A Look Inside 3
July 4, Lancer
I do not know where to start my thoughts are confused. As my old Sergeant, Jackson McMurphy would say, 'the juices are flowin' lad'.
Flowin' they are Sergeant, they surely are, I can hardly keep pen to paper, Dear Journal, I am still reeling from the extraordinary feeling of being in the midst of battle.
The exhilaration of drawing breath when so many around you will never see a sunrise or sun set, never smell the damp earth after a rain.
I have traversed new paths before, I may stumble upon this one but this time I have a family to keep me on course.
Dear God I have a father and a brother the feelings I have are fledgling, but in the short span of time I have been around them I want to know these men.
My hatred, no that word is not right, not now.
As a younger man, I may have harbored such a feeling for the man whom sired me. As I grew into manhood, I had only fleeting thoughts of the man.
The Man is how I thought of Murdoch Lancer, not as anyone in my life of consequence certainly not as father.
When the Pinkerton man addressed me that night in Boston, I was intrigued and Dear Journal just so you know I have a deep-set curiosity built into the fiber of my being.
I am so glad I did not toss the man's card in the gutter, I am thankful I came to Lancer.
Back to the battle to save Lancer, you will have to excuse me Sir Journal, the juices are still flowin' Sergeant, and my thoughts are off in different directions.
Johnny, my brother Johnny, was a one-man show to be sure. I did not know him yet so the flash and bang entrance he enacted helped my strategic ploy defeat the land pirates and Day Pardee became a name relegated to the past.
It was a glorious ride Dear Journal, that compact figure on the galloping golden steed a sight to see, my heart raced with man and animal.
Then all the air left my lungs as that body that was my little brother fell with a coward's bullet from the speeding mount to lie on the packed earth of Lancer, alive or dead I did not know.
I stared at Murdoch when he told me it was 'no use'; no use to run out into the midst of battle to rescue my brother, how asinine was that Journal?
Thinking back, he was right, I could not risk losing the upper hand I prayed Johnny still lived.
Live he did, Johnny a bullet in his back, was exhausted but still insisted that he 'can make it'.
The obstinate boy stood without aid, though my hand was within reach. The stubborn cuss took a few steps then collapsed.
I, of course, knew in my mind what was about to happen. Now Mister Journal I am not a clairvoyant, but having been in numerous battles during The War, I absolutely knew the outcome of such a wound and wild ride.
I was not surprised as he slumped over my shoulder; I smiled at my father as I carried my little brother towards our fate and family.
Now Journal I have heard it said somewhere, 'he ain't heavy, he's my brother,' let me tell you Journal, my dear friend, my little brother may not be as tall as me or our father, but he is one compact, muscled chunk of man.
I grabbed my father's eyes with my own, looking deep I saw the fear, hope, and compassion that had been missing from our first meeting.
I knew then we had a chance, Murdoch Lancer was not an ogre, a bumbling backwoods cretin, he was a man who defied nature, social prejudice and an alien world,
He was a man through hardships, loss and heartbreak, a survivor. Murdoch Lancer was a man who sought and found his progeny to become a family.
Let me stop and pronounce Sir Journal the man, my sire, has a lot to answer for, one word grunts and surly words will not suffice.
It is also, my reasoning to remain a while to delve into the ways and whys of my brother.
Just the short time I have known both Murdoch and Johnny Lancer, cut from the same cloth even if they do not choose to realize.
I could fill this page with a litany of words to describe two men today I will choose stubborn:
1. Unreasonably determined to persevere or prevail. 2. Dogged: carried out in a determined, persistent way.
Dogged, persistent, determined, unreasonable... yes all that rolled into one word stubborn.
I have to smile amidst tragedy, as I carefully staunch the blood flow from my brothers back.
Murdoch looks at me like I have lost my mind, then wonder of wonders he smiles back.
My God, Journal, the man can smile an honest smile, nothing forced nothing for show. We understand each other at that moment in time a bonding over the caring for someone special to both of us.
Murdoch hands me another clean cloth to make a pad as the one I am pressing against the flow of blood is saturated.
We are working together to save a very important piece of our new found life and we will persevere. We Lancer's are a stubborn breed, and refuse to quit.
We will not quit trying to save my brother's life or regain control of our land.
I know I have found something worth fighting for and I will drag a kicking and screaming brother and confused father into the fray.
Dear Journal, I find myself calmer, thanks to you dear friend. I can now lay pen down and collect myself, a parting smile as I think about my chore tonight.
Johnny will be laid up for a while, the doctor having given the boy a through going over. From the top of his coal black hair to his, perfectly turned feet Sam Jenkins, MD said the boy would be fine with rest and good food.
In spite of the bullet hole, bruising from his impact to the earth, exhaustion and malnourished condition, Johnny would live.
I still have questions, reservations and doubts, but I will be persistent, persevere, and soldier on to find out if we as Lancers will come together as family.
Until next time I sit in my room in my house and put pen to paper I bid you good night Dear Journal. SGL
I chose July 4, hey who are we to know for sure. I declare Lancer's independence from Land Pirates and a new beginning for three different and so alike men to be Lancer.
Pardon my use of 'he ain't heavy, he's my brother', just could not resist.
Special Note: Thank you all for reading and enjoying my ramblin's of the Lancer's. I will continue until I cannot press keys or have coherent thoughts. Forgive me to some, and gratitude to others.
solista
July, 2014