Return to Sender

(Source)

"Are you sure about this Alain?" Jacques looked at his older brother with concern. What they were doing might be construed as treason in Québec, the capital of New France.

"Did you bother to tell Sergent Malheur of your plan?" Jacques asked his brother with some exasperation.

"Yes. And no." Alain answered.

Jacques looked puzzled, "That makes no sense mon frère, you either told him or you didn't."

Alain stood up from where he had been leaning against a tree, Little Wolf was coming, dragging two poles behind him. "This will work Alain, I made it strong enough to carry the anglais, but light enough so that two of us can pull it with ease." Little Wolf explained.

He then spread the poles on the ground, they were attached at one end in a "V" shape, bound at the top then held together with what appeared to be blood stained strips of leather running from one pole to the other. Little Wolf then nodded towards the unconscious English officer, "Help me load him."

Carefully they lifted Lieutenant Jefferson onto the device, which Alain later learned was called a travois by the French, the Abenaki called it a drag sled. Usually pulled by dogs, this was a larger version which the brothers, Abenaki and French, could use to take the Englishman to where they wanted. Without, apparently, Sergent Malheur's knowledge or blessing.

When Jefferson was strapped down, Little Wolf checked the man's wound once more, it wasn't bleeding but he applied more of the mud/plant mixture he had concocted and packed into the wound.

Jacques thought back to when the Abenaki had pulled his knife, the Englishman had passed out almost immediately, thinking that he was going to die.

Later, as Little Wolf extracted the ball from between two of the Englishman's ribs, then had scrubbed the wound with a rawhide pad and water, the Englishman had passed out again. As Little Wolf put it, "Even the strongest warrior swoons when his wound is cleaned like this. But it's the only way to make sure there is no foreign matter left behind."

Little Wolf had bound the wound tightly, essentially immobilizing the wounded man.

"Sergent?" Caporal Soult had had difficulty finding the sergeant in the fading light, they lit no fires and camped near where they had slaughtered the Mohican war party. After all, a fire would have attracted the Night Warriors, Little Wolf had told them what a bad idea that would be.

"Half of you or more they will kill in your sleep. The others will be taken to their village and tortured until you pray for death."

"No fires then, my Abenaki friend, we shall do as you say." Sergent Malheur had seen the wisdom of the thing.

"Where are the Gaudrys Little Wolf?"

"They are leaving, soon. Can you find your way back to Canada now?"

"Follow the river, stay on the eastern bank?"

"Yes Sergent, if you travel quickly, you should have no problems. Without the wounded man, you will travel faster still." Little Wolf still wondered if telling the French sergeant this was a good idea. But he noticed that Malheur nodded, then grinned.

"It has been a pleasure knowing you Little Wolf. I hope we meet again."

Malheur snapped out of his reverie, "What is it Paul?"

"The English lieutenant is gone, as are the Gaudrys and their Indian."

"I know Caporal, I know. Now quietly rouse the men, it will be dawn soon. When the sun begins to paint the eastern sky, I want to be on the river bank and moving north. Est-ce que ça tu convien?"

"Certainement, mon sergent."¹

As the sun rose over the valley of the Cannitticutt, the sentry on the westward facing rampart saw something which unnerved him.

"Sergeant of the guard! Sergeant of the guard!"

Sergeant Edward Rutland came out of the guardhouse near the gate rubbing his eyes. He had barely gotten to sleep when young Highsmith began his bellowing.

"Private, what's all this bloody nonsense? You'll awaken the entire garrison." As Rutland climbed up to the platform he saw what Lawrence Highsmith had seen. "Well done, laddie, call out the garrison."

The ringing of the alarm bell had the drummers on their feet and sounding assembly within seconds. Major Samuel Jenkins stood by Sergeant Major Edward Jacobs, who was mightily suppressing his own urge to yawn. "D'ya see it Sir?"

"Yes, I do. Rutland, give me ten good men. Sarn't Major, shall we go see who the chap wearing the scarlet coat of an officer is?"

"Very good Sir."

