even if nobody had got hurt, the people in Redding were good and angry about losing so many of their guns. Guns were valuable. It wasnât so much a matter of huntingâthere wasnât too much game around, although some farmers occasionally got a deer or a muskrat for the pot. Mostly people wanted guns to go after the wolves that sometimes came down into the pastures after lambs, and for general protection.
The worst part of it was that food was already beginning to get short. Army commissary officers, like the one Sam was working for, were buying up a lot of the livestock to feed the troops. Sometimes soldiers would just take a couple of cows out of somebodyâs fields without paying for them, too. Both sides did itâthe Patriots and the Tories. They werenât supposed to, they were always supposed to pay, but a lot of time at the end of a dayâs march theyâd find that there wasnât anything for them to eat, and theyâd just go out into a field, butcher a couple of cows, cut them up and carry them off to camp on their shoulders. It was a terrible thing to lose your milking cows because it meant no more milk or butter or cheese. There wasnât anything anyone could do about it, though. Oh, whenever it happened the people would get up a petition and complain, but it never did much good because the soldiers were gone and the beef was eaten.
By January of 1776 food was getting to be a real problem for us, too. It wasnât so much that we were going hungry, but that the meat and flour and rum and beer and everything else we needed to run the tavern and the store kept going up and up in price all the time. This forced us to raise our prices; then prices would go up again, and weâd have to raise them some more.
But still, the worst part of the war was missing Sam. Of course heâd been gone at college before, so Iâd got used to the idea of having to do his share of the work and all that. But when he was at Yale I didnât have to worry about him all the timeâworry that heâd be shot or get sick and die or something else. Although to tell the truth, I envied him, too. I could picture him in my mind standing on top of the stone wall by the woodlot, the Brown Bess cradled under his arm, waving at us.
He seemed so brave and grown-up, and I wished that I couldbe brave and grown-up like him, too. I didnât like the idea of being shot at or wounded or killed very much, but it seemed to me that it must feel wonderful to be able to load up a gun in the casual way he did it. I knew that to a younger brother everything your older brother does seems wonderful. I remember being little and watching Sam milk Old Pru and admiring him and thinking how clever he was. And then it got to be my turn to learn how to milk Old Pru, and I found out that there wasnât any glory to it; it was just hard work and made your hands ache. So I guess that being a soldier probably didnât have much glory to it, either, that it was mostly just a lot of hard work. But still, I envied Sam, and I wished I were old enough to do something glorious, too.
So time passed and the war went on. Sometimes weâd read about Patriot victories and other times about Tory victories. It all seemed confused. It was hard to tell who was really winningâpartly because sometimes both sides claimed to have won the same battle. Father said, âThe Rebels are damn fools, how can they expect to beat the whole British army? They can win these skirmishes in the woods, but as soon as the British catch them in pitched battle theyâll be done for, and no good can come out of it but a lot of men dead.â Sometimes Patriot militiamen would come through Redding, and usually the officers would come into the tavern for a mug of beer, but they never bothered anybody, they just went away again. Iâd stand at the door and watch them go; and I wondered, if I went for a soldier, which army would I join?
The worst part of it was that food was already beginning to get short. Army commissary officers, like the one Sam was working for, were buying up a lot of the livestock to feed the troops. Sometimes soldiers would just take a couple of cows out of somebodyâs fields without paying for them, too. Both sides did itâthe Patriots and the Tories. They werenât supposed to, they were always supposed to pay, but a lot of time at the end of a dayâs march theyâd find that there wasnât anything for them to eat, and theyâd just go out into a field, butcher a couple of cows, cut them up and carry them off to camp on their shoulders. It was a terrible thing to lose your milking cows because it meant no more milk or butter or cheese. There wasnât anything anyone could do about it, though. Oh, whenever it happened the people would get up a petition and complain, but it never did much good because the soldiers were gone and the beef was eaten.
By January of 1776 food was getting to be a real problem for us, too. It wasnât so much that we were going hungry, but that the meat and flour and rum and beer and everything else we needed to run the tavern and the store kept going up and up in price all the time. This forced us to raise our prices; then prices would go up again, and weâd have to raise them some more.
But still, the worst part of the war was missing Sam. Of course heâd been gone at college before, so Iâd got used to the idea of having to do his share of the work and all that. But when he was at Yale I didnât have to worry about him all the timeâworry that heâd be shot or get sick and die or something else. Although to tell the truth, I envied him, too. I could picture him in my mind standing on top of the stone wall by the woodlot, the Brown Bess cradled under his arm, waving at us.
He seemed so brave and grown-up, and I wished that I couldbe brave and grown-up like him, too. I didnât like the idea of being shot at or wounded or killed very much, but it seemed to me that it must feel wonderful to be able to load up a gun in the casual way he did it. I knew that to a younger brother everything your older brother does seems wonderful. I remember being little and watching Sam milk Old Pru and admiring him and thinking how clever he was. And then it got to be my turn to learn how to milk Old Pru, and I found out that there wasnât any glory to it; it was just hard work and made your hands ache. So I guess that being a soldier probably didnât have much glory to it, either, that it was mostly just a lot of hard work. But still, I envied Sam, and I wished I were old enough to do something glorious, too.
So time passed and the war went on. Sometimes weâd read about Patriot victories and other times about Tory victories. It all seemed confused. It was hard to tell who was really winningâpartly because sometimes both sides claimed to have won the same battle. Father said, âThe Rebels are damn fools, how can they expect to beat the whole British army? They can win these skirmishes in the woods, but as soon as the British catch them in pitched battle theyâll be done for, and no good can come out of it but a lot of men dead.â Sometimes Patriot militiamen would come through Redding, and usually the officers would come into the tavern for a mug of beer, but they never bothered anybody, they just went away again. Iâd stand at the door and watch them go; and I wondered, if I went for a soldier, which army would I join?
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