Disclaimer: I do not own The Patriot or any of the characters from the
movie.
Chapter One: Flight and Capture
I awoke to the sound of my younger brother, John, hurrying into my room. His shoes shuffled across the wooden floor of the bedroom I shared with my younger sisters, Margaret, and Susan.
"Girls!" he said in a harsh but whispered voice.
"What is it?" I asked, the first to rise.
"There are some men riding towards the house. Mother thinks they may be here about Nathan!"
My voice caught in my throat, and I didn't reply. Nathan was the eldest of our family, the Peterson's. Nathan had joined the Patriot army, and ever since the Loyalists that my late father had associated with had been harassing my family. Father had been an ardent Loyalist, but Nathan had not agreed.
"Charlotte!" John said, jolting me from my thoughts. "Margaret, come on!" He turned and left the room to get my mother and, I imagined, the guns that were kept in a case in the hall.
I turned my attention to my sisters. "Margaret, get Susan!" I directed. Susan was only two years old, so someone would have to carry her.
"Charlotte, what's going on?" asked Margaret.
"Someone's coming," I told her, hurrying to our dresser. I pulled out Susan's small quilt and handed it to Margaret, who wrapped our baby sister in it.
"Should we get dressed?" asked Margaret.
"Of course not!" I said. "We don't have time!"
I grabbed a leather cord and tied my hair back quickly. "Let's go!" I said.
I grabbed Margaret's hand and we hurried down the hallway to the stairs. Mother and John were there, waiting for us. Mother extended her arms and Margaret gave Susan to her. John, who was, as I had expected him to be, holding a pistol awkwardly, led the way down the stairs and toward the back of the house.
"Can't we go out the front?" asked Margaret.
"No," John told her. "They're coming from that way."
"Who's coming?" I asked.
"I'm not sure," John said. He looked at me, and even in the dark I could see that his eyes were wide with fear. "But I imagine they're Loyalists."
"Hush," my mother said, herding us into the kitchen. There was a door out of the house through the kitchen. We waited there, huddled together, hoping that we would not have to leave our home.
John had been watching the road in front of our house ever since we had been forced to move out of our original home in North Carolina. We had fled to South Carolina, where my mother's late sister had left a plantation to us. My father had died of causes still unknown to us, so there was no reason for us to stay. The only thing about moving that was hard on me was that there was no way to alert Nathan of our move, so we could no longer correspond with him.
I was startled out of my thoughts by a loud thud coming from the entryway.
"What was that?" Margaret whispered, so quietly that I could hardly hear her.
"I'm not sure," I answered.
"Be quiet," my mother told us. Her voice was shaky. Mother, being an incredibly strong woman, rarely got scared, so I knew that what was happening was serious.
I listened intently to the commotion that was erupting in our home. I could hear heavy steps making their way up the stairs and throughout the rest of the house. They were drawing nearer to the kitchen.
"We have to go," my mother said finally. I looked at her, and could see that tears were streaming silently down her cheeks. In that moment, I knew that we would never return to our home.
John made his way to the door as nimbly as possible. He turned the knob and opened the wooden door into the outside. I thought we had made it, and that we would escape, but the door made a loud, creaking sound. The hinges hadn't been oiled since we had moved into the house several months ago.
"Run!" my mother cried, thrusting Susan into Margaret's arms once again. She ushered us out the door, Margaret first, then me, then my mother, and John bringing up the rear with the pistol clutched tightly in his hand.
I ran as fast as I could. I could hear the sound of British soldiers charging forward behind us. They meant to catch us.
Margaret darted into the woods, and I prayed that they would not catch her and Susan. I hurried on past the tree line, hoping that I would divert the attention of our pursuers from my sisters.
Suddenly, I heard gunshots behind me. I turned, and saw a red-coated soldier lying on his back in the grass. My eyes darted to John, who was standing about five feet from the soldier, pointing the gun where the man must have been standing.
"John, run!" I screamed, seeing a group of soldiers hurrying towards him.
He looked up, his eyes glistening in the moonlight. He was only fifteen, and he had just shot a man.
"Run!" I called again.
He stood, in shock of what he had just done, until the soldiers reached him. I watched two of them grab him by the arms and drag him away. I charged ahead, meaning to try and rescue him. I heard another shot, and I looked to where the shot had come from. John was lying on the ground, motionless.
I looked around for my mother, but I didn't see her anywhere. I prayed that she had gotten away, that she had not seen what had just happened. I wished that I had not seen it.
I turned once again and continued running. Tears blurred my vision and my insides quivered. I felt as though I was going to be ill, but I forced myself to continue running. I could still hear the soldiers pursuing me from behind.
I looked everywhere for my mother and sisters as I ran, but I could not see them anywhere.
Please, God, I prayed silently, please let them get away! Please let me get away...
Unfortunately, I wasn't that lucky. I heard the even steps of a horse at full speed approaching me from behind. Terrified, I quickened my own pace, but it was futile. The horse caught up to me easily, and the man who was riding it reached down, grabbing me by the arm.
I attempted to shake him off. "Let me go! Please!" I cried, pulling as hard as I could.
However, the soldier pulled me up onto the horse and galloped onward. I looked back towards the forest once more, hoping to catch a glimpse of my mother and sisters. I did not see them, though. For all I knew, they were not even alive.
