Friday, July 2, 2021

New Beginnings

(Source)

Alain nodded to one of the village elders as he walked back to his longhouse. He and his brothers Jacques and Little Wolf had just returned from a successful trip out to their trap lines, they had taken many pelts. Some they would keep, many they would sell to les français up the river in Montréal.

It had been ten years since they had returned to the north after their foray into the territory of les anglais. At that time Little Wolf had been banished from his tribe due to his behavior on a raid. While the other warriors had taken part in killing the settlers and taking captives, Little Wolf had taken a single captive, an Englishwoman with yellow hair, he had run off with her into the forest. For that he had been ostracized.

But upon their return from the war along the Cannitticutt, Little Wolf had been reunited with his kin. He had taken many Mohican scalps and was now acclaimed as a great war chief.

The three men had gone into the wilderness to live with Little Wolf's people. Jacques and Alain had both taken wives and both men had fathered children. Jacques and his woman, Little Raven, had one son and one daughter who still survived. Alain and his woman, Strong  Willow, had only a single son, he was known as Pierre to the French and Little Badger to the Abenaki.

Their village was near the big lake the Abenaki called Pitawbagok, but which the French had named for their great explorer Samuel de Champlain. Most of the people Alain knew simply called it, The Lake.

Strong Bow, an Abenaki warrior, hailed Alain as he neared his longhouse. "Alain! A messenger has come in from les français!"

Alain had ceased reminding the Abenaki that he was himself French, but now he didn't, as far as he was concerned, he was Abenaki now. He spoke as one, he dressed as one, on his last trip to Montréal, the inhabitants there mistook he and Jacques for natives. He didn't mind that at all.

"What word comes from les français my friend?"

"War. Les anglais and les français are beating the war drums once more. Our Mohawk enemies across The Lake are receiving many gifts from the English king. The sachem is worried that we must again fight beside our French friends and their general Montcalm."

Alain realized that Strong Bow was excited at the prospect of another war. He couldn't blame him, the Abenaki warrior was familiar with raids and the like and enjoyed the action. But he might sing a different tune once he'd seen the power of the Europeans' massed firelocks and cannon.

(Source)

Will Jefferson adjusted his uniform coat once again, the damned tailor had made it too snug around the waist. His old wound still bothered him when the weather got wet, he needed a loose coat to try and alleviate that old ache.

He looked down the street with some impatience for his sergeant. The man had gone off with a recruiting party to bring in some last minute recruits. Hopefully he had convinced enough of the old soldiers in the area to rejoin the colors. They would have very little time to train raw recruits on the ship and probably no time at all once they reached the colonies.

It still rankled Jefferson that he had been mustered out of His Majesty's 1st Regiment of Foot Guards after he had returned to England to convalesce in 1745. Apparently the regiment wasn't very impressed with his service in America during King George's War. While he had had some success with his Mohicans, the battle in which he had been wounded had also seen the complete destruction of his warriors.

He still remembered the moment he had seen his friend Standing Wolf's scalp hanging from an Abenaki warrior's waist. He had been nearly sick to his stomach. When he realized that his friend's scalp had been taken by the man who had probably save his life, he had been sicker still. He understood that it was war, but the loss still rankled, both that of his unit and that of his friend.

But now he had been given a second chance. He had purchased a commission in a regiment of foot which had been raised back in '41 by a friend of his father. So once again his father's connections had helped in that regard. Though he was a younger son and stood to inherit nothing, his father still took an interest in his career. With war with France once more on the horizon, Jefferson was glad to be getting back into action. Besides which, it was better than being a vicar in some rural backwater, like his youngest brother Charles.

He saw his sergeant coming now, "Sergeant Duxford! How many?"

The burly sergeant gestured behind him, "Twenty lads Sir, sixteen of 'em are old soldiers, anxious to take the King's shilling once more, plus four lads as innocent as the day they was born. But they're keen Sir, awfully keen. They should make fine soldiers in the 44th!"

Jefferson looked at the men behind Duxford, he wouldn't use the word 'keen' to describe them, but at least they all appeared sober. Which made less of a dent in his company fund. "Very well Sergeant, get 'em aboard and settled. I'm told we sail with the evening tide."

