Spoiler! :
Robert Smith sighed as he watched the pinkish-tan and brown bodies confusedly trample out the open gate and into their separate cages. The last of their squeals and grunts resounded unceremoniously as their enclosures were lifted and dropped into the backs of the transport wagons, without so much as a second glance.
Now what? he thought sadly as he watched his prized pigs disappear. Am I supposed to live off of just the turnips and onions now?
He spat onto the pig-trodden ground, the dry northern dust still hanging disturbed in the air as the wagons bumped and clattered out of sight, carrying away the last of his career. Not that it had been much of a career, ever since Britain had started clamping down on the colonies.
It had all started with the tea tax. Sarah had waved it aside, saying that the tea was cheaper with the tax than it had been before anyway, so why argue? But Robert saw the ploy - if Britain could push that tax on the Colonies, then what would keep it from adding more and more? Do the Colonies look like thirteen little banks to you? he'd silently questioned Britain. Do you think we live to give all our money to you fat dukes across the sea? But Robert's personal opinion wasn't what landed him in his misfortune - the Boston Tea Party had caused the water to really boil.
The Intolerable Acts quickly followed the demonstration, shocking the continent. Uproar had spread across the Colonies as Massachusetts buckled under the punishments the politicians across an ocean had chosen for her. Robert, a Massachusetts citizen himself, had seen business slow almost to a standstill - Although he lived far from Boston, he usually had made his profit selling his small crops to traders, as well as perhaps a pig or hen. Now that the traders no longer traveled to or from Boston, the economy had crashed, leaving every other person living in Massachusetts broke or struggling not to be.
Then came the call to rebel. Robert hadn't gone to fight, with his bad back constantly failing him even caring for his livestock and meager crops, but by now he almost wished he'd gone off to fight and die with the rest of the men and boys of his small town.
Sarah was usually the one who helped him with the more laborious tasks of his small farm (although the neighbors ignorant of the necessity tended to frown upon it). But now, dear Sarah was down with fever, and Robert had to try to struggle along without he help of his wife.
This wouldn't have been a problem a few years ago - he could have gone down to the doctor and asked for a medicine or cure. But the doctor was gone in the war - and, as his family had somberly announced recently, he would never return home. Without a fast cure for Sarah, Robert struggled to till the soil and keep the pigs by himself.
The doctor wasn't the only one gone - almost all of the other heads of houses had left, pulled into the current of war and revolt. Now the women ran the town, trying hard but always stumbling over their own inexperience. With taxes piling high, shops and businesses had closed down, leaving the economy in shambles. Robert himself was so poor that he'd had to sell his precious pigs - some of the only livestock remaining on his dwindling farm - to keep his head above the water.
The Tories didn't help. They rode through the town all the time now with their fancy red uniforms, keeping 'order' and doing as they pleased - which really meant taking what they wanted in the name of the "Glorious King" and whipping anyone who protested. Often, what they wanted was wine, food and, occasionally, women. The worst part was that no one could protest to the government, since the Tories were the official government.
Although, of course, the whole point of a rebellion is to defy the government, thought Robert. But no one seems to think of it that way.
Robert retired to inside his falling-apart old home, seeking some respite from the summer heat. Sarah lay in bed at the far corner of the room, speaking incomprehensibly in the midst of her fevered dreams. She cried out several times, but Robert knew better than to try to wake her. He simply sat on the rough straw mattress beside her, stroking her forehead soothingly and praying that her suffering could just end.
A sudden pang in his gut reminded Robert how hungry he was. Paired with the fact that he was dirt-poor and couldn't get food was the truth that he didn't know how to cook - what dignified man should have to cook for himself? This was also the reason for his filthy tattered clothes and rotting crude house, covered in dust except where footprints had pierced the whitish filth. The kind of things he needed now required women's work, something Robert couldn't even begin to do.
He forced down a piece of one of the now-moldy loaves of bread that he'd had trade a hen for and returned outside, trying to pretend to himself that his hunger was satisfied. Examining his small crops struggling to grow in the Massachusetts dirt, he realized that they were doing well. For some reason, it seemed inappropriate, the healthy plants surrounded by suffering and poorness. Then again, I can't complain. Robert smiled to himself. I might actually make a profit from these.
But he knew he wouldn't. Not with the taxes and the Tories and poor, ill-struck Sarah.
Sighing, Robert knelt to pull the weeds poking up from the ground, choking the plants that were his last lifeline, although they were doomed to fail. The sun beat on his neck, and as he moved to stand a tearing burn leaped across his spine. Robert groaned in pain, his palms sinking into the soil as he steadied himself and then finally stood.
As he looked up, he saw a rider galloping over the field behind his house. Another Tory! Robert stood straight, watching the horseman ride straight for him, ignoring his small crops and crushing several plants.
"What's your business?" called Robert hostilely, deciding to stand his ground.
"News! News from the Continental Congress!" cried the rider. Robert's body loosened in relief as he realized it wasn't a Tory, then tensed again as he wondered what the news could be.
The messenger eased his horse to a stop as he reached Robert, then turned a deep red as he realized that he was riding through the man's crops.
"My apologies, sir..." he began, but Robert was curious.
"I can fix the crops. What news, sir?"
The messenger beamed. "A week ago, July the fourth, they singed a declaration," he proclaimed.
"What?" said Robert, wondering if this was more news of British laws. "Who signed what?"
"The Continental Congress, sir! A Declaration of Independence! We're our own nation now!"
Then, before Robert could even react, the man took off, riding in a frenzy for the rest of the town to share the shocking, glorious news.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There was a celebration that night. The entire town gathered and celebrated, sharing highlights of the Declaration with one another and chanting their new nation's name: the United States of America. Those who had food brought it; those who didn't shared with their fortunate neighbors. There were songs and stories around the burning British flag in the midst of the town.
We're still poor as dirt, Robert reminded himself, his stomach for once full. Sarah's still sick, and we're still in a war.
But somehow, it was better. Now he was the citizen of a nation fighting for freedom, not a colonist in the midst of a civil-war revolt. He had a government that was right beside him instead of across a sea, and was supporting him and his struggles as an everyday man. His entire struggle, everyone's entire struggle, had become nobler, fresher, and free. Robert smiled, thinking of his new title. Robert Smith, citizen of the United States of America.
He was free now - not from the lack of money or the audacious Tories, but from a looming, hostile government, watching from across an ocean, not knowing him and yet judging him and taking from him. Oh, there was still a revolt to fight. But now it wasn't just a rebellion - now it was a revolution.
He smiled again, leaning back against the chair he sat upon. Let's see what happens if those Tories come back, he thought. Maybe the government will help us out this time.
Spoiler! :
Gender:
Points: 2394
Reviews: 53