Chapter One: Flight and Capture
I awoke to the sound of my younger brother, John, hurrying into my room. His shoes shuffled across the wooden floor of the bedroom I shared with my younger sisters, Margaret, and Susan.
"Girls!" he said in a harsh but whispered voice.
"What is it?" I asked, the first to rise.
"There are some men riding towards the house. Mother thinks they may be here about Nathan!"
My voice caught in my throat, and I didn't reply. Nathan was the eldest of our family, the Peterson's. Nathan had joined the Patriot army, and ever since the Loyalists that my late father had associated with had been harassing my family. Father had been an ardent Loyalist, but Nathan had not agreed.
"Charlotte!" John said, jolting me from my thoughts. "Margaret, come on!" He turned and left the room to get my mother and, I imagined, the guns that were kept in a case in the hall.
I turned my attention to my sisters. "Margaret, get Susan!" I directed. Susan was only two years old, so someone would have to carry her.
"Charlotte, what's going on?" asked Margaret.
"Someone's coming," I told her, hurrying to our dresser. I pulled out Susan's small quilt and handed it to Margaret, who wrapped our baby sister in it.
"Should we get dressed?" asked Margaret.
"Of course not!" I said. "We don't have time!"
I grabbed a leather cord and tied my hair back quickly. "Let's go!" I said.
I grabbed Margaret's hand and we hurried down the hallway to the stairs. Mother and John were there, waiting for us. Mother extended her arms and Margaret gave Susan to her. John, who was, as I had expected him to be, holding a pistol awkwardly, led the way down the stairs and toward the back of the house.
"Can't we go out the front?" asked Margaret.
"No," John told her. "They're coming from that way."
"Who's coming?" I asked.
"I'm not sure," John said. He looked at me, and even in the dark I could see that his eyes were wide with fear. "But I imagine they're Loyalists."
"Hush," my mother said, herding us into the kitchen. There was a door out of the house through the kitchen. We waited there, huddled together, hoping that we would not have to leave our home.
John had been watching the road in front of our house ever since we had been forced to move out of our original home in North Carolina. We had fled to South Carolina, where my mother's late sister had left a plantation to us. My father had died of causes still unknown to us, so there was no reason for us to stay. The only thing about moving that was hard on me was that there was no way to alert Nathan of our move, so we could no longer correspond with him.
I was startled out of my thoughts by a loud thud coming from the entryway.
"What was that?" Margaret whispered, so quietly that I could hardly hear her.
"I'm not sure," I answered.
"Be quiet," my mother told us. Her voice was shaky. Mother, being an incredibly strong woman, rarely got scared, so I knew that what was happening was serious.
I listened intently to the commotion that was erupting in our home. I could hear heavy steps making their way up the stairs and throughout the rest of the house. They were drawing nearer to the kitchen.
"We have to go," my mother said finally. I looked at her, and could see that tears were streaming silently down her cheeks. In that moment, I knew that we would never return to our home.
John made his way to the door as nimbly as possible. He turned the knob and opened the wooden door into the outside. I thought we had made it, and that we would escape, but the door made a loud, creaking sound. The hinges hadn't been oiled since we had moved into the house several months ago.
"Run!" my mother cried, thrusting Susan into Margaret's arms once again. She ushered us out the door, Margaret first, then me, then my mother, and John bringing up the rear with the pistol clutched tightly in his hand.
I ran as fast as I could. I could hear the sound of British soldiers charging forward behind us. They meant to catch us.
Margaret darted into the woods, and I prayed that they would not catch her and Susan. I hurried on past the tree line, hoping that I would divert the attention of our pursuers from my sisters.
Suddenly, I heard gunshots behind me. I turned, and saw a red-coated soldier lying on his back in the grass. My eyes darted to John, who was standing about five feet from the soldier, pointing the gun where the man must have been standing.
"John, run!" I screamed, seeing a group of soldiers hurrying towards him.
He looked up, his eyes glistening in the moonlight. He was only fifteen, and he had just shot a man.
"Run!" I called again.
He stood, in shock of what he had just done, until the soldiers reached him. I watched two of them grab him by the arms and drag him away. I charged ahead, meaning to try and rescue him. I heard another shot, and I looked to where the shot had come from. John was lying on the ground, motionless.
I looked around for my mother, but I didn't see her anywhere. I prayed that she had gotten away, that she had not seen what had just happened. I wished that I had not seen it.
I turned once again and continued running. Tears blurred my vision and my insides quivered. I felt as though I was going to be ill, but I forced myself to continue running. I could still hear the soldiers pursuing me from behind.
I looked everywhere for my mother and sisters as I ran, but I could not see them anywhere.
Please, God, I prayed silently, please let them get away! Please let me get away...
Unfortunately, I wasn't that lucky. I heard the even steps of a horse at full speed approaching me from behind. Terrified, I quickened my own pace, but it was futile. The horse caught up to me easily, and the man who was riding it reached down, grabbing me by the arm.
I attempted to shake him off. "Let me go! Please!" I cried, pulling as hard as I could.
However, the soldier pulled me up onto the horse and galloped onward. I looked back towards the forest once more, hoping to catch a glimpse of my mother and sisters. I did not see them, though. For all I knew, they were not even alive.
