! 

          All eyes turned to Shays.  He yelled, “It’s just a warning shot.  They won’t fire directly on their own countrymen.  Have courage!  Advance!”

          Filled with vigor, we all commenced our push forward, this time at double the pace.  We were about 100 yards from the building when, again, I saw a puff of smoke.  This time I only heard a single “BOOM!”  I looked up for the cannonball, but couldn’t see it.  Suddenly, I heard someone shout, “Get down!”  I froze when I saw the cannonball coming straight for me.  I tried to move, but was paralyzed.  I looked at the cannonball again and saw it was hurling straight at my chest. 

 

          The next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground.  All around me chaos reigned.  Men, who moments before had been filled with confidence and purpose, now were scattering and retreating as quickly as mice from a cat.  I tried to get up, but my legs wouldn’t move.  I lifted my head and looked down at my chest.  Blood stained my shirt.  It was very difficult to breathe.  With each breath, it felt as though a dagger was piercing my side. 

 

Still firmly attached to my lapel was the sprig of evergreen.  Somehow, it had withstood the blow of the cannonball.  With much effort, I removed the sprig and clasped it tightly in my right hand.  I lay my head down and closed my eyes.  Darkness came, then light.

 

- - - -

          Anna, Jacob, and Ella each placed a single red rose on Martin’s simple pine casket and said goodbye to him.  The sprig, taken from Martin’s hand shortly after his death, had been given to Anna.  At home later that evening, she placed it in a glass jar and set it on the mantle above the fireplace.  It would forever be a reminder of the sacrifice her husband had given for his family and their freedom.  A freedom that should never be taken for granted and always guarded earnestly. 

by cldint