Since the American Revolution was "launched on a sea of claret" in the words of...ack, now I can remember who said that! If you know, let me know in the comments below or tweet me at @maryjeanadams. Anyway, alcohol has a longand storied history in our nation's founding, so every good story set during the Revolution has to have a bar scene. At least one.
Here's an excerpt of one from my current manuscript. I'm having so much fun with the secondary characters in this story!
"Yo ho!" Zeke called out over the drunken din of packed tables. "Look who's decided to join us. Care for a mug, Jack, or is whiskey more to your likin' tonight?"
Zeke seemed in an unusually good
mood. That didn't bode well. More often than not, affability in Zeke meant he
had either just tormented some poor soul or had his next victim in mind.
Jack marched to where Zeke stood,
one boot on the rough wooden bench, his mug held high while he sang his own
version of God Save the King to the
delight of his brethren surrounding him.
Our choicest shite in store
On
him be pleased to pour
Long
may he aaaachh—
Jack
grabbed Zeke by the collar. "Was it you?"
"You bloody bastard! Was what
me?" Zeke batted Jack's hands away and straightened his tunic. "
"The tarring and feathering. Of
the woman. Last night." He watched Zeke's mottled face for any sign of
recognition but saw nothing.
"What are you talkin' about? I
got better uses for a woman than covering her with feathers." A
black-toothed grin appeared. "Unless of course, we be on a feather
mattress, and it should split it open in the course of our, uh, activities."
"I'll drink 'ta that!" A
man in the corner raised a mug to a hearty round of guffaws and "hear,
hear!"
Jack ignored the randy banter. He knew
nearly every one of the men in the Kettle.
He studied them each, in turn. He would not leave until he found the one
responsible.
Barnabus Bagget skulked in a corner
nursing a pint, but that was not unusual behavior for the man. And, to say that
he couldn't look you in the eye would not be considered out of the ordinary
either. With Bagget's wayward gaze, he never looked anyone in the eye. Still,
was there something more in the way he slumped over his drink?
"Bagget! What about you? You
know anything about it?"
One eye drifted upward then snapped
back. "'Course not." He took another swig.
A hand seized Jack's shoulder. He
was coiled and ready to take a swing when a voice spoke.
"Who is this woman who has
incited you to confront your brothers in arms, Jack?" Anthony's voice was
friendly, but his eyes were as cold as the autumn wind.
Jack narrowed his eyes at his
brother and considered taking a swing after all. The odds were Anthony had done
something to deserve a knock to the
jaw. But, flattening his brother was unlikely to make him any more helpful, so
Jack contented himself with a venomous glare.
"She's a woman. Isn't that
enough?"
"Perhaps. But, I've heard
nothing of any incident involving a woman. How is it that you know so
much?"
"Somebody dumped her in my
field this morning. She's lying unconscious in my spare bedroom."
Zeke tried to start his song again
from the beginning. Unfortunately, he couldn't seem to remember the words, so
he contented himself with humming as loud as he could between gulps of beer.
The rest of his cohorts just returned to their drinking.
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