To
Die For
It
was as hot and muggy as any July day in the east. If it had not been for a
failing breeze pushed to shore by the tireless waves, the day might have been
unbearable. But as it was, it seemed a not unpleasant day for Daniel and his
neighbors to head to the Town Square. Daniel lived about a mile from the center
of town. He and his bride of three years had chosen this spot because it was not
so close to the clamor of the city, and yet was convenient enough when the need
to shop or attend church arose. The neighborhood party passed by a row of
stately homes, the innards of which only the wealthy could know. But their
clapboard walls could not stop Daniel from imagining the comfort behind each
linen-curtained window. Each of the
men making the journey this morning lived in a much smaller home in a newly
developed area of the township. A walk to town was usually a pleasant
opportunity for a young man to dream. Store windows were filled with everything
he could possibly desire. The old homes, beautiful English gardens, and the
noise of the people, so many people, made the center of town appear as a galaxy
all its own within the universe of a poor man. Such fanciful imaginings of the
good life would, on another day, have been the topic of much conversation among
the neighbors, but today was different...There was little conversation of any
kind. And the leisurely pace of past walks to town was forgotten and buried in
the dust of their hurried feet. As
they followed straight down the King’s road into town, they passed others in
fine clothing headed in the opposing direction. Some carried small children,
others shouldered sacks of personal belongings. Soon, the road became nearly
impassible for the multitudes of people struggling to leave. Fighting that tide
of humanity, Daniel’s small company of neighbors managed to pass at last into
a street near the square, and there they stopped. Before them, very near a tall
row of Oak trees on the north of the village green, a line of men in black hats
and red coats had formed. And there, off to the right, another group of men was
assembling. An older gentleman in a long coat held a sword in his hand as he
scurried to and fro exhorting the armed citizenry around him to form lines and
load weapons. Daniel and his comrades sprinted onto the square.
And before any of them could even utter a prayer, the first volley from
the muskets of the red-coated men echoed off the nearby storefronts. The singing
of a musket ball as it sailed past Daniel’s ear gave him pause for only a
moment. On command, he and the other members of the town militia returned fire.
Many of the red-coated men fell suddenly where they were standing, and in just a
few minutes the air was silent and clear. The red-coated men never saw the south
end of town, or Daniel’s house that day; and thanks to our neighbors of two
hundred plus years ago, they have never returned to yours or mine. When, O Lord,
is it going to be our turn to pay some price for this freedom we enjoy...and,
when that time comes, will there be enough freedom remaining in America to die
for?