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    The Fighting Ground
    The Fighting Ground
    The Fighting Ground
    Ebook120 pages1 hour

    The Fighting Ground

    By Avi

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Scott O’Dell Award for Best Historical Fiction * ALA Notable Book * ALA Best Books for YA

    Newbery Medal-winning author Avi tells the “compelling story of a young boy’s first encounter with war and how it changes him.”—Publishers Weekly

    Jonathan may be only thirteen years old, but with the Revolutionary War unfolding around him, he’s more certain than ever that he wants to be a part of it—to fight for independence alongside his brother and cousin to defeat the British. But Jonathan’s father, himself wounded from battle, refuses to let his son join the front lines.

    When Jonathan hears the tavern bell toll, calling all soldiers to arms, he rushes to enlist without telling his dad. Gun in hand, Jonathan falls in with a militia and marches onward to the fighting ground. It feels like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment.

    But no amount of daydreaming could prepare Jonathan for what he encounters. In just twenty-four hours, his life will be forever changed—by his fellow soldiers, unsuspecting enemies, and the frightening and complicated realities of war. 

    More than thirty years after its publication, award-winner The Fighting Ground continues to be an important work of historical fiction for young readers.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateMar 8, 2016
    ISBN9780062453945
    Author

    Avi

    Avi is the award-winning author of more than eighty-two books for young readers, ranging from animal fantasy to gripping historical fiction, picture books to young adult novels. Crispin: The Cross of Lead won the Newbery Medal, and The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle and Nothing but the Truth were awarded Newbery Honors. He is also the author of the popular Poppy series. Avi lives in Denver, Colorado. Visit him online at avi-writer.com.

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    Reviews for The Fighting Ground

    3.5/5

    97 ratings3 reviews

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    • 4/5
      I liked this book. One reason I liked this book was because of the plot. A young boy, Jonathan, decided to go against his fathers order and signed up to be in the Revolutionary War. He had always dreamed of holding a gun and fighting for what was right. As he is captured by the Hessians, Jonathan found a young boy whose parents were killed. Jonathan breaks away and finds The Corporal. The Corporal asks Jonathan to help him kill the Hessians, but Jonathan does not want to kill anyone. He realizes at this point he just wants to go home. The Hessians capture him once again, but the minutemen assist Jonathan and release him. Jonathan finally returns home to his family. The plot is very suspenseful. Young readers can connect to the feelings and actions that are happening to young Jonathan and can put themselves in his shoes. Another reason why I really liked this book was because the book pushes its readers to think more about the message. The author did not want to explain Jonathan's journey in the Revolutionary War, they wanted readers to dig deeper and realize there was a stronger meaning within this book. Jonathan was having an internal conflict when realizing what a soldier's job entailed. He was not ready for this type of responsibility just yet.
    • 3/5
      I remember reading this in 5th grade. What I most remember is our discussion of the word ambush, which was used in the book. So I can thank this book for teaching me the definition of the ever most useful word "ambush."
    • 3/5
      Eww. Very well-written, clear depiction of a nasty little skirmish in the Revolutionary War, through the eyes of a thirteen-year-old who starts out looking for the glory of war and ends up knowing just how inglorious it is. The setting, characters, and events are beautifully evoked - but it's all just nasty. A bit of Stockholm Syndrome, a lot of lies and evasions, several deaths and assorted betrayals. And confusion through languages - English, German, and French dividing various groups. Well-written, ugly story. I guess I'm glad I read it, but I definitely don't want to reread.

    Book preview

    The Fighting Ground - Avi

    Dedication

    For Kevin and Shaun,

    my sons, with love

    Contents

    Dedication

    April 3, 1778

    April 4, 1778

    The German Translated

    About the Author

    Books by Avi

    Credits

    Copyright

    About the Publisher

    April 3, 1778

    9:58

    It was in the morning when Jonathan first heard the bell. He was standing in the warm, open field feeling hot, dirty, and bored. His father, not far off, limped as he worked along the newly turned rows of corn. As for Jonathan, he was daydreaming, daydreaming about being a soldier.

    His older brother was a soldier with General Washington in Pennsylvania. His cousin had joined a county regiment. Jonathan kept waiting for his father to say that he too could join. He was, after all, thirteen. But his father only put him off.

    Jonathan dreamed of one day taking up a gun himself and fighting the enemy. For he had heard his father and his father’s friends talk many times about the tyrannical British; their cruel mercenary allies, the German-speaking Hessians; and the hated Tories, those American traitors who had sided with the brutal English king.

    But Jonathan’s father no longer spoke of war. During the past winter he had fought near Philadelphia and been wounded in the leg. It was painful for him to walk, and Jonathan was needed at home. Though Jonathan kept asking questions about the battle, his father only shook his head, while his eyes grew clouded. Still, Jonathan could dream. So it was that at the sound of the bell they both stood still and listened.

    The bell, at the tavern a mile and a half away, was used to call the men to arms. This time it tolled only once. Puzzled, they stood alert, straining to hear if more would come.

