Love's Pursuit by Siri Mitchell

would. For a while. But then I planned to slip away into the wood for a brief hour to myself. But before I could move, the captain came to stand just in front of me.
    A moment later, he was joined by Simeon Wright.
    They stood there the both of them, arms crossed, staring at the field before them.
    Simeon Wright spoke first. “If it is all the same to you, the men might as well drill as they have before.”
    “With you as their captain?”
    “Aye.”
    “ Is it the same?”
    Simeon turned toward the captain, brow furrowed. “I do not understand your meaning.”
    “Will the drills work in the event of an attack? By savages?”
    “ ’Tis the sole reason we train. To prepare for an attack. By savages.”
    The captain’s teeth flashed. He bowed slightly. “Then by all means, please do as is your custom.”
    In taking their leave of each other, they nearly ran right over me. But I was used to that.

    Following inspection, the line of men split into two at Simeon Wright’s signal, each line advancing forward and then moving, one to the right, the other to the left, to take up a position of two lines in the middle.
    At an order, the front line loaded their weapons.
    “Give . . . fire!”
    They fired and then, without waiting to see what it was they had shot, they filed around behind the second line. And the whole exercise repeated itself.
    They drilled for some time, advancing for a distance to the beating of Nathaniel’s drum and then stopping to fire; putting on bayonets and then taking them off, while the putrid smoke of gunpowder hung in the air. Finally, at Simeon Wright’s order, they broke into lines and passed before us in review, a forest of muzzles protruding one and two feet above the men’s heads.
    The ties at the collar of John’s shirt had loosed themselves and the material flapped open. As he drew abreast of me, he turned his head slightly, his gaze resting upon me for a brief instant before he passed by.
    My cheeks flamed with a fire that had nothing to do with the heat. It shamed me, seeing him with his chest bared to all the world. And to me. What might people think? I supposed I would look upon such things as a goodwife, but that pleasure was to come after the marriage, not before.
    As the men came to a halt, the women began to rummage in their baskets and pails for dinner. But before Simeon Wright could give the order to break ranks, the captain stepped up beside him. In the stillness of that moment, his voice rang out.
    “And what will you do if the savages do not oblige you by attacking in a tidy straight line?”
    Simeon’s tone was dismissive. “The militia has always trained—”
    “Aye. It has trained. But has it fought?”
    They stared at each other for a long moment, wary, alert, as if they were stags in rut.
    “Nay.”
    “Then may I suggest an alternate course of training after dinner.” It was a command rather than a question.
    Dinner was subdued, the men casting peeved glances at the captain as they ate.
    The captain, however, seemed oblivious to their displeasure. He ate as if preparing for famine. And as soon as he had finished, he called the men back to training.
    The captain, gripping his musket between his hands, walked out into the field and then turned to face us. “May I submit that this musket may be more useful as a club.”
    Clearly no one would stop him from suggesting such a thing, but the men’s eyes filled with horror. One of them even ventured to question his wisdom. “But . . . how am I to shoot a deer or a . . . a bear . . . if I bust my musket over a savage’s head.”
    “Better his head than yours. And in such a case, it is better to grasp the musket at the muzzle and wield the butt like so.” He sent his weapon crashing into the grasses at his feet.
    “Here now! If we use our weapons thusly, we will have none of them left.”
    The captain frowned. “Aye. Such an inconvenience. Such a trifle . . . one life. Or two. Or three. Or perhaps, the whole