Lieutenant Will Jefferson, late of His Majesty's Foot Guards, awakened to a dull throbbing pain in his side. At first he was confused, then he remembered being ripped open by that Abenaki fellow, then patched up in rather rough fashion afterwards. Somehow he knew that the Indian had cut the ball from him. All things considered, he didn't feel too bad, stiff, oh God yes, but alive.

Looking up he saw Major Jenkins with a party of soldiers. Clearing his throat he managed to rasp out, "Good morning Major, I don't suppose I could trouble you for a drink of water? Tea if you have it?"

Jenkins shook his head, then said to Jacobs, "Get him into the fort Sarn't Major. I fear we shall have to listen to the Leftenant's tall tales for at least this day."

Jacobs snorted, "Yes Sir, I suspect we will."

Jenkins resisted the urge to ask where the lieutenant's war party was, he suspected they were dead or had fled into the forest. Jefferson was quite alone, and in very rough shape.

"Come along Sarn't Major, I don't want to be out here all day."

"Sir!"

- End of Part One, La Rivière -

¹ Does that suit you?

Certainly, my sergeant.

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The Trap

(Source)

Little Wolf had seen twenty men, one of them the English officer Will Jefferson, approaching along the opposite side of the ridge. What he hadn't seen was a second party of twelve men, all Mohicans, led by Standing Wolf. That group had been near the top of the ridge, looking for the Abenaki scouts¹. With no success.

"There is a low spot further along the ridge, Blue Eyes. The French will go that way after skirting the village of the strange people." Standing Wolf had said to Jefferson that morning before dawn.

"Strange people?" Jefferson had asked.

"They believe in strange things, they claim to be Abenaki, but none of the other members of that confederation will have any dealings with them. They fight at night, it is said that they eat human flesh. Strange people."

Jefferson looked unsettled by that news, he also told himself that they should also avoid that place. Cannibals!

Just before dawn Standing Wolf set out with his flanking party, his thought was to get above the notch and set up an ambush there for when the French came through. He assumed that they would do so because in all his dealings with the Europeans they tended to do things the easiest way possible. Why climb over the ridge when they could simply use the notch? It was a perfect spot for an ambush.

He was right.

Sergent Malheur had given Little Wolf eight of his best men, his most experienced men, to cover the right flank of their position. He had studied the terrain in the final light of yesterday. Where the ridge dipped down to the notch it would be easy to send a party slightly above that notch. If he was setting an ambush for someone moving north, he would do that.

Jacques Gaudry was with Little Wolf, so the right flank numbered ten men all told. Caporal² Paul Soult had objected to taking the younger of the Gaudry brothers, the Indian he didn't mind as the man knew the terrain. "Mon Sergent, he is but a boy, I know nothing of him but that he is young. A strong lad, yes, seldom complained on the march south, but still, he is a child."

Malheur nodded thoughtfully then said, "Do you know he travelled the Great River with only his brother last summer? They traveled through these very lands, just the two of them. These Gaudry boys know the forest almost as well as the Abenaki. Let him guide you into position, he knows nothing of war, that is true, but he will listen to you. You should listen to him when it comes to the ways of this land."

"Very well, I still don't like it but..."

"Would it make you feel better to face the Mohican with one less man, or two? He and the Abenaki are close, like brothers. I would not send Gaudry but the Abenaki's French, while very good, may not be good enough for our purposes. At least Jacques knows the words of drill and command."

"Oui Sergent, that much is true."

Dull Knife was watching his war chief, Standing Wolf seemed nervous, something was bothering him. Dull Knife saw nothing to be concerned about, they had defeated les français and their Abenaki dogs many times in the past. This was almost too easy, chasing down frightened children in the forest was harder.

Standing Wolf was nervous, his senses were trying to tell him something on this forested hillside. The day was dawning and the weather was pleasant. How hard could it be to set up an ambush like this? Why was he so on edge?

As the flanking party began to descend down to the lower part of the slope, the forest began to thin out somewhat. Standing Wolf could see the trail that led through the gap between this ridge and the next. As he gave the signal for his warriors to spread out to cover the trail, he caught movement out of the corner of his left eye. He started to turn in that direction.

