"Love From Eliza": another piece for school

In social studies (not history, which is just as weird as language arts instead of english), we're studying the Revolutionary War. Everyone had to write a short story about a fictional character who lived during that time, and I thought I'd put mine up here. Sorry about the inaccuracies in the descriptions of the Delaware-crossing boats' layout - we never actually studied that, I just felt like using it so I did a little (keyword - little) extra research about that famous crossing.

LOVE FROM ELIZA

“Henry!” Eliza Tyner raced down the snowy, cobbled street. “Henry! Where have you disappeared to?"

Hardly twenty minutes earlier, Henry had told her that a few Patriot men and boys he knew were harassing a British sentry on another street. He thought it sounded like a good event in which to take part. Eliza begged him not to go, for he was her dearest friend and, after all, the sentry carried a musket, but Henry was steadfast. “Eliza, what is worth risking your life to accomplish? What is worth fighting for?” he had asked, looking deep into her eyes, then dashed off without a goodbye.

Eliza had quickly become frightened to distraction and set off to search for him, but her hunt had so far proved fruitless. Half formed worries raced through Eliza’s mind, hot on each other’s heels, as she darted between wagons, people and horses in search of her friend.

Suddenly, Eliza could hear shouts and jeers. She sprinted in the direction from which the voices came, slipping in the slush. As she listened, still running, the scoffing yells abruptly changed to panicked shouts and cries of pain as a flurry of gunshots rent the air. Eliza’s breath caught in horror as she turned the final corner.
A terrible scene met Eliza’s eyes–a churning throng of dozens of men and boys, some injured and falling, a few already still, crumpled in the snow. Eliza barely registered the small huddle of redcoats a few feet away. She was too busy wildly scanning the gaggle of colonists for Henry.

From among the roiling crowd, Eliza saw a boy’s form fall to the ground. She dashed forward and knelt in the muddy snow, her dark eyes wide with fear. The boy was Henry.

“No!” Eliza cried.

She was too late. He was dead.

ONE MONTH LATER

Sitting at the small desk in her bedroom, Eliza carefully penned a letter. It was addressed to Hattie Tyner, her father’s sister, who lived alone in the south of Boston. Eliza liked Hattie, and knew she was the only one who could understand how Eliza felt about Henry’s death. In fact, this particular letter was the third one she had written to her aunt concerning the massacre of the past month.

Suddenly, Eliza could hear voices from the first floor. Quietly, she crept to the staircase and peered over the banister.

Her father was on one of his anti-Patriot diatribes again. Eliza listened harder, and was horrified to realize that his target this time was the colonists involved in the massacre.

“Nasty, ungrateful wretches,” he grumbled. “Hardly worth what it cost the good king to bring them over here. Every man among them a scoundrel, and disloyal to boot. Can’t believe Eliza called that Henry Forrest a friend. The stupid boy was the son of a fool, and a fool himself, sure as my name’s Jack Tyner.”

Mr. Tyner lit his pipe. “What say we turn in, Angela?”

He and Eliza’s mother started up the stairs. Eliza gasped inaudibly and slipped back to bed, fuming. How dare he talk about Henry like that? Him with his Loyalist nonsense. She’d had enough.

That very night, Eliza softly stole out of the house, carrying only enough food and clothing to last for a week, some parchment, and her favorite quill. She had wrapped everything in a small cloth bundle. Her parents wouldn’t miss her–no doubt they wanted her gone anyway; they often complained about how she was just another mouth to feed, and not strong enough to do much work.

She was running away to live with Hattie.

SIX YEARS LATER

“Eliza, put another few potatoes on to cook for me, would you, dear?” Hattie called. Eliza, now seventeen years of age, obeyed. It was wonderful here; she couldn’t believe how she had ever survived for eleven years in her parents’ house. She was just so much happier living with Hattie, who had taken her in gladly and taught her about being a Patriot. Daily, she asked Eliza the same question put to her by Henry just before he was killed, but Eliza had never yet been able to answer it.

Eliza’s ears pricked up as Hattie’s voice came once again, this time in a slightly different, shakier tone. “Eliza? Dear, come out here for–just a moment. There’s something here I’d like you to–to hear.”

As soon as Eliza had come, Hattie read from the paper in her hands. The words flowed around Eliza, their meaning a promise for a brighter future.

Eliza sat, captivated, as Hattie read, “We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense…”

For over twenty minutes they sat there, Hattie reading and Eliza listening. To Eliza’s ears, it was the most beautiful and inspiring thing she had ever heard.
That night, as she lay awake in her bed, Eliza’s mind still swirled with the words printed in the newspaper.

The Declaration of Independence.

