A/N: Thanks for clicking my story ^.^ I'll be using a lot of historical vocabulary, so the starred words have definitions/explanations at the bottom. Some are simple, so you'll probably know them, but just in case.
You remember learning about the American Revolution in history class right?
Wrong.
Everything you read was wrong.
Assassins, deception, princes, and spies were involved of which you heard nothing of. Washington did not lead troops across the Delaware and Americans did not toss tea into the harbor as protest. You know nothing of the Boston Massacre. Whatever you think you know about the American Revolution in 1776, disregard that. It's all lies.
So prepare yourself: The Absolute Truth of the American Revolution.
"We grow tired of the Red Coats each day!"
Cheers of agreement erupted from the masses.
"Each month!"
They hollered and threw their fists in the air.
"So shall we stand by and verily face our own degradation for their benefit?"
"No!"
"Their entertainment?"
"No!"
"Will we be only known as 'New England*' for the rest of our days?"
"Never!"
"So who will stand by my side and fight for the freedom we so rightly deserve?"
The swarmed towns' people shouted various phrases in agreement.
"We so desire?"
The swarmed towns' people screamed.
"We need?"
The swarmed towns' people cheered.
"Then let us fight! Not for the Red Coats but for whom?"
"The Patriots*!"
"Not for their king, but for whom?"
"Freedom!"
"Not for Great Britain," his voice rose, "BUT FOR WHOM?"
"THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA!"
The smell of rum was overpowering and grins of success brightened the room. The bartender looked just as elated at whatever the group was laughing and cheering about. They bellowed loudly and threw their glasses to the air. The edge of beer splashed over the edge to no one's care.
"Alright!" Alfred F. Jones shouted with a grin the size of a ship. "Today was awesome!"
"Alfred, are you sure about this whole thing?" Matthew whispered.
Alfred glanced over at him with a strange look. A laugh bubbled up his body and he ruffled his twin's hair. The rest didn't even notice he'd said anything. They didn't care to notice a loyalist.*
"Of course lil' bro. You gotta loosen up. Britain is too controlling. The United States of America is going to be nothing but rubble if this keeps up."
"New England," Matthew corrected, "You haven't won anything yet, if ever. Look, Alfred, Great Britain is the world's strongest super power! How do you beat something like that? You can't."
Alfred looked away with irritation leaking from his face.
"I don't need you to tell me that. We can pull through if we're strong enough."
"Are you?"
"Great speech out there, Jones!" a stranger came up, slapping his shoulder amicably.
Alfred turned and grinned brightly at the man. He smelt of rum and sweat, but with a smile as great as his, Alfred could tell the man had a good heart; and that's all you'll ever need in life. With a strong hand, Alfred picked up his half-emptied glass of beer and held it up to his. They slammed together.
"To the Patriots!" Alfred cheered.
Just as the words left his lips, the doors slammed open.
"Everyone out!" yelled a soldier in a red coat. "This place is reserved for my buddies and me tonight."
The citizens muttered to themselves in loathing tones. Few respectfully nodded, making their way to the exit—Matthew among them. Alfred clenched his fists, standing and avoiding eye contact with the men as he begrudgingly walked out. The bar started to empty slowly.
"You can't do that! It isn't right!" an angered colonist shouted.
"Quartering Act of 1765* states we can," the Englishman stood a head taller than the protestor.
The man had a face of disgust before he turned heel, defeated. The soldier merely grew a satisfied smirk.
The room started to fill up again with soldiers in crimson jackets; cynical grins and smiles were curled grotesquely into their faces. A pair of soldiers collected their beer from the now-grim-looking bartender and fell comfortably in the back of the bar, telling jokes and laughing.
Only a single drunk civilian was left in the room.
"Disobeying orders?" one of the pair approached the man.
The man was in tattered clothes and gazed up at them vacantly.
"I 'unno wha' 'r talkin' 'bout," the man slurred.
"Get out," the soldier seethed, towering over the New Englishman.
The drunken soul showed no recognition of the words his superior spewed. The atmosphere was tensing quickly and the arrogant man took the beer from the man's numb fingers. In a swift movement, the rum had spilled over the top of the man's head.
