The Kensworth Chronicles

By: Spencer Seeley

My name is George Kensworth; some of you may know me as Mark Hunter. But this story isnt about me, this
is about my ancestors: fighters, warriors, soldiers, and dedicated patriots. Their adventures in a violent history, not in
todays school textbooks. This is their story, the way history really happened; this is the Kensworth Chronicles.

Chapter I
John Kensworth was a ten year American militia veteran. He had fought many battles starting at the
age of fifteen. He thought he had been the worst of it all; but of all his experience in the perilous service he
had never been this afraid. Sweat trickled down his neck and legs, and the hundreds of butterflies in his
stomach wouldnt subside. Today was the day; the most life changing moment was near. It was inevitable,
and John was impotent to stop it. His heart vehemently palpitated as a man gave him a signal. He warily
sauntered out down the corridor; the walls seemingly closing in on him. He felt like he was being watched by
a hundred souls. He reminisced several of the times he was almost killed. He wanted to stop, but he knew he
had to persevere. As he reached the end, two people awaited his arrival. He confronted them, never letting his
gaze off of the first. John Kensworth was nerve-racked, as one man began asking him a question, a long and
detailed question; but Johns hearing was faded out as he contemplated of what was about to happen. They
stared at his face, his masculine features, blue eyes and blonde hair, which wouldve made him stand out in a
crowd, and his clean shaven face. Suddenly a sharp pain shot down his leg, but nothing touched him. He
made no movement, but remained transfixed upon the being in front of him. His heart suddenly settled down,
and his hearing refocused, the garbling of the man turned to words. in holy matrimony, you may now kiss
the bride. John realized he had never kissed a woman before, well not counting the redhead in second grade.
He calmed down and thought,
Theres a first time for everything.
Chapter II
Ten years later.
The sun was shining on this beautiful April morning. A quaint house sat placidly in the middle of a
meadow. They had had relatively prosperous life. John was diligent, and never squandered his money
frivolously. They owned a gunsmith shop in town on the corner of Yorkshire Street, as John was a master at
forging weapons. The Kensworths residence was quiet, aside from the two playful yellow Labrador
retrievers chasing each other around the back yard. John was picking out the weeds in his garden, when the
house door opened, his wife standing in the entryway. John! she called to him, , remember you have to
pick up more flour tomorrow, were almost out, and the shipment docks tonight.
Tomorrows the 20
th
right?
Right dear. John stood up, brushed the dirt off his knees, and walked inside. His two twin boys,
John Jr. and Peter, played chess in the living room; and his daughter Annabelle practiced playing the piano.
Mr. Kensworth wrapped his arms around his wife Amy, who preparing the tea for lunch, and began to dance
the music.
John, she giggled, Im right in the middle of making tea. Within the blink of an eye his mind
recalled the incident two years back. Struggling British soldiers strapped to a mast, surrounded by
gunpowder. A giant explosion flashed before him, people blown back on their feet as tea and boards rained
down, the crowd chanting for the disguised minutemen. John stood in the center of it all, clad in an intricate
red Indian costume. Mr. Kensworth instantly returned his mind to the present and kissed his wife. John Jr.
and Peter watched, with shriveled noses, in disgust,
Eeewwwww! John rolled his eyes, before letting go of his Mrs. Kensworth. As he walked out the
door he looked at his boys and whispered,
One day boys, one day. Returning to the garden, John noticed the sky. It might rain tonight, He
thought to himself, A storms brewing off in the distance. And brewing it was.
Chapter III
13 hours later
Two men rode almost uncontrollably through the stormy April night. A little light they carried was
lifted, lighting just enough to watch their surrounding zoom by. The horses they rode panted and their bodies
quaked, as their riders forced them to run as fast as possible. A lightning bolt suddenly streaked through the
night sky, providing a split second of light. The horses immediately locked up their legs, skidding in the mud
as they reared on their back legs in fear and whinnied. In the second of light, the two riders spotted a massive
tree, most likely a safer place than out in the open. Certainly it was quieter, since the rain wasnt beating
down on them.