The name had such rhythm, such sureness, like a steady tone emanating from a strong brass bell. It warmed Eliza’s heart to think of it. She knew, somewhere in the deep recesses of her being, that this final defiance of the king would mean war, and bloodshed far worse than the massacre that had killed the only friend she had ever had. But they would win, she just knew it, and Henry Forrest would not have died in vain. Oh, how she missed him!

Silently, Eliza composed a letter to Henry. She was sure he would be just as inspired as she had been at the news of the Declaration, wherever his spirit dwelt now.

Dear Henry,

I have thought about you many times since the massacre. It may please you to know that two of the redcoats involved have been brought to justice. However, the other seven were not convicted, and daily I dwell on them. How dare they kill you, along with four others, and then walk free?

But today, I am heartened, for Hattie read to me from the paper the words of a document that will truly change all our lives. It was called the Declaration of Independence, Henry, and it was written and signed by the many brave men of the Continental Congress. The document was composed of five sections, and it carefully detailed the fact that we, the colonies, under our own volition, are no longer under the rule of King George III of England!

I knew you would have liked to hear of this, were you still on earth. For surely it means that, although we must now go to war, we will at least be justified whether we win or lose. For we have fought for freedom, and there is not much more anyone can do for themselves.

I constantly think of the question both you and Hattie put to me: What is worth fighting for? So far I have not found a worthy answer.

Love from Eliza

Sure enough, war began. At the beginning of the revolution, Hattie and Eliza went into hiding. Hattie had a great reputation as a fervent Patriot throughout Massachusetts, and her name had surely spread across the other colonies as well. It was not safe for them to stay in Boston, so she and Eliza found themselves hiding and otherwise lying low in secret spots Hattie knew, spread all over the colony.

Whenever a soldier came too near one of their hideaways, they would both crouch silently, hardly daring to breathe lest they make a sound, until the unwitting redcoat had passed on. They had almost been caught once, when a stray bit of dead straw from the hay bale they were tucked into had tickled Eliza’s nose. Her small, muffled sneeze would have given them away completely to the passing redcoat, had Hattie not had the presence of mind to duck into a small nearby ditch and pull Eliza down with her. There they lay, Eliza frozen with fear, until the soldier shrugged and strode off.

One December night in the year 1776, Eliza huddled, cold and wet, in a small wooden hut with Hattie. The shack was well hidden, and Hattie was sure there was no risk of discovery. Still, Eliza was nervous, jumping at every smallest sound.

Finally, the nagging desire that had tugged at her heart since the start of the war began to take shape. She turned to her aunt, and the sudden ferocity in her dark eyes intimidated even strong, courageous Hattie.

“Hattie,” she whispered fiercely, “I have decided. I am going to fight. I am sick and tired of hiding every day from the British dogs whose own colleagues dared kill Henry. I want to go to war! I must fight, I must join General Washington. Maybe there I will discover that which is worth fighting for!”

Her voice had slowly risen to a defiant shout. Suddenly realizing how loud she was, Eliza cringed and looked down, certain that Hattie would be annoyed that she had surely given away their position. But when she raised her eyes again, Eliza was abashed to see Hattie’s own filled with tears, although the smile on her gentle face was warmer than the sun.

"My dear Eliza," she murmured. "My dear, sweet, brave girl. Of course you must fight! You must always do what you feel is right. Tomorrow we will speak to Artemas Ward and enlist you."

Eliza was overcome with affection for her aunt, and hugged her fiercely. “I love you, Hattie, and I will never forget the kindness you have shown me.”

Hattie took Eliza’s hands, still smiling, and said, “Now, to bed, my dear. There is much to attend to in the morning.”

After a good night’s sleep, Eliza awoke the next day feeling refreshed and ready for whatever lay ahead. Hattie quickly searched the hut and found an old blue coat, boots, peaked blue cap, trousers, and white shirt, which she spread on a rickety table. Eliza dressed in the shirt, coat, and trousers, then pulled on the boots. At last came the part she had been dreading.

“Now, Eliza,” said Hattie from behind her, holding a kitchen knife, “just hold still. If there was any other way… well, just hold still, dear, as I say.”

Eliza felt a small tugging at her scalp, then the tension broke and a curl of chestnut hair fell to the dirt floor. Eliza took deep breaths until Hattie had finished, and picked up a small mirror. In it, she saw her own face–but with hair chopped past her chin. Hattie had obviously tried to be gentle, but there hadn’t been much she could do with the kitchen knife’s rough blade.

Before she set off to speak to Artemas Ward, Eliza took on a new name. She was no longer Eliza Tyner, but Elliot Cromwell.

Later that day, Eliza's regiment started on its mission across the Delaware River under General Washington's command. Curled beneath a small blanket, Eliza again wrote a letter in her head.

