The day was grey and cold as he made his way up a small hill.
church, he couldn't help wondering about his faith...was he not devout
enough? In a world of absolutes, he wasn't sure if he even believed. 'I've
seen so many men die,' he thought to himself, 'Can their really be a God who
would allow this?'
Passed the church now, heading towards a small graveyard.
Its lonely stones looking bleak and weathered. 'How many have died that
were in my keeping?'
He stopped at a worn and simple headstone and read the
epitaph. "I don't know who else to talk to," he said to the air. "Another
man fell last week. He died bravely of course, in battle. I've seen so many
men fall, boys really, and I feel a piece of me is taken out each time." He
sighed, wiping dirt off the top of the marker. "I fear I'm getting old. I'm
not as quick anymore, not as sharp...and I feel my own death slowly creeping
towards me." He paused, thinking about what he had just said. He had told no
one this, not even his wife. "I wish I could still hear your laughter as
we'd play in the gardens. Pirates and Sea Captains...good lord, how on earth
did you ever put up with me?" Just then, he heard the church bell strike. He
looked up, realizing that it was getting late and the sun was setting. "I
miss you mother," he said, composing himself once more. He placed a small
bouquet of wild flowers on the grave and headed back down the hill. 'I hope
you will watch over my fallen comrades...' he silently asked. And the wind
blew through the flowers a little, as if to say, "I will," and Constantia
Pellew smiled down on her son.