Missing Ammunition

Written by Meg A. Write, Published on 11/13/2008, Re-published on 2/19/2010

In the distance Abigail could hear gunfire from muskets and cannons. She did not shudder any more: these noises had become a way of life around the little town. Her father and two older brothers had joined the Continental Army as soon as the British had fired on Lexington. Many of the farmers and their sons from the small town had joined the ranks and left the women, children and elderly men to fend for themselves. But they had to fight for their freedom.

Abigail's father had been a minister, in charge of a secret which he told Abigail one night before he left. Up the long flight of stairs he had taken her to the bell tower atop the assembly hall. Behind the locked door he told her were barrels of gunpowder and boxes of ammunition. Taking her gently in his arms, he told her to keep the secret.

“I'm counting on you to watch it for me,” he said. “I know you are young, but we all must do our part in the war. I and General George Washington are counting on you.”

“I will keep it safe for both of you,” she responded.

But that had been weeks ago, and still the army had not come for their ammunition. Abigail alone had the key that would open the great lock on the door. She could not tell anyone. The rest of town was comprised of Tories that would try to take the supply away if they knew, so she did not tell anyone, not even her mother, lest someone overhear them.

Only she would ring the bell to call the congregation to assemble. Alone, Abigail worried every time a thunderstorm rolled into the area. Would lightning strike the steeple? Shuddering, Abigail would try to push the thought away. She must not think like that.

The day progressed slowly, the same as every Friday before had. They scrubbed the floors in the house and assembly hall, while Henry, a local drunk, kept himself busy fixing things around the house and hall.

A Tory, Henry had worked for Mr. Smith in his locksmith shop before he had been fired for missing several workdays. His wife and young daughter had fallen ill and Henry had been unable to pay for a doctor – on the low pay he received – to travel to see them. Since there was no doctor nearby, his family died. He then turned to the bottle to forget, also upset at himself for not having asked for help. He let pride get in the way of his loved ones’ lives, but he really blamed Mr. Smith.

Abigail's thoughts turned to Mr. Smith. Besides also being a Tory, Mr. Smith was a locksmith. This had always puzzled Abigail, since there was no high demand for a locksmith in the small town. Mr. Smith was the wealthiest man in town. However, because of Abigail's father's stand on the war, he refused to set foot in the assembly hall, never having been in there, to Abigail's knowledge.

Later that Friday afternoon, Mr. Samuel paid a visit to Abigail and her mother. Mr. Samuel was the only other man besides Abigail's father who knew about the location of the ammunition. He had bought the supply and instructed her father to hide it for him. He looked knowingly at her, and she curtly nodded her head in acknowledgment. All was in order; she had checked the supply earlier that morning and would do so again before bed. He acknowledged her reply.

“Good day Miss Abigail,” he stiffly bowed, his old body riddled with arthritis. Although dusty and tired from all the cleaning, Abigail's mother invited him in for tea. However, Abigail asked her leave to finish beating the rugs free of dust. As Mr. Samuel and her mother entered the house, Abigail began to whack the rugs.

A moan interrupted Abigail. She paused, trying to spot its location. Again she heard it, coming from the bottom of the hill her house sat on. Running down the hill, Abigail was concerned about the person who had made that noise. As she made it to the bottom, she saw the figure of a soldier. A Continental Army soldier was lying face down in the tall grass.

“Oh, Dear!” she cried as she knelt next to him.

She turned him over, and was surprised to find the soldier was barely older than a boy. Blood oozed from a wound on his head. He was feverish and his eyes fluttered open when she supported him.

“Do you know a Miss Abigail?” he asked, struggling to stay awake.

“I am she.”

“I had a message from your father, but ... it was stolen.” He raised his hand and touched his head. “Someone hit me and stole the message.”

“Oh, dear!” Abigail said again, unsure of what to do next. “You need help, but we have to be careful,” she warned him, “The town is full of Tories. Can you stand and walk if I help support you?”

The boy nodded, still winching from the pain. Abigail helped him to his feet and pulled his arm over her shoulder. Slowly they walked up the hill. Abigail kept a close watch on both the house and the town beyond them. They must not be seen! Once inside the assembly hall, she lowered the boy down on a pew.

“I'll be back with some food,” she promised, hurrying from the room. Running to the kitchen, she grabbed some bread and milk as well as bandages and water for the boy's wound. He ate ravenously while she bandaged his wound.

Afterward, she retired to bed. She slept fitfully, feeling she had forgotten something. A sound awoke her and she remembered. The ammunition in the tower had been forgotten.

Silently she slipped out of her bed and grabbed the key that lay on the table near her bed. Not willing to light a candle, she felt her way to the tower in total darkness. Up the long stairwell, and into the lock she fitted the key. As she turned the knob, a hand reached out of the darkness and grabbed her. She tried to scream and struggle, but the voice reassured her it was all right. It was the solder, so she relaxed.

“What are you doing up here?” he inquired, releasing her from his grasp. Shuffling her feet, Abigail wondered what to answer. He must not know about the ammunition, or he would have told her, but she must not tell a lie. Quickly the boy acted, he pushed open the door, and walked in. Abigail was worried and followed, but to her surprise all the ammunition was gone! The barrels and boxes she had worried and kept watch over were gone!

“Is something missing,” the soldier asked of her.

"Yes...but I know who took it."