Private Alphonse Côté was the best shot in the Third Company, perhaps the best shot in the regiment. Caporal Soult had left it to him to judge when it was best to open fire. The patrol was relying on him to start the fight. He wanted to make sure his first shot counted.

He had first noticed the big warrior when he had gestured to the others, clearly the man was some sort of leader. Côté determined that that man would be the first to fall. When he had started to turn in the direction of the French right flank, Côté pulled the trigger of his firelock. As always, he said a little prayer to ask for the flint to strike cleanly and for the spark to travel to the main charge. If that happened, he knew the bullet would fly as true as a smoothbore could send it.

The flash of the priming charge was followed almost immediately by the kick of the heavy musket as the main charge detonated, propelling the lead ball on its way. Côté grunted with satisfaction as he began the process of reloading his weapon. Seeing the smoke billow forth from the small grove in which they were hidden made him realize that the ambush was a success. His fellow soldiers had fired within a second of his shot.

Dull Knife looked on in astonishment as his war chief was knocked to the ground, a spray of bright red blood indicating that Standing Wolf had been badly wounded if not killed outright. His astonishment didn't last long as he too was hit. His last thought was that he would be sad not to see his woman again.

When Lieutenant Will Jefferson heard the rattle of musketry on the hillside above him, his first thought was that Standing Wolf had somehow started the fight too early. There was no way the French would be moving this early. The thought that they had been there all night never crossed his mind. He had severely underestimated his opponent.

Soult was reloading again, for at least the fourth time by his reckoning, the slight breeze had died and the powder smoke was starting to thicken around their position. As he brought his firelock up, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Mon Caporal, the enemy are all down. We should sweep down the hill, we can take the men in the notch from behind." Jacques Gaudry knew for a certainty that the Mohicans they had been firing on were all down, Little Wolf was already collecting scalps in the sparse tress where the flanking party had been slaughtered.

Soult hesitated, then bellowed, "À baïonnettes! En avant!³"

Lieutenant Will Jefferson was down on one knee, he was clutching his right side, trying to staunch the flow of blood from the ball which had torn his uniform coat open and ripped his flesh. The pain was nearly overwhelming.

He looked towards the French line, he knew they were opposed by French soldiers alone, he had heard no war cries, he had seen no arrows fly. The volleys which had emanated from the woods before him had been methodical and deadly. Most of his warriors were down, those who had survived the initial volleys had taken to their heels. He couldn't blame them, had he been able, he would have fled as well. His honor be damned.

When he heard the screams from behind him, he knew the French had closed the trap.

Sergent Malheur commanded the men to cease fire. The smoke was getting too thick to see and he detected no return fire, musket balls or arrows.

"On your feet lads, fix your bayonets."

Fixing his own bayonet, Malheur looked to both sides, the men were ready. As he commanded the men to advance, Alain Gaudry joined him.

"The enemy are destroyed mon Sergent, one man remains, an English officer from the look of it. Caporal Soult's party hit the Mohicans from behind."

Malheur cocked an eyebrow, so there was a European among the Mohican, who, from what he could see, were mostly dead on the ground, one perhaps two were still moving, though weakly, soon to die. "Bring him to me!" Malheur commanded.

"He is badly wounded mon Sergent, he may die."

"Very well, take me to him."

Carefully, Jefferson peeled the tattered cloth away from his wound. The pain was immense. Gingerly he felt the  wound, it wasn't a graze, the ball was still inside him. He was on both knees now, his consciousness seemed to be fading. Surely he couldn't be hurt that bad?

He heard voices, footsteps on the forest floor, he looked up to see three French soldiers walking towards him. Frenchmen, thank God they weren't Abenaki. Then he passed out.

Alain knelt by the Englishman, he checked for a pulse, the man was still alive. "He yet lives mon Sergent."

Malheur nodded, thinking, "What am I to do with a wounded Englishman?" To Gaudry he said, "How bad is his wound?"