George, asked Paul, Why are the British moving onto Concord? I know America and Britain have
had troubles, even some hostility, but cant it be changed?
I dont know Paul! replied George.
We have to find Johns place, Paul told him, hes one of our minutemen, and a fine fighter. He
lives right outside of Lexington; and like the rest of us, his opinion of the king is treasonous. He has been
helping us smuggle munitions to Concord.
Ok bu A lightning bolt blasted through the sky and impacted the top of the tree, sending a
shockwave down the trunk and causing a fire at the top. Never mind. Lets ride. George clicked his tongue
and the horse shot off, Paul following behind him. A tiny light flickered in the distance, There! he hollered
as he pointed towards it.
Chapter IV
Soothingly, the fireplace in John Kensworths living room crackled. Mrs. Kensworth showed their
daughter Annabelle how to prepare rabbit stew. His boys enjoyed a less messy hobby, woodcarving. A
sudden pounding shook the door and a mini-shockwave creaked through the house, scaring its four residents.
John glanced at his wife, a look of curiosity. Who could be knocking at the door at this hour? As he opened
the door, his heart sank; these men would only be here for one reason. A few days ago, the plans were
discovered of the Britishs movement on concord to seize munitions. Paul Revere took one step inside the
room, out of the rain. He appeared solemn as he spoke quietly,
JohnThe British are coming. John turned to face his wife and children.
I must go, Concord is in danger. Peter sprinted to his father, grabbing his legs.
Dont go daddy!
Peter, John had no excuse for the child, I have to go. He walked across the room and grabbed the
two rifles mounted above the fireplace. Amy assisted him in gathering his armor and coat.
John, she whispered in his ear, as she embraced him, I love you. Please, stay safe.
Ill try. He walked out the door into the stormy night, splashing in the sanding water and mud
puddles. Paul pointed toward his companion,
John, I would like you to meet a friend of mine, Mr. George Washington.
Chapter V
John, Paul, and George rode as fast as their steeds would run. The thicket of the forest making painful
incisions in their hands. Back at the house Amy and Annabelle sat together on the couch, worrying for John.
They felt secluded because the house was quiet, too quiet.
Junior, Peter? Mrs. Kensworth called for her children. An appalled look of stupidity slowly
overtook her, her jaw dropping and eyes squeezed shut.
Anna, go check the stables. She sighed in frustration. With compliance, she put her coat on and
walked out the door. Mrs. Kensworths under-breath prayers couldnt be heard over the pounding storm; she
knew where the boys were. Anna ran back in side, soaked in water and mud.
Mom, She sounded worry, Were missing one. Amy was on the verge of being indignant, instead
of yelling she breathed in and out, and prayed.
God, I pray that you will keep them safe in this downpour; and give me peace, so I dont beat the
snot out of them when they get back.
John Kensworth broke free of the winding woods, to reveal open plains. Concord, the bunker was a
giant mound of grass. Protecting it would be imperative, because inside was a hidden stash of munitions,
weapons, gunpowder, supplies, and more gunpowder; unimaginable in size. There were at least 70 audacious
minutemen, the core of the American army; all of them facing to the west. Glimmering lamps barely lit the
soggy ground. George Washington and Paul Revere pulled their horses up beside him.
Are they ready, John asked.
What should they be ready for? We are here to deter the coming British, not start a war with them.
Mr. Washington reminded him.
But just in case, John spoke in a coaxing voice, and leaned in close to whispered. George thought,
before rattling off orders to a group of men. At the edge of the woods, two small figures stared out onto the
battlefield; never moving, the lay completely still. A few hours passed, it was now midnight; the men were
growing fatigued. Suddenly, the rhythmic clank of marching echoed through the plains. And soon, rising
over a flattened hill, the British appeared; their red coats, barely visible through the darkness. When the
estimated 700 British soldiers were within shouting distance, they stopped; and stared at the minutemen. The
wind howled in a blustery gale of skin-biting rain. Temperatures were dropping by the hour. Standing water
flowed through the plains; and mud where it didnt. Thunder and lightning frequently frightened the men.