"I think you've had enough to drink. Leave!" the Red Coat ordered.
The man still hadn't moved, not understanding the situation.
"Under Britain's rule, you shall do as I say or be considered a traitor!"
Drunkenly, the man blinked up at the threatening soldier with vacant eyes.
A click was heard and a gun was cocked.
Treason was punishable by death.
October 17th 1775
Damn the Quartering Act! How dare those Red Coats act so arrogant—so mighty as Britain itself? They are no better than the rest of us and damn it I'll prove it! First the Sugar Act, then the Currency Act, and now this Quartering Act! One more and I'll burst! I swear it!
On another note, the speech went well today, and I may have gained more followers for the Patriots. Mattie is still a loyalist and I swear I'll change him. He doesn't understand this at all. We'll suffocate without our freedom!
Britain still defies us our right to represent our colonies! This isn't right! I'm getting sick of this and I'm ready to act. When will we be ready? Will we rally enough followers? Will we… Win?
I can't lie; what Matthew said is still ringing in my ears. Britain IS the strongest super power in the world. They have armies and navies and they've been in more wars than I can count—hell they fought for the land I'm standing on!
Well they'll just have to fight again, because I'm not letting this land and these people be degraded for being born on different soil. Well I believe our soil is better! And we'll win this revolution! I know it's true!
There's no way we could lose—I say this verily.
But I'm not sure my mind is unwavering.
– Alfred F. Jones
"Four shillings*? But I'd bet my duck's bottom that they were but three all but a week ago!"
"Sorry, sir," apologized the twelve-year old boy, "but Britain just passed the Stamp Act.* They're harder to come by now."
The man bit his lip for a moment. His skin wrinkled as his eyebrows furrowed together for a moment before he begrudgingly took out an extra coin. It was covered in grime and dirty, but the boy accepted it nonetheless.
A pack of worn playing cards were passed to the customer. The man shuffled through the cards, counting all fifty-two before he stalked off in the direction of his friends to show off the new prize. The boy merely smiled and waited for more customers.
A group of towns' people were singing lowly on the street. There were three—the lot of them. A man of age sixty-three and a woman of fifty. The last looked gray and old; hair frizzed and skin sagging. It was a woman looking of age eighty.
The man held onto an instrument, looking as if it was missing a string and he looked as if he was missing a few teeth as well. The woman was wearing a worn dress of blue cloth and spotted patterns. The elderly woman held onto a can of beans, shaking it lightly, and yet, keeping good rhythm.
They sang.
Twas early day as poets say, just when the sun was rising,
A soldier stood on a log of wood and saw a sight surprising
A sailor too in jerkin blue this strange appearance viewing
First damned his eyes in great surprise, then said "Some mischief's brewing."
It was enchanting to say the least. The singer was nothing special, and the instruments were nothing phenomenal, but it had such an effect. You could almost see the music fall from the sky. The tune was familiar, and yet, something new at the same time.
These kegs now hold the rebels bold, packed up like pickled herring
And they're come down to attack the town in this new way of ferrying
Therefore prepare for bloody war, these kegs must all be routed
Or surely we despised will be, and British courage doubted.
The song was but half over and the man walked on, shuffling the deck of cards. The jack of spades had a bent corner.
Alfred's hair was a bit messy from not combing it that morning. He wore a blazer that looked passed down three generations and his shoes were worn. He wore thin trousers that hung on his hips loosely, not bother to put on the bothersome belt. They were a bit small for him, so they wouldn't fall down anyways
Alfred F. Jones trudged on with heavy legs. Something—not anything in particular—plagued his mind. It was buzzing and his body was weak. Something just felt off. The music got louder as he walked closer, and he stopped to admire the song.
His lips pinched into a smile as the song continued. Was this a battle song? They supported the revolution?
Hope was spreading slowly through the United States of America's land, and soon it would be consumed. Alfred's hope was a flame that only grew larger by each passing minute. You can try, Britain, but you will never overcome the power and desire of freedom.
The cannons roar from shore to shore, the small arms make a rattle
Since war began I'm sure no man ere saw so strange a battle.
