Written By 1776nixongurl and me

John Dickinson had never known the feeling of having a whole room of eyes focus on just him until that moment. He could feel each stare burn a hole into his soul and he could feel it slowly die away. John looked around the room and saw no allies. The usually quizzical expression of Benjamin Franklin was replaced with apprehension; the usually kind and naive expression of John Witherspoon was replaced with a stony facade. The last person he looked towards was James Wilson, who looked to John as a mentor. James could not even look John in the eye, merely looking over towards the Virginia delegation. John knew his cause was lost and could feel tears trying to force their way out.
Before John could leave he made his promoise to Congress, though mostly to John Adams. This was his homeland, the place he truly loved; he would defend it to the bitter end. As he turned his back upon them he could no longer feel the piercing stares. Outside the chambers, what had happened in the previous moments truly began to sink in. John ran to the tavern, hoping to drown away his sorrows.

John looked at his glass and noticed that he had drunken almost the entire container. He didn't know whether he wanted to ask for another drink or just go home. The day's events kept playing over and over again in his mind, giving him a terrible headache. He remembered the piercing stares, the unsettling silence, and the feeling of being alone. John had never known what it was like to not have a single ally.

"I'm glad you haven't left yet, John," a slow southern drawl came from behind him. "I need to talk to you."
"I have nothing to say to you, Edward," John hissed.
"Do not treat me like I did this to spite you. I did this because... it has to be done. The people want independence... and I have managed to secure that without endangering my colony."
"Do you know what it is like to be alone?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I was utterly alone in that room today. No one would support me!"
"It is better to be alone and fiercely fighting for your beliefs than to change them to fit the crowd."
"Good-bye, Edward. I hope you never feel the way I do."

John raced out of the tavern and didn't stop until he was at the recruitment center. He looked at the other men in line with him, they were either too young or too old. None of them looked like they would make suitable soldiers.

"Name?" the gruff officer behind the table barked.
"Uhh..." John knew he was about to seal his fate. "My name is... John Dickinson."
The officer handed him a paper and motioned for John to move out of the way. He looked down at the paper and saw that he was to go to South Carolina. He could feel his stomach forming into knots. He know wished to be at his home with his wife at his side...
John felt uneasy as he marched with the men what was going to happen to him "JOHN!, JOHN DICKINSON!" John turned aroud who was this man tall,

"Mr.Dickinson," General Washington could barely whisper," what are you doing here?"
"I am here to defend my country," John said as he struggled to sound brave.
"Are you sure this is what you want to do?"
"Yes, sir; I have given up my position in Congress to become a soldier. No one will listen to my opinions so I have come to a place where opinions don't matter."
"I hope you will not regret this decision."

The General rode away, leaving John in a crowd of people he had never met. He could feel that awful sinking feeling in his stomach that made him feel ill. Those words that were just spoken to him made John truly question his decision. Did he belong in the army? He knew he couldn't change his decision now; he was in the army for the next two years whether he wanted to be or not.

"Get out of the way," a young soldier yelled at John.
"You should know better than to talk to a man of property like that," John said as he went into a dignified pose.
"I don't care if you're the King... you're getting out of my way!"

The young man pushed John to the gound while the others laughed. He tried to hide his embarassment, but to no avail; his cheeks were tinged blood red.

"Do you need help up?" General Washington offered his hand.
"I am perfectly capable of getting up by myself," John said, trying to regain his normal composure.
"Ohh... I see... Please be careful..."

Just then a shower of bullets came rushing towards the small brigade. John quickly loaded his gun, but was unable to see any of his enemies. All he could do was duck behind a tree and pray none of those bullets hit him. It felt like hours he was behind that tree before the firing ceased. He tried to stand, but his legs were asleep from kneeling for so long. He got up again and rushed over to his brigade, which was much smaller. John looked over at a wheelbarrow that had a young boy in it, the same that had pushed him earlier. He looked at the young boy and noticed how unnaturally still he was..."Uhhh are you ok?" John asked rudly. "I have..." the boy died after he said that What happened? wondered Dickinson
Seige of Charleston 1780
The time that John had spent in the military had made him grow hard and distant. He no longer felt bad when he saw commrades lying in the field; he could not remember his home or family. All he knew now were the stench of gunpowder and the cries of the wounded. The world around him was like a permanent purgatory that he could never escape from.
It had been months since John had seen his first casualty of war, that rude young man. John had cried that night and was tormented by nightmares. He remembered General Washington leaving the brigade to return North, not even bothering to say good-bye. After the General left, John fell into a deep and sickening depression that nearly drove him to insanity. To cure his delirium, John just stopped thinking about anything. He stopped thinking about his former life, his wife, and that day in Congress.