Dear Henry,

I have disguised myself as a boy, and am now in a small boat crossing the Delaware. Washington has proved a great leader, although I have seen him only from afar. It is funny that the thing I think about most is the fact that, to make my costume convincing, Hattie had to cut off my hair. I don’t worry about the war ahead, nor do I feel remorse for having left my parents all those years ago. I just can’t keep from twisting my head this way and that, amazed at its newfound lightness!

The waters are choppy, and I must take care not to fall overboard. It would be a terrible manner in which to leave this world, would it not? Sucked under the frigid water, sinking and sinking, losing breath until finally you die in cold and loneliness. To drown would be horrible, and I sincerely hope not to part the earth by those means. That is why I keep far from the deck’s edge. The other soldiers aboard think I have fear of water, and laugh at me. Let them laugh; the water itself holds no terror for me. It is dying by it that makes my blood run cold.

I know that your spirit is with me wherever I go, and that you will guide me through any battles in which I must fight. Some of Hattie’s last words to me run constantly through my mind: You must always do what you feel is right.

I will live, fight, and one day die by this motto.

Love from Eliza

Suddenly, a chorus of shouting pulled her from her thoughts. Eliza sat straight up in bed, startled, and listened hard to the voices, trying to make out their words. She was shocked to hear a deep bellow, rising above the low, panicked buzz of the rest of the men.

“Pencey’s overboard!”

Eliza's blood froze. Thomas Pencey was one of the men who had laughed at her fear of water. Not a particularly good-natured person, but a living person all the same. Her heart raced as she leaped up and charged purposefully to the side.

"Pencey!' Eliza leaned over the edge, scanning the churning, choppy water. Where was he?

Suddenly, a soaked arm flailed up from the waves, a few feet away. It reached out toward Eliza’s hand, and she grabbed for it and held on. She pulled and pulled, and with a gasp, Thomas Pencey’s dripping head burst to the surface.

“Pencey!” Eliza cried, hoisting him inch by inch onto the deck. “Pencey, it’s all right, you’re going to be all right, just–just breathe.” Eliza realized her voice was shaking. This had been the most daring, selfless thing she had ever done.

With a jolt, Pencey seemed to awaken. He did not recognize Eliza, and fought against her to escape. “Pencey, stop it, you’re all right! You’ve been rescued, you’re fine!” Pencey only fought harder. “It’s me! It’s only Eliz–it’s Elliot Cromwell!”

Pencey went limp, breathing hard, and Eliza was pulled to her feet by a pair of big hands. “Let us take care of him, laddie,” grunted a burly soldier by the name of Baker. “I’ve seen many a case like this. You’ve done all you can.” Baker gave Eliza a rare smile. “And a bloody good job of it you’ve done.” He patted her shoulder with a gruff, “Now back to bed with you, laddie,” before striding off to help revive the panting Pencey.
The next morning, Eliza was awakened by Baker’s low voice. “You’re wanted with the general, laddie,” he told her as they set off across the deck toward where the general himself waited.

As Eliza got closer, General Washington strode toward her. His clothing looked just as Eliza had heard it described–white wig, three-cornered hat, black and red jacket. But no words could have exactly related his strong, noble face, or his imposing yet graceful stature. Eliza, intimidated, wondered how she could ever talk to such an important figure.

“Elliot Cromwell,” he boomed. “You have saved the life of a fellow Patriot on your first night under my command. For this I most sincerely congratulate you.”

Washington placed a hand on Eliza’s shoulder, and its warm weight gave her courage. “Thank you, sir,” she said softly. “I–I am proud to be fighting for liberty, and I am most glad you are the one to lead us.”

The general gave a strong, resounding laugh. “We are all proud to be fighting for our freedom, and I can see that you are a brave young man. Welcome to the Patriot ranks. I know you will be a great asset in the war ahead.” Washington gave her shoulder a final firm squeeze, then strode away.

During a quiet moment, sitting at the back of the boat, Eliza shut her eyes and sent a third mental letter.

Dear Henry,

Yesterday I saved Thomas Pencey from the very fate of which I myself am so frightened. General George Washington himself gave me congratulations! You would be proud, Henry, had you still the gift of life.

And life is what I wish to speak about. For as I was giving it back to Pencey, or seeing it leave your eyes that day so many years ago, I knew for a split second what life truly is. I have finally answered the last question you asked me.

Life itself is the thing most worth fighting for.

And I am determined to fight for it – for my own, for the one taken from you, and the ones surely to be lost in the war ahead.

This will not be my last letter to you, but it is the most meaningful. I will fight with you always at my side.

Love from Eliza

SOOO... tell me what you think! (I myself never really enjoy reading historical fiction, but I gotta admit, this was kinda fun to write.) By the by... sorry about the wacky changing fonts; this computer is a bit ornery right now.