    Jonathan looked over at the edge of the field, where his father’s flintlock musket leaned against a stump. The cartridge box and powder horn were also there. The gun was primed, ready to be used. Jonathan knew how. Hadn’t his father taught him, drilled him, told him that everyone had to be prepared? Hadn’t he said, We must all be soldiers now? And hadn’t Jonathan talked with his friends of war, battles old and new, strategies fit for major generals? And, having fought their wars, they had always won their glory, hadn’t they?

    So when the bell stayed silent, Jonathan sighed with disappointment. His father turned back to work. The beating of his hoe against the earth made a soft, yielding sound, as if a clock had begun to count a familiar piece of time.

    But as Jonathan resumed his tasks, his mind turned to uniforms, the new New Jersey uniforms. He pictured himself in a fancy blue jacket with red facings, white leggings, a beautiful new gun snug against his cheek. . . .

    Softly at first, but with growing sureness, the bell began to ring again. Each stoke sliced away a piece of calm.

    What do you think? Jonathan asked.

    His father pulled off his black felt hat and mopped his brow with the back of his hand. He was looking south, worry on his face. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his wounded leg.

    Seeing him yet undecided, Jonathan walked to the edge of the field to get a drink of water from the clay jar by the gun. The cool water dripped down his neck, trickled over his chest, and made him shiver.

    The bell tolled on. Jonathan, stealing glances at his father, touched his fingers to the glossy butt of the gun, liking its burly satin finish.

    Maybe you’d best get back to the house, his father said. Could be someone’s come on through with news. I’d need to know.

    Jonathan sprang up. Too fast.

    Jonathan! his father cried. Grabbed by his father’s voice, Jonathan stood where he was.

    Don’t you—by God—don’t you go beyond!

    They looked at one another. Jonathan felt his stomach turn all queer, for in that moment his father’s eyes became unveiled, and they revealed themselves to be full of fear.

    Quickly, Jonathan turned away and began to run through the copse of trees that separated the field from their house. Behind him, the clocklike sound of his father’s work resumed, an echo to the call of the bell.

    10:15

    Jonathan vaulted the split-rail fence, hardly breaking stride. As he came up to the house he’d lived in most of his life, his mother appeared at the door. From behind her skirts his young brother and sister poked their heads.

    What is it? his mother called before he spoke a word. He could see her worry. Each stroke of the distant bell seemed to make her wince. She had always hated the war, even talk of war, fretting so about his brother, who had gone off and yet never sent a word, not one.

    At her question Jonathan stopped short, not wanting to get too close. His bare toes curled into the soft earth. Don’t know, he replied. Pa told me to see if anyone came through with news.

    Not here, she said.

    Maybe they’re going to take back Trenton, he said. Two years before, only twenty miles away, General Washington had beaten the Hessians there. Think they might? he asked, looking about for his shoes. She didn’t reply.

    And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the ringing of the bell stopped, leaving an empty silence. Jonathan wondered if he was already too late.

    Want me to go to the tavern to find out what it was? he asked, edging closer in. He had spied his shoes. They were on the bench by the door.

    Your father tell you to?

    When Jonathan gave no reply, she pushed a slip of hair beneath her cap and slapped away a tugging child’s hand. Maybe you’d best, she said. Your father can’t. And we don’t want to be surprised.

    Not wanting to give her time to change her mind, Jonathan leaped forward, pulled on his shoes, then bolted up and began to run.

    Just find out! she called after him. Then come on right back! You hear?

    Pretending he had not heard, Jonathan kept up his steady run.

    10:25

    Jonathan lengthened his stride, turned a sharp angle, then beat his way to the creek. He passed the cooling house. He sped along the path that edged the old dark woods where the warm, soft smell of rotting wood filled the air.

    Maybe, he thought as he ran, maybe it was going to be a battle, a big one. Maybe he would take a part.

    O Lord, he said to himself, make it be a battle. With armies, big ones, and cannons and flags and drums and dress parades! Oh, he could, would fight. Good as his older brother. Maybe good as his pa. Better, maybe. O Lord, he said to himself, make it something grand!

    He was running harder now, having broken from the path to the Alexandria Road. He passed the place where a boy he knew used to live; they hadn’t quite been friends. He’d gone off and gotten killed. Jonathan didn’t like to think of that. Besides, the boy’s folks said it was an awful war, cursed it, spat on it when they could. People, hearing them, hinted they might be secret Tories. There were lots of Tories like that around, spies and turncoats all. Such folks were warned to keep their thoughts to themselves. Tories got what they deserved.

    Jonathan moved up a small hill and, once on top, paused to catch his breath. A swirl of red-breasted pigeons coursed the air. A squirrel scolded, a crow cackled. It was spring, and warm, and wonderful ripe for war. Jonathan felt sure he could try anything, be anything, do anything anyone might set before him.

    And even as he stood there, unsure what to do, the bell resumed its vibrant call. He could go home . . . or to the tavern.

    But if he went to the tavern, he knew it

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