John Kensworth led his horse in front of his men,
I know you dont want to be here. No one wants to think about what could happen tonight. But if
they want to start a war, then by god it starts here. We stand in-between our country, and our king; and no
one wants to fight the king. But what I stand for is more, I stand for god, I stand for freedom, and I hold my
weapons high in freedom, John lifted his rifle high in one hand, I stand for America. John let out a shout,
and the minutemen followed. He had inspired and sparked their hope, their patriotism, and their inner man
ready for war.
Chapter VI
A lone soldier galloped up to the three leaders of the militia. His decorated coat suggested he was
ranked higher than the others in the army.
Disperse you rebels. These munitions are property of the king. In the shadows, ten figures moved
unnoticeably into position. John Jr. and Peter remained hidden as well; never noticed by the soldiers standing
a few feet away. They loaded their weapons and aimed at the minutemen. John stared down the commanding
officer of the British; as he led his horse up closer. Abruptly, the thundering snap of gunshot jolted through
the men. John glanced behind him; seeing eight of his men drop to the ground. He confronted the British
officer, whose face was just as puzzled; except Johns face was redder than a tomato.
You dare provoke me?! John pointed at the man
NO, wait I ordered no at John kicked his horse and led his muskets bayonets into the officers
chest, before pushing him over into the water, the bloody blade sliding back out.
To war! He shouted as he raced for the British. The army of militia raised their guns high and
darted for the other side of the field; the British doing the same. A war had started. Charging through the rain
and mud, John reached in the secret compartment of his horses saddle. Two muskets, bayonets snapped on
the end, held in his hands. With a firm squeeze; the flame tipped hammer crashed down on the gunpowder
chamber. With a fiery boom, two smooth, round balls instantly bored themselves into two British men;
whom dropped to the ground instantaneously. From atop of his horse, John sliced into two soldiers with the
knife attached to his gun; their bodies twirling to the ground. Another gunshot, its origin unknown, brought a
forceful pounding through the horse before it collapsed in mid-run. He fell with his horse as its body
entrapped his legs. A crack sent pain shooting up his hip into his spine as his body sloshed on the ground. His
breaths were interrupted by the flowing water and mud that covered the plains; making his endeavor to free
himself that much harder. He pulled the bayonet of his gun and jabbed it into the dead horses body,
wrenching his shoulder as he hacked away at the tissue, bone, and flesh to gain movement in his leg. Finally
a rib snapped loose, shooting blood into Johns face and he was able to kick and jerk his way to freedom.
While standing up, a British soldier marching by his flank kicked his face, and sloshed back in the mud. But
before the soldier could move on, John reached up and wrapped his hand around the mans boot. Tripping
and sloshing in the mud himself, the British soldier soon regretted stopping. John pulled him back and
planted his bayonet into the mans spine; before giving it a good churn, leaving it askew. Reaching in his
coat, he pulled out his own type of a primitive pre-Samuel Colt revolver. As he tried to stand up, a worrying
pain blasted through his hips, where the horses landed on him; but he pushed through. With 6 bullets in two,
guns 12 soldiers dropped to the ground. When he ran dry, the bayonets from his rifles seemed to do him fine.
He stabbed and jabbed, goring the seven inch blades into the necks of two soldiers, before pile-driving them
into the mud; before ripping them out, blood spewing behind them. One man charged from his flank. John
simply ducked down and thrust the knife in-between the mans legs, immobilizing him.
At the sound of a war cry, John turned around to behold his rescue, horse-bound Paul Revere and
George Washington. They grabbed him and rode back to the bunker, the rain stinging their faces; dodging
bullets as they ducked down inside. It was huge down here. Tons and tons of gunpowder, medical supplies,
etc. John winced as George lay him down against the wall.