(Source)

"Molly!" Captain Edward Rutland of the newly formed New Hampshire Provincial Regiment called out to his wife as he searched, in vain it would seem, for his gorget. He was about to go on duty and not wearing that item of vestigial armor was frowned upon.

Molly Rutland, née Henderson, walked into their sleeping chamber and pushed her husband aside. "Why is it so important Eddie? It's not like King George himself is going to inspect our little garrison."

"Rules Molly, an army lives by rules. If I show up on parade improperly dressed, what will the men think? What will Sarn't Major Jacobs think?" Rutland was only partially annoyed, he still loved his wife of eight years with a fierce passion. The woman had been held captive by the Abenaki, had seen combat in the forest first hand, she was no shrinking violet. Her personality suited him just fine.

"SIR!" came a bellowing voice from just beyond the door.

"Bollocks, speaking of the Sarn't Major..."

"Language Edward, you're not a sergeant anymore!"

"Yes love. Coming Sarn't Major!"




Link to all of the Chant's fiction.

38 comments:

  1. And what about younguns in the Rutland family? Eight years, there should be, or some tales of woe, as to why not.

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  2. Kudos to your Muse Sarge, life rolls on.

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  3. Your stories have inspired me to pick up a book from the library on King Philip's War. I hadn't realized that, based on casualties as a proportion to population, the war was far bloodier than even the Civil War.

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    1. Living in the area where much of that war took place made me take a new interest in that time period. It was bloody, to say the least. The first part of this tale is set during King George's War (1744-1748) which was the name given to the actions in North America, the war in Europe was known as the War of the Austrian Succession. It's been estimated that 8% of the adult males in the colony of Massachusetts perished.

      King George's War also set the stage for New England's later grievances with Mother England. The fortress of Louisbourg was seized from the French by a force of mostly New Englanders, only to be given back in the peace settlement. Then had to be fought for again in the French and Indian War. While the Crown felt they had spent a lot of money in the colonies, the colonists felt that they had spent a lot of blood to further the interests of the Crown. Both sides had a point.

      Inspiring people to take an interest in history (which I know you, as a naval officer, already have) keeps me going.

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  4. Fast-Forward has its uses. We're only missing our colonial Major, so far.
    Good job as ever, Sarge.
    Boat Guy

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    1. He'll be along shortly. Business in the capital dontcha know...

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  5. And how do you misplace a gorget? Thing's bigger than most rodeo buckles. Do they live in a 14-room house? Bet one of the kids has it
    Boat Guy

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    1. Picture a big trunk with all of the family possessions contained therein. Things get put away and both parties don't always know where.

      DAMHIK

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    2. Because there's always that one piece of damned armor that goes missing, scuffled under something, hidden in a tent flap, stuffed in a helmet or hat, or sitting in plain sight because bedamned armor does that.

      Seen it, experienced it, sat through it, cursed through it. Amazing how one bedamned piece of armor can disappear in a small trunk, or when one carefully lays out one's kit, or when, in the middle of combat, you see it hanging on a chair in your tent right when someone's about to gack you in the neck.

      Don't even get me started on how an athletic cup can walk away. People used to laugh at me when they saw I had 2 - 3 extras (one usually still in the box) and then funny how they'd come, empty handed, asking to borrow one...

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    3. Ah, one who knows the law of misplaced things!

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  6. The part about Jacques and Alain being thought of as non-French has the ring of truth.

    That said, one wishes we would all run to the prospect of quiet, peaceful living as quickly as we ran to the prospect of conflict.

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    1. The coureur de bois of that era usually got along well with the native population. They often took wives, started families, and settled down to live with the Indians. Most of those men of the forest had little in common with those living in the towns. Much like rural America has little in common with the city dwellers in this day and age.

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  7. I saw the movies, you aim first for the guy wearing the gorget!
    The fast forward works well... I know what's coming and it's probably not going to be good for our heroes...but I am looking forward to your take on it!!
    A fine story so far!

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    1. Sucks being an officer in combat. You want your men to be able to recognize you, but if they can, so can the enemy. Though in Europe it wasn't considered "sporting" to aim at the officers, no such niceties prevailed in the New World.

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    2. The gorget. And the hat. Don't forget the hat. The fancier, the higher ranked, the better the score.