That morning his brigade had marched for miles, wearing down their flimsy boots to nothing. Rain pounded down on their shoulders as they shivered against the chilling breezes. John ignored the cold and thought about the road ahead. He could see the city of Charleston coming into sight. The city seemed to be in deep preparation, but John knew their efforts were futile.
"We shall rest here," the commander shouted out. "Ready yourselves gentlemen."
John saw the troops pull blankets around themselves as they sat around the fire. Those that did not seek the warmth of the fire went to see the local women. John sought neither company of commrades nor the company of women. John decided to take a walk, leaving his gear on the ground. He could hear the suspecting voices of the soldiers begin as he turned his back on them.
The streets were empty and the homes were even emptier. No one had decided to stay, taking all of their possessions with them. John scoffed at their foolish and cowardly nature; he had faced much greater danger, surely they could stand the sound of cannons. It was nearing dark and he could feel the anticipation in the air.
The only person John saw was a man from another brigade preparing reinforcements. He looked so familiar and yet so unfamiliar, like a dream one can barely remember. His voice was loud and controlled, a lilting southern drawl embedded within it.
"Mr.Dickinson?" the man called as he turned his head to John. "Is it really you?"
"Who is asking?" John barked towards the younger man.
"It is me, sir, Edward Rutledge. Surely you remember me..."
"Yes, I do, but I do not remember because I want to."
"Sir?"
"I have spent these past few years trying to forget everything..."
"Why?"
"I have been killed from the inside-out... My soul and everything that makes me human has long since been dead. To reminisce on such trivial things would be... unneccesary."
"You are mistaken, sir. Your soul is still there, alive. The world has not killed your soul, you have. You've forgotten everything that you once held dear and that is what is killing it. You must remember..."
"And allow myself to feel that pain over again... I promised that I would not feel such torture ever again."
"I see that I cannot persuade you. I hope you understand that, without a soul, you have no reason to live."
Edward turned and went to his encampment. John was left alone in the deserted streets. He could feel something bubbling up inside of him, something that seemed almost foreign. It filled his stomach to the brim and began to travel the rest of him.
"Oh," John said as the look of realization came across his face.

It was guilt that rushed through him. John had not felt emotions in such a long time that he did not know what to do. He tried beating his fist against the walls and he tried laughing, but he did not feel any better. He decided to go to the one place that he knew would be able to fix it: the church.
The church was empty, except for a small reverend. The church was very sparse and looked as though it had already been cleaned out. The reverend was sitting at the small altar saying quiet prayers. John tried to be very quiet so he wouldn't interupt the prayers. He sat on an old and nearly destroyed pew; he could feel it shaking under his weight. John began to think about everything, every moment of his life. He thought about his wife and children and Congress. His heart began to flood with such emotion that he nearly collapsed at the feeling.
"My dear, sir," the small reverend squeaked,"did you wish to see me?"
John jumped out of the pew, greatly suprised, and tried to drag his mind out of the reverie. He could feel the reverend's anxiety and saw the great worry in his eyes.
"Yes," John said quietly," I did."
"Please tell me what troubles you."
"I have sinned... I can feel the blackness living inside of me. I can only hope that I will be forgiven, for I have committed a most terrible sin."
"What?"
"I took God's great gift of humanity and threw it away..."
"God forgives all..." the reverend whispered. "Pray and he will listen."
John nodded and knelt at the altar. He began his prayer with an uneasy tone, almost unsure of what to say. He looked back at the reverend, who gave hin a reassuring nod, and gave a weak smile. John couldn't tell exactly what he was saying, but he hoped that it would be good enough. He wanted to be forgiven and to feel something, anything. When he finished his prayers, John got up and left the church to go back to camp.
The encampment was dark and most of the soldiers had already gone to bed. The fire that was roaring earlier was now smoldering. John looked at the other encampments and saw that they, too, were dark. The sounds of the gentle seas were all that he could hear.
"Do you always stay up this late?" A young soldier, whom John had never met, asked.
" I really never sleep..." John said, still looking at the ocean.
"Neither do I, there's too much excitement. I've never seen you here before. Are you new?"
"No, I've been in this brigade since July of 1776. The name is John Dickinson."
"I read those letters you wrote... I really liked them... What are you doing here?"
"Though I don't agree with this war, I agree with the idea of America. That is why I am here. Why are you here?"
"I'm a Boston man... There is no other place I would rather be. By the way, my name is Arthur Jacobson."
"Well, Arthur, it seems that once again our lives will be at risk..."
"It doesn't bother me much. We all die at one point and I know that I'll have heaven waiting for me."
John smiled at the boy and retreated to his tent...

