The Boy Who Would Not Break
Based on true events.
Some people in this world are just built different. And you just know from an early age, there’s something special about them. These are the people God puts through the wringer and still they come out largely unfazed almost all of the time. Take for example the story of young Andy:
March, 1781 – Waxhaws, North Carolina
The soldiers boots thundered through the street, shaking the earth beneath them.
Andy, age thirteen crouched behind a stack of barrels, jaw tight, hands balled into fists As he watched the group of redcoats march, his older brother Robert in tow. Andy was having none of that— at least not without a fight.
Andy had watched the men tie ropes tight around his brother’s wrists, one British soldier dragging him forward like an animal and cracking a whip across Robert’s back whenever Robert moved too slow for their liking.
No fear in his brother’s eyes. But his face was pale, and his shirt was torn at the shoulder where the redcoats had grabbed him. And Andy saw his brother as his responsibility.
Andy swallowed. He needed to move. Now.
Minutes later, during a break in the procession, so some officers could pee, Andy emerged from behind a merchant’s cart and unbeknownst to the British officers, began slowly untying Robert’s knots.
“You’re an idiot,” Robert muttered in a low voice that was almost a whisper..
Andy grinned. “You say that like it’s new.”
The pair took off running, but soon found themselves pursued by the, now angry soldiers.
Andy and Robert crouched near a church, half-hidden by a thick oak tree. Robert’s wrists were red from having been bound too tightly—the rope cutting into his skin.
“If we don’t go now, we’ll never go,” said Andy.
“You should run,” Robert said.
Andy yanked his brother’s shirt. “You really think I’d leave you?”
Robert exhaled sharply. “I think you should live.”
Andy didn’t answer.
And then—
“HEY!”
They turned.
The redcoats were already moving—right at them.
Andy didn’t hesitate. He shoved Robert aside and ran straight at them.
Andy dodged the first grab.
He ducked, sliding under the soldier’s outstretched arms, his feet kicking up mud as he ran.
If he could just get to the trees—
A rifle butt slammed into his ribs.
His vision burst white.
He hit the ground hard, breath ripping from his lungs.
Rough hands dragged him through the filth, pinning his arms behind his back.
A voice chuckled above him. “Squirmy little bastard, ain’t he?”
Andy struggled. Kicked. Bit down hard on the hand gripping him.
“Go to the devil!” said Andy.
The redcoat cursed and punched him across the jaw.
Darkness swam at the edges of his vision.
Then someone grabbed his hair, forcing his head up.
Andy’s blurry eyes focused on Robert—face-down in the mud, a boot pressed against his back.
“Let him go,” Andy rasped.
The redcoat laughed. “Or what?”
Andy spat blood at him.
That was when they really started beating him.
Andy could taste iron and dirt when they threw him inside the prison.
A torch flickered, casting long shadows against the wooden walls.
The officer stood over him, musket resting against his shoulder, eyes sharp.
“You’re a bold little bastard,” he said.
Andy glared. “Get buggered.”
The officer smirked. “You’ll learn respect, boy. We’ll start with something easy.”
He lifted his boot, thick with mud and filth, and shoved it toward Andy.
“Clean it.”
Andy’s breath slowed.
The room was silent.
Andy looked at the boot.
At the mud-caked sole.
At the bloody prints that weren’t his.
His stomach twisted.
The officer sighed. “Go on. Before I lose patience.”
Andy looked up.
And spat on it. “Clean it, yourself, you poltroon. Damn your eyes.”
The redcoat’s face twisted.
The first blow knocked Andy onto his side. The second split his lip.
Then—the sword.
A flash of silver. A streak of fire down his cheek.
Andy gasped.
The pain was white-hot, blinding. His vision swam, and warm blood ran down his neck, pooling in the dirt.
The officer crouched beside him.
“You’ll learn, or you’ll die,” he said through clenched teeth.
Andy’s fingers curled into the filth.
He couldn’t fight. Not here. Not now.
But he could do one thing.
He met the officer’s gaze.
And he smiled.
A bloodied, broken, defiant smile.
Because they could cut him. Beat him. Lock him in a cage.
But they would never break him.
And he would never bend to British will. There was no force in the universe that could make him.
By time Robert and Andy emerged from the jail—several weeks later—following a great deal of effort to free them both, on the part of their mother, Robert was on death’s door— the result of small pox he picked up in prison. He died just a few days later.
In November, Robert’s death was followed by Andy’s mother’s death from cholera, leaving Andy an orphan at merely 14 years of age. And still, Andy did not bend nor break. The wound from the sword slice to his face left a noticeable scar which Andy would wear for the rest of his life.
Little did he or anyone else know during those tough times, that not only would the colonists win the war of Revolution less than two years later but, decades later, Andy would go on to command troops against the British during the war of 1812 and in 1815 during the Battle of New Orleans, where his troops would dub him “Old Hickory” for the strength and resilience he brought to life. And no one could have ever guessed in the prison that day that forty-seven years later, Andy— Andrew Jackson— would take the oath of office as the seventh president of United States of America.
And while by today’s standards, his infamous “Trail of Tears” following the “Indian Removal Act,” (unfortunately popular in its time) would stain his legacy for future generations who would view him only through the eyes of contemporary wisdom, Andrew Jackson also took a hard line against the banks. He decentralized them and remains, to this day, the only President of the United States to ever completely pay off the National Debt. Legacies are a mixed bag, but Andy’s is one of defiance, grit, resilience, and strength— all ingrained in him from the day of his birth.
He never cleaned that soldier’s boot.
Some folks are just built of different stuff.
Wow