The Moonlight Landscape - written in 9th grade

The moon’s glorious glow covered the beach and reflected in the river. Nothing stirred in the peace and quiet; I could only hear the sound of my mother’s voice hushing me, saying, “Be quiet, my dear boy, else someone shall hear you. We are going on an adventure. Mr. Henson is kind enough to lead us, and we must keep quiet in return for this favor.”

It was the middle of the American Revolution and the Brits had taken over our small home, threatening to hurt us if we did not comply. My mother’s cousin had lived in England for some time and we thus discovered that he was an officer in this group of Brits. He had arranged our adventure.

“See how the moon shines on everything around us. It would be dangerous to stay any longer. Someone may see us,” Mr. Henson said.

It was true: The moon sent out a filling light that almost covered the entire area. I knew not my mother’s and father’s reasons for hushing me. Being only a child and knowing it best to do what I was told, I remained silent, listening to the sound of nothingness that echoed through my mind as if I was in a place feared by all men that was suddenly interrupted by four, lonely strangers seeking a way to leave the wretched place that all people must fear.

“There,” said my father, gathering us three - my mother, himself, and I –and pointing out an image in the distance, “See the boat which will carry us to freedom.”

In the far way, I could make out the figure of a boat, beached upon the sand next to the river. My mother held tight to me, clutching me in her arms and pulling me into the warmth of her cape.

My father, who had left us to talk to Mr. Henson, returned and motioned for us to follow the elderly gentleman with gray hair and brown eyes, wearing a British, red coat uniform and hat, and sitting on a black, coarse-haired horse.

The old man dismounted his horse and, taking the reigns in his hands, turned to look at my mother. There was a look of a caring, sincere, loving person about him, a look that he had not taken to earlier that day. I looked up at my mother’s face. She had a gloomy, yet thankful, and loving countenance, one that – if the onlooker were to pass her by – a person would not be able to recognize for what it meant; for my mother’s demeanor was one that no one could know the truth of. Only the innermost thoughts of her mind could know its meaning.

“You see, now, where the boat is hidden?” Mr. Henson said; my father nodded his head, “Good, then you must be on your way before we are caught.”

“We thank you, dear cousin,” my mother said to him, “I know what a sacrifice this is. Will you not join us?”

“I cannot abandon my post. I will remain loyal to Britain all my life,” he hesitated, “until death, even.” He turned to me and looked into my eyes, and I into his. A certain air about him made me wish he would come with us; but I kept to what I had been told and stayed silent, for I was a timid child and wished little to take a chance at being shushed again for my childish comments.

“I thank you,” the Mr. Henson said, bowing to my mother, “for your encouragement, dear cousin. My best wishes to you and your family, especially the boy.”

“We must go quickly. The sun is rising and the troops will wake soon,” my father told us, and we began to head for the boat on the shore by the river.

Father huddled mother, himself, and I together as Mr. Henson grabbed the reigns to the horse and began walking; we followed.

“Mother,” I began to question, “who is that person there?” I pointed in the direction of the boat towards what seemed to be a small speck of a person, sitting near the boat.

“I see no one,” father said.

“Oh, but look dear. See there, a man. Cousin, did you hire someone to take us across?” mother asked.

“Not that I recall,” mother’s cousin answered. “Perhaps we had best hurry.”

As we grew closer, the man began to walk, and then run, away from the boat.

“We have been spotted then,” said the aging soldier.

“Yes,” said father, “see, now he makes for the camp where he will wake all the troops to come after us.”

“Let us move quickly then,” said mother.

We started to run towards the boat. In the confusion, and being only five years old, I did not realize the full extent of what was happening, but I made haste to follow closely behind them.

We soon reached the boat, but as father helped me and mother into the boat, there was a loud shot and the galloping of horses carrying Brits could be heard.

“Get down,” father told us.

“Now, George, don’t be going and dieing,” mother said, and father quickly kissed her.

“As the Brits approached, father pushed the boat with just enough force to get it floating towards the middle of the river. I stayed low as I was told, and could hear shooting, fighting, and the shouting of anger at Mr. Henson’s betrayal.

“George,” mother cried out, leaping into the river to splash towards shore.

A lonely shot rang out followed by one last splash; and all was silent again. Alone in the boat, I looked up into the sky at, what seemed to now be, a blood-red moon.