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SP McGiff
I suppose I could start with my birth and work forward, but my death is of far greater interest.
It was bitterly cold that Christmas evening in 1776, and I was celebrating the birth of Our Lord in...ver maisI suppose I could start with my birth and work forward, but my death is of far greater interest.
It was bitterly cold that Christmas evening in 1776, and I was celebrating the birth of Our Lord in the certain knowledge that no Christian army would attack on such a holy night. Okay, I'd more to drink than any right thinking sentry ought to have supped, but haven't I just mentioned it was Christmas, so a little pity I beg of you - that which was in such short supply that far away night.
I should have spotted the approaching rebels and warned my comrades, but I had dozed off. The river looked frozen and who could have guessed that nearly two thousand men could cross unseen, especially with that pompous farmer general at their head. It all happened so fast - in less than an hour our forces lay dead or captured.
Ah, but I was soon to learn that being captured or lying with a sword between one's ribs was not the worst fate to befall those defeated that moonless night. Worse - far worse was in store for me.
I had killed a strapping Yankee lad who had wielded a sword like it was an arm off a New England windmill, but I was outnumbered and had to surrender my sword to a lad of less than twenty summers. Unfortunately my captors trudged me past the Mashpee shaman we employed as a scout. He lay holding his lifeless son close to his chest. He looked distraught, but on recognising me his eyes hardened into a dead stare. He knew. He knew the surprise attack was my fault.
In one swift action he threw his tomahawk underarm which caught me square in the chest. As I fell to my knees and before he could be dragged away from me he whispered some words of his ancient tongue into my ear. I tipped forward, but all was black before I hit the ground.
I came back to my senses to find it was still dark and I had a most dreadful dry taste in my mouth. I reasoned I must be in hospital with a heavy blanket tucked around me as I struggled to lift my arms. I eventually pushed myself upwards to find myself in the very field of our defeat. Long gone were the chaotic scenes of battle, and as I lifted myself out of my hastily prepared, shallow grave I felt an overwhelming urge to… to… ah, but that's a different story altogether and I fear I have rambled on and taken up too much of your time dear reader.
What else can I say about myself, such as what interests I have when I'm not consumed with ... Sorry, there I nearly go...ver menos