I've I've
What is it? Whats wrong? asked Mr. Washington
I've been John stopped speaking, his brain was flustered; he simply pulled back his coat.
Georges jaw dropped.
Paul. George sounded worried, Johns been shot.
Chapter VII
Well be back with help! exclaimed Paul Dont go anywhere. George looked at him in an
awkward fashion,
Paul, the man is shot; and in critical condition, he isnt going to move. As they clambered up from
their bunker, their hearts sank to their feet. They were losing this battle, only 32 of their men remained, and the
British had brought in artillery.
George, if we dont call a retreat were going to a whizzing hunk of fire exploded on the bunker,
send fragments of rock and mud spewing in all directions; a minutemen collapsed in the middle of the field, the
location of his head unknown. British soldiers began taking the left flank, forcing the minutemen away from
the bunker.
George, we NEED to call a retreat NOW!
What about John. I cant fathom what they would do to him if he was caught. Bullets ricocheted off
the bunker, and George and Paul were forced to move, leaving the bunker door exposed. Until the British
moved up to it. There was no wavering, George could see soldiers going inside it; and by now John just might
be dead. He had to resolve it within himself.
Retreat!! He screamed across the war torn, dilapidated plains. It was over.
Inside the bunker; the soldiers puzzled, a man stood before them, something behind his back,
gunpowder all over the floor. Outside, the victors rejoiced and called the Americans cowards. A lone soldier
smirked, and walked across the fields to the bunker; until he tripped on an obscure barrel, in the middle of the
field. When he looked around, there were others, 20 feet apart.
What the bloody he mumbled to himself as he opened one of the kegs. His eyes popped open.

John Jr. and Peter never left the safety of the forest, they still watched the British move about, almost
too scared to move; for fear of being caught. They watched a man run wildly through the plains, hollering
something they didnt understand.

Inside the bunker, the soldiers could hear the screaming of someone outside. A cunning, smug, almost
evil look overtook Johns face.
I know where I am destined for when I die, can you say the same. He pulled a flaming torch out
from behind his back, and stared at the gunpowder all over the stone floors; before he dropped it.
Three British soldiers bolted out of the bunker shrieking bloody murder. In an instant, fire and
brimstone blasted out of the ground 200 feet in the air, sending an eruption of petrifying god-like thunder into
the night sky. Sheer force dismembered poor soldiers by the door, and fire consumed the rest. In another
second, nearby barrels caught fire and exploded, liquefying the British army, sending shards of armor all the
way across the war torn plains. In seconds gravity brought colossal chunks of the bunker raining down in a
giant radius. The entire British army now vaporized. Gone.
George Washington stopped dead in his tracks, a mushroom cloud of fire pillared into the
atmosphere. Instantly, the remaining minutemen returned to the battlefield. Now ashes, a few rocks, where the
bunker once lay. A crater 100 meters wide rest in the middle of it all. George turned to Paul, a look of awe on
his face,
John. From the edge of the wood came the cry of a child,
Daddy! a feeling of heart-brake, fear, almost animosity, welled up inside of Peter, who was running
for the crater. The only thing remaining of the Concord storehouse was the stone floor. Paul observed the floor
closely; melted boards lay in the center of the bunker.
Wait a minute. Paul Revere kicked the boards down, revealing a secret tunnel. George come
here! a man charged out
Boo! George and Paul fell on their feet, and almost wet themselves. John was still alive. Peter and
John Jr. sprinted to hug their father.
John, how are youI had presumed you were dead. George and Paul were puzzled.
I found that escape tunnel; it goes all the way to the forest
That was amazing. I think any man that brave should be leading this army.
No George, you seem like the leadership type. I would rather be humble. I fight for god, I fight for
freedom, and I fight for America. The whole town showed up in seconds. Obviously detonating half the
ammo stores of Massachusetts draws attention Johns wife and daughter ran up to greet him
Honey, what happened?
Its a long story. A really long story.