These kegs 'tis said, though strongly made of rebels staves and hoops, sir
Could not oppose their powerful foes, the conquering British tro—
The song came to a halt when men in crimson dyed coats came their way. Their look—their face—it showed they were going to do what was right. What they thought was right. When had the number of soldiers in the colonies multiplied by so many?
"Do you have any idea what you're singing about?" one demanded of him.
The trio held a placid look in place. Their eyes were glossy and their voice daren't surface. The man's hands wandered over his strings, flying on air. He didn't play. He didn't pluck. He held his fingers in place, as if he could at any given moment.
"Answer me! Have you the slightest idea you're singing of rebelling against our king?"
The soldier glared a hole in the elderly woman's skin. She had sung last when they'd come.
With a strong hand, the Red Coat slapped the woman across her cheek.
The aged woman fell backwards, her features tranquil, and yet her breathing had been disrupted.
"Careful! A blow like that could mortally wound a woman her age! Know you place and respect your elders!" Alfred yelled, coming between the men and her.
"Know my place?" the man scoffed, "Know your place, boy, now go play."
Alfred clenched his fists by his sides and turned to the three. They motioned for him to go on. He felt hate flood his system as he turned shoulder. His stiff fingers reached blindly into his pocket, pulling out a shilling and tossing it to the man with the instrument.
"Loved the song," he said rashly before he moved quicker, trying to leave before the soldiers realized what he said.
The soldier took the coin from the ground.
October 19th 1775,
This is so wrong. I can't believe the Red Coats could do something so… Demeaning to a woman triple his age. He acts like the king of our land, but that won't be for long. I will rebel. I will join the revolution, and this I say verily. Something must be done and I can't stand to wait much longer. I MUST do something. Anything.
We are all sons of liberty* in the United States of America and we will not stand for this a minute longer!
We must rebel—and soon.
I hope you liked it! I got this idea... And just had to write it. I'll try to be as historically accurate as I can (except for the parts I'm changing of course) so if you see something wrong that LOOKS like it's not changed on purpose, feel free to tell me ^-^ There will be a lot of twists in history so if you're a history geek like me, you might find this interesting :3 Please review! :D
*New England: The northern colonies (consisting of modern day Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts, Rode Island, and Connecticut.)
*Patriot: The name of a colonist who supported the revolution (That and/or fought in it)
*Loyalist: The name of a colonist who wished to remain a part of Great Britain
*Quartering Act: A law passed by the British Empire stating that the colonists must provide for the soldiers in their area. (Meaning give them what they want, no matter what it is. They could have barged in your house, demanded for a bed, and you'd have to give it to them. Messed up I know.)
*Sugar Act: The first tax forced upon the colonists. This raised taxes on non-British goods shipped to the colonies.
*Currency Act: Prevented colonists from issuing their own money. This angered many colonists.
*Shillings: Currency used in the colonies until 1971 (On average, a working man got one shilling every eight hours.)
*Stamp Act: The first tax forced DIRECTLY to the colonists. This raises taxes on paper-goods such as newspapers, almanacs, pamphlets, broadsides, legal documents, dice, (or in my case) playing cards.
*Sons of Liberty: This is foreshadow. It is not capitalized yet, because it has not come to be (if you know history) yet. The Sons of Liberty was one of (if not the) first steps to rebelling. It was an organization of colonists whose main goal was intimidated the tax collectors (mostly of the Stamp Act)
DANG that's a lot of vocab. My sources are:
memory. loc . gov/ ammem/ collections/ continental/ timeline. html
answers. yahoo question/ index?gid-20080124110552AATvf1O
ushistory carpentershall/ edu/ songs. htm
Though this was mostly to doublecheck my memory XD The song mentioned is The Battle of the Kegs (third link) and of course remove spaces :3
OKAY THIS IS SO LONG. I PROMISE THE OTHER A/Ns WON'T BE NEARLY THIS LONG XDD
...one more thing. In future chapters, I will twist history up a little, so be warned. When I do, I'll post the actual event in the A/N at the bottom.
NOW I'M DONE I HOPE YOU LIKED IT!