      I think it took till about WWII for people to get the damned idea that in war, even occifers should look like everyone else, at least on the front lines.

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    3. It's all about communications. An officer needed to look different, also they were generally of a higher social standing so they could afford nicer things.

      In the British Army the officer's coat was made of a finer material, the red was very scarlet in hue. The men's coats weren't as fine and they tended to more of a brick red in color (cheaper dyes).

      Big hats were certainly a thing as well. In those times, at least in the infantry, two things were of importance to the guy in charge, that his drummer was close by (to convey his commands) and that he be easily recognized. Drummers (trumpeters in the cavalry) wore "reversed colors." For instance, the 44th Foot wore redcoats trimmed with yellow facings (collar, cuffs, turnbacks) so a drummer in the 44th would wear a yellow coat with red facings. Makes the drummer easier to spot. The flag was also important, if the troops get separated from their regiment, they can rally to the flag.

      Even now an officer can be spotted. Look for the radioman.

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    4. Not always necessary to take out the officers to disorganize the unit. Some radio operators know their commander well enough that they can keep the unit functioning even in their absence. (Been there, done that. Somewhat overlooked distinction between the Six, and the Six Actual.) You get orders over the radio that seem reasonable, especially from a voice you're familiar with, you follow them.

      So that's who you really want to take out, the radioman, or the drummer, as the case may be. I'm sure that wouldn't be considered "sporting" either, but war is about winning, by whatever reasonable advantage you can gain. Boy would I have hated to be the guy wearing the yellow coat with red facings!

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    5. Well, musket fire was pretty indiscriminate back then. Everybody took their chances in the battle line. If someone aimed at an officer or drummer, and actually hit him, that would be the unluckiest man alive. Once rifled muskets became more prevalent, things got a lot more sporty, which is why in the latter stages of the Civil War, trenches became more prevalent as well!

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    6. If the barrel is rifled it's not a musket? (picky picky picky...:-)

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    7. Rob- Sarge's use of "rifled musket" is correct. "Rifle" had a distinct connotation as a rifled arm for special "Rifle" regiments, while common infantry still had smoothbore muskets. In 1855 a new family of small arms were adopted and for the first time common infantry were to have "Rifle-Muskets" although they still made special purpose "Rifles" for the rifle regiment.
      About the same time, the Army modernized much of it inventory of smoothbore muskets, converting many flintlocks to percussion and many of those, plus the M1842s made as smoothbore percussion arms, were rifled and designated "Rifled-Muskets."

      And, Sarge's observation of the effect of rifled arms leading to increased use of field fortifications in the Civil War is spot on.
      John Blackshoe

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    8. After a certain point, A rifle capable of taking a bayonet was termed a musket, as it was a military rifle. I once was a reprint of the US Army 1900 Manual of Muskretry. Is was about the use of the Meat Jorgensen.

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    9. Rob - What JB said.

      StB - You really need to turn your autocorrect off. A "Meat Jorgensen"?

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    10. (Don McCollor)...In one of my Korean War books, there was the mention of a US Marine Korean-American Lt Kim. He believed that the way to lead his men was from the front. And to lead them properly, they had to be able to see him. He wore a poncho made from a fluorescent red aircraft recognition panel. Somehow he lived a charmed life...

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    11. Now that was one lucky L.T.!

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    12. (Don McCollor)..And crazy brave...

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  8. Love it. Nice to see everyone has gotten on. Love that the brothers have found happiness living with their friends.

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    1. But how long is that happiness going to last? War is coming to the frontier once more.

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  9. Thanks for the good fast forward.

    And Molly stayed on the frontier or close to the frontier. Good for her. City life would ill-become her.

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  10. Is Molly living near Charlestown, NH? You photo is of Fort Number 4 there, and you missed the opportunity to point this out, a geographic spot we should recall from the first part.
    Good use of imagery. Much harder to find for 18th century than WW2, but still good selections.
    John Blackshoe

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    1. Not Number 4 but the fictional Number 5, which is north of Charlestown, near Claremont. More maps will be along presently, but the action is moving up to the Lake George/Lake Champlain region.

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  11. Alin's son sounds like he will become a sensible fellow, You can't help but trust someone with a name like that!

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Just be polite... that's all I ask. (For Buck)
Can't be nice, go somewhere else...

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