John found a chest with a note on it.

it read

"My Dear John Dickinson,
You will need these.
Affectionly,
Edward Rutledge..."
John gave a small smile as he looked at the letter again. He looked down at the box again and felt curiousity growing... He opened the box to find all of his congressional materials; books, correspondence, and even his old paper fan. He touched each object gingerly, remembering each memory attached to the object. A large and somewhat child-like smile formed across his face. Before he could get to involved with his possessions, John forced himself to think about tomorrow's impending battle. The smile on his face weakened and he closed the lid. He climbed into bed and said another prayer.

When John awoke he could feel that the air was heavy with nervous energy. He looked out at each encampment and saw that, they too, were making hearty preparations, both physically and spiritually. He saw men praying, trying to gain favor with God to ensure their passage. He could see Edward giving orders to the other men, telling them to not give up on their battle.
"Alright men," John's commander yelled," get in formation!"
John quickly followed orders and got behind a group of burly men. He could see the British army only one hundred yards aways; his heart began to beat wildly. They marched to a small field and the commanders gave their orders to fire. John saw the men in front of him drop to the ground, leaving him completely open to gunfire. John raised his musket and fired a shot that hit a mercenary. The British let out another barage of shots that sent most of the soldiers crumbling to the ground. John could no longer feel the presence of his commrades around him, he immediately glanced around and saw no one. He could feel his stomach drop as John realized he was the only person left in his brigade. He looked at the other brigades and saw them all retreating. He was alone once again, just like that fateful day in Congress.
"John!" Edward cried as he motioned for John to come with him. "Hurry! Run!"
John turned and began sprinting towards the woods. When he finally reached the protection of the trees he collapsed upon the ground and tried to catch his breath. He could see the doctors going out to the field, trying to find survivors. The British were giving victory cheers and opening bottles of rum.
"You almost got yourself killed!" Edward scolded as he walked towards John. "What were you doing?"
"I didn't hear the retreat," John murmured. "Thank you for giving me my congressional materials... I had forgotten how much they meant to me..."
"You're quite welcome; I knew you would want them back sooner or later."
"You kept them all of this time?"
"Yes... I went and got them after that night in the tavern."
John have a light chuckle and looked out towards the port where he could see the Britsh packing up their cannons. He turned to look towards Edward and came face to face with a German mercenary. The mercenary looked at John's uniform and gave a smirk. John looked towards Edward and saw that they had him blindfolded and gagged.
"We take this one!" the lead mercenary barked in broke English. "Kill the other one!"
One soldier stayed behind and aimed his musket at John and shot...

John awoke to see a familiar face looking at him... Doctor Lyman Hall.

"Lyyman" a weak John said. "Itss mee John Dickinso..." with that he collasped into his arms

