Just the Start

I swept the wooden floors of the house quietly and peacefully. It was a warm, silent afternoon and almost nothing stirred in nature except for the restless children prancing around the property. All that could be heard was the rustling of the broom, the gleeful playing of the children outside and the faintest brushing of lazy waves at Quincy's distant shoreline.

Humming softly, I kept sweeping; now to the rhythm of the broom's passing. I strayed from one side of the room to the other and listened to the creaking of my steps, the swishing of my skirts and the intake of my breath. Every giggle from outside, song of a bird or buzz of a bee joined in the tranquil harmony that charmed my ears as I treated myself to a small moment of peace. And as small as the moment was, it was treasured more than any had been in such a long time.

Suddenly, I stopped sweeping and looked toward the front door with alarm. A low rumble murmured throughout the house, and all at once the birds stopped their singing and the bees stopped their buzzing. There was complete, strange silence.

After a moment, I reluctantly went back to my work with an uncertain feeling stirring in my chest. The familiar accompaniment of nature seemed to have been frightened off from making any sound, whatsoever.

"Perhaps a tree was cut down..." I tried to soothe myself as I continued my sweeping.

Again, another rumble chattered through the house threateningly. My eyes shot up immediately as I heard birds fly away from the trees outside of the windows. A scream rattled from beyond the door and I dropped my broom at once. Without hesitation, I raced outside of the house and looked around for the children, frantically.

"Nabby! Charles! John!" I began shouting and in a flash I felt each of my children, and Doctor Warren's, all huddled around the skirt of my dress.

Nabby looked up at me with wide, alert eyes, "Mother, there is smoke next to Boston!" She informed me quickly, and following her words John Quincy raised his own voice.

"Mother, was that cannonade?" He asked with a very curious and somewhat excited expression.

Little Charles and Thomas merely looked up at me with large, frightened eyes that were so shaken, I thought that they might faint.

"I believe it was..." I said aloud, mostly to myself, as I looked to each one of the children and thought of what to do. "John, Nabby, come with me. The rest of you go inside and lock the doors and shut the windows." I told them all firmly, looking at each of their eyes seriously. "If anything should happen, I want you to run to the woods as fast as you can." I informed them and each one nodded hastily.

Then I turned toward the fields and started toward where the sound had come from. Nabby fled to my side and held onto my hand tightly as she glanced from place to place cautiously. John marched at my other side certainly, not his age or height compromising his manly behavior.

Just once I looked back to make sure all of the children had gone into the house, and sure enough, the door was shut and all of the shutters were closed.

"Where should we be going, Mother?" Nabby looked at me with eyes anxious to know what could be going about.

"We will go to Penn's Hill. We will see everything from there." I told her and nodded, glancing down at John as well, who seemed quite determined to get there as fast as possible.

"Do you suspect that the cannonade is far away?" She asked me with a wary expression.

"I do. They sounded very far off." I assured her calmly and tried to force a smile for the sake of her comfort. "It is very likely that there is absolutely nothing to worry about." I insured and squeezed her hand comfortingly; trying to ignore the worrisome feeling rising in my stomach.

We started up Penn's Hill, and picked up our skirts as we trampled over foliage and weaved between trees. John Quincy stepped tall and climbed up the hill along with the two of us, occasionally running up a bit further.

The grass made our ankles itch as we walked, and the humid heat made our clothes stick to our bodies. Above some of the scattered treetops were gray clouds rolling in from what looked to be Boston. Gulls flew opposite of us, cooing and screeching frightfully from the constant rumbling of gunfire and cannonade. I began recognizing the stale smell of gunpowder and smoke regretfully, and I tried to prepare myself for what I could be stepping into.

Finally, we reached the very top of the hill at where I stopped suddenly. In the distance, beyond the bays and the gray waters I could very faintly see Charlestown as well as anyone could from Penn's Hill.

My heart sunk and a chilly, sick feeling slid up my thickening throat.

Among the familiar town there lapped wild flames from which blustering, black trails of smoke sprung up into the sky, creating a furious, growing cloud of ashes above it. The place was hardly recognizable. Houses and buildings crumbled to the ground, swallowed up by dust and flame.

"Mama... don't people live in those houses..?" I barely heard Nabby ask as I stared at the burning town. I could not possibly look away.

Just beside Charlestown, at Breed's Hill, the roar of cannons and crackle of gunfire lit up the clouds, like lightning. There were such great pauses in between; long, deathly pauses where we could faintly see men struggling up the hill. And with each sudden blast of war, the ground trembled and afterward all was silent to wait for the next group of soldiers to fire.

"My God..." I watched the scene in horrifying, still, shock.

"Mother..." Nabby said pressingly and grabbed my hand; trembling.

John Quincy came to my other side, his eyes intently focused on the event lain out before us.

I quickly took his hand as well and squeezed it assuredly while we stood there in plain defiance, watching the raging battle unfold. This was merely the start of America's struggle.