Good evening all, and guess who’s still catching up on ficlets... *cringe*
In any case, I wanted to give a big thank-you to @presidentadams and @mydearjack for following me and being wonderful human beans (and I also wated to catch mydearjack before they head out tomorrow... hopefully time-zones permit!!) This one is a sort of fix-it for one of the bigger historical heartaches of our time... that being Nathan Hale’s execution. It’s supposed to be told many years after the fact, to, like, a little crowd of grandchildren around a fire, so imagine that if you like. :)
A Rescue.
You ask me, dears, what the strangest sight I’ve ever seen is? That is a difficult question. In my long life I’ve seen many strange things, strange-and-sad, or strange-and-funny, but the most strange-and-beautiful thing these old eyes have ever seen was the day they nearly executed Nathan Hale.
I was just a young girl then, and not very well off, but my father had not returned from the tavern since the night before, and my mother had plenty of children to mind, so I was sent out to retrieve him. I didn’t really want to, for when he came home he was too loud. But I went in any case, and found things rather out-of-order when I arrived.
You see, the tavern was next to an Artillery park, and in that park there was a great big tree. As of that day, there was a crowd of people around the tree, some shouting, most crying, and one old lady (as I believe was the innkeeper's wife) was arguing with a British officer who wanted to take down her clothesline that was tethered to the tree. She finally won out, and he went away, and returned with a cart, bearing a statue.
The statue was tall and fair, but I wondered why they had sculpted him with his hands tied behind his back like that? And why, on such pretty marble, had they painted a powder-burn on his forehead? And then it struck me - it was hardly a statue at all, but a young man who was tied up still as stone atop the cart. I was thoroughly confused now. The soldiers were looping a rope over a tree-branch, right next to the innkeeper's clothesline. Were they going to hang the statue-fellow? I stood up on a box to get a better view.
The drummers drummed. The louder soldiers yelled over the sound to make the crowd stop crying. The statue-man pressed a letter into the hands of an officer, as if to keep it safe. Stupid statue-man, my young self thought, you shouldn’t trust him with your paper. And then the drums stopped.
The man looked out, brave like I thought a hero ought to be. “I am so satisfied with the cause in which I have engaged that my only regret is that I have not more lives than one to offer in its service,” he said, and closed his eyes.
They whipped up the horse and the cart started off, out from underneath him. The statue-man stumbled. I wanted to close my eyes.
But I didn’t, because a loud crack split the air like a knife through fabric.
We all looked up.
A soldier in blue and gold was sliding down the clothesline on a belt in one hand, swinging and spinning and firing a pistol wildly with the other. The redcoats panicked. The statue-man lost his footing. Luckily, the maniac soldier had traded his pistol for a sword, and he cut through the noose, letting the prisoner fall to the ground at the same time he did. Together they fought their way through the stunned redcoats towards the cart, paraded on by the crowd cheering. I was cheering too.
“I’ll have that now sir,” said the prisoner, snatching his letter back.
They leapt up onto the horse, and, cutting it free from the cart, they rode off at a gallop, arms around each other. I later learned their names: Nathan Hale and Benjamin Tallmadge.
I like to think about them when I need to be brave. It must have taken more pluck than your average soldier has in a lifetime to slide down a clothesline and rescue a friend in enemy territory. To be willing to sacrifice so much... he must have been someone truly special.