"Shh..." Lyman quieted the man. "You are much too weak to speak. You can tell me everything in the morning."
John nodded and leaned further into the pillow. The bed was extremely soft and warm, making John instantly fall asleep. That night he dreamt about Edward's capture; it haunted him.
John awoke with a start and looked around; he saw no one in the stately room. There was an outfit laid out across the vanity that caught John's eye... it appeared to be his size. He quickly put on the light blue outfit and stepped outside of the bedroom. He could hear voices coming from a distant room, so he followed the sounds.
"John!" Lyman exclaimed. "I am so happy to see that you are up. You had us all quite worried."
"Where am I?" John said as he looked around cautiously.
"You're at Hall Manor... in Georgia. I brought you here after you were wounded."
"That trip must have taken days... How long have I been here?"
"It is June the fourteenth..."
"You mean I have been asleep for the past three months!"
John fell back into a chair and tried to comprehend everything. Lyman smiled at him and handed John a cup of tea. John sipped it slowly and looked around the room. It was a quiant study that held numerous volumes of medical books.
"Lyman," a young woman came to the door," this just arrived for you."
She handed him an envelope that had coarse handwriting upon it. She smiled at John and gave a low courtsey, letting her curly hair fall in front of her face. She had big blue eyes and red lips, which gave her an extremely youthful appearance.
"John," Lyman said as he smiled at the woman," this is my wife, Mary."
"Good day, madam," John said as he nodded his head.
"Good day to you, sir," Mary blushed slightly," I will leave you two to your business."
Mary turned around and left the two men alone. Lyman stood and walked towards his desk and proceeded to open the letter. He read through it once and John saw the kind smile fade off the doctor's face. Lyman looked at John and back down at the letter.
"It is from Washington," Lyman began with a look of anxiety upon his face. "It seems that Edward Rutledge is still under captivity and his well-being is unknown... He says that many of the signers have faced great adversity; homes burned, families killed, imprisonment... He worries greatly for our own safety..."
"What should we do?" John said as a frown formed across his face.
"I had my property burnt once by the British, I'm not about to allow that to happen again!"
"Good news!" a small and portly figure cried from the doorway. "We're to receive more assistance from France!"
"John Adams!" John yelled; half startled, half angry.
"Oh, dear," Lyman sighed. "I forgot to tell you, John, Mr.Adams has been staying here too...-"
"To get a better understanding and assesment of the war," Mr.Adams interrupted. "I am glad to see that you are feeling better. Have you finally come around to our side?"
"I didn't know one could own an opinion," John said bitterly. "Besides, I wish to keep such things private."
"You're certainly singing a different tune from your days in Congress..."
"You belligerent old-"
"Gentlemen!" Lyman yelled, cutting of John. "There is no need for this nonsense, especially in my home! Now either conduct yourselves properly or leave!"
"Perhaps I will," John murmured as he rushed out of the room.
Mr.Adams rolled his eyes and reached for his bottle of rum. Lyman sighed as he sat back in his chair, thinking about the heated arguements in Congress...
"That man has always had a flair for the over-dramatic," Mr.Adams scoffed."Oh...Really?" said Mr.Dickinson
" Now Gentlemen pleasssssssssssse" act civilized.
a frown curled accross Adams's face.

John dashed out of the room and went towards the door. He could not tolerate Mr.Adams a moment longer. John could hear the condescending laugh of Mr.Adams as he opened the door. The sun shone brightly on the small plantation, giving it the appearance of a heavanly garden. John could see no real road so he just followed a slightly beaten path that he hoped would bring towards civilization.
"John!" Lyman cried as he chased after him. "Don't be so foolish!"
"I am not being folish," John replied, sounding childish.
"You have no money, no clothes, and you have no idea where you are going!"
John, realizing this, stopped in his tracks and looked back at Lyman. Lyman was out of breath when he finally reached John and could barely speak.
"Do not let him get under your skin," Lyman chided. "And don't try to make him so irate."
"What did I do?" John said, outraged.
"You led him on... you know how passionate he is about independence. Yet you insisted on baiting him with your opinions."
"You kow that I have to leave. I haven't seen my wife in four years. I have a feeling she might be somewhat upset over that..."
Both Lyman and John chuckled as they walked back into the home. Lyman went with John to his bedroom to help with the packing. There wasn't much to be packed, but John was grateful for the help. Even though John was happy in the doctor's company, he missed Pennsylvania greatly and was anxious to be back.

The next morning John ate his last meal with the Halls and Mr.Adams. It was pleasant enough; no intense arguements over the fate of the colonies. When his carriage finally arrived he began to say his good-byes. Mary was the first; she gave him a quick hug and a courtsey, asking him to return one day soon. Lyman was next; he shook John's hand and gave a kind smile. Both Lyman and Mary looked towards Mr.Adams, their eyes begging him not to make a scene. John had just begun to turn around when he felt a hand grab his shoulder. He spun around to see Mr.Adams pulling him back. Mr.Adams pulled John close to him and spoke extremely quietly.
"I respect you and I am proud to call you a political adversary," Mr.Adams whispered.
Shock spread over John's face and a smile spread over Mr.Adams'. John shook his head, not entirely believing what he had heard, and got into the carriage. As the carriage took off he looked back at his new friends, each waving their hands in farewell. John sat back in his seat and looked out the window at the deep forest.
In those short three years John had learned a great deal about the world around him. He had been a political lion, strong, powerful, and always with allies. He had been an outcast, weak and utterly alone. He had learned what it truly meant to stand alone. He had learned what it meant to have those around you that were truly allies. John knew deep in his heart that now he would never have to stand alone again.
THE END!!