Gaudry looked at his sergeant and said, "Bad, I would hesitate to move him."

Malheur nodded again. "Where is Little Wolf?"

Jefferson opened his eyes, he had his back to a tree. His eyes went wide when he saw the Abenaki kneeling in front of him. He was surprised when the native spoke French to one of the soldiers standing nearby.

"You speak French?" Jefferson asked in amazement.

Little Wolf turned to the Englishman with a wolfish grin, "Why not, you do?"

Jefferson nearly fainted when the Abenaki drew a long knife and said, in French, "Hold him."

¹ The Mohicans thought there were more than one, in truth, Little Wolf was the only Abenaki with the French party.

² Corporal

³ With the bayonet! Forward!

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A Plan Is Hatched...

(Source)

At first Sergent Louis Malheur had been somewhat irritated with Private Alain Gaudry. The boy was young and possessed of far more self-confidence than any man of that age should possess. Truth be told, he knew very little of the Gaudry brothers and their Abenaki companion.

By the second day of their trek north, Malheur was starting to have a grudging respect for the elder of the Gaudry brothers. They certainly knew their way around the wilderness. Though he had a rough idea of which direction to go to return to New France, he soon learned that just blundering north would have been a terrible idea. He remembered the afternoon of the first full day of the march.

"North is that way Private, why are you turning to the west?" He had inquired of the elder Gaudry.

"Little Wolf knows this area. Just ahead is a small creek which feeds into a rather large swamp. If we go straight north, we'll spend days in that swamp. By traveling a league to the west, we can avoid the swamp altogether. It saves us much time and is less dangerous." Alain had answered the Sergent.

"Less dangerous how?" Malheur had asked.

"There is a native village on the edge of the swamp, they are Abenaki but they hate les français. They have no love for les anglais as well, if we go near there, they might attack."

"Surely we have enough firepower to defeat them!" Malheur protested.

"They have traps in the swamp to snare the unwary, unlike many of the tribes, they will fight at night. Their numbers are small but they are vicious fighters. We might kill many, but we shall lose many."

Malheur thought for a moment, then nodded. "Carry on Private Gaudry, I defer to your knowledge of this area."

"It is Little Wolf's knowledge, not mine."

"Please tell your friend that I value his skill in these woods." Malheur said, smiling at the man in question as he walked over to join them.

"You are welcome Sergent, I speak your language fairly well, Jacques and Alain have taught me." Little Wolf spoke in French, oddly accented but very understandable.

Malheur blushed and said, "Forgive me for not telling you directly, but your skills are helping us a great deal."

Little Wolf nodded as if to indicate that he knew this already. After a short conversation in Abenaki, Little Wolf slipped back into the forest.

"Where is he going now?" Malheur asked Alain.

"There is a party of Mohican over the next ridge, he is keeping an eye on them. He suggests that we camp here tonight."

Malheur nodded and said, "Then let us do so. Pickets?"

"I think that wise, mon Sergent."

Guards Lieutenant Will Jefferson was staring at the ground in front of him. After a few long moments he realized that he just couldn't see what Standing Wolf was seeing. "I cannot see any difference my friend, the ground looks undisturbed to me."

Standing Wolf nodded, the Englishman still thought like a European, still saw things with a European's eye, not the eye of a Mohican warrior. "Do you trust me Blue Eyes?"

"With my life."

"Someone passed this way today, probably after the morning was well on. There isn't much wind today otherwise I wouldn't have noticed. Do you see here, where the soil is slightly compressed compared to the surrounding soil?"

Jefferson knelt down and looked closely, sure enough, now he saw it, someone had been this way, it was a partial print from a human foot wearing native footwear. It almost looked natural, but there was a line, a slight indent which was unnatural.

"A scout?"

"I think so, we are being watched."

"Alain."

Alain looked up to see his brother Jacques approaching. "What is it brother?"

"Little Wolf says they are coming. Twenty men, one of them a European, probably anglais."

Sergent Malheur had overheard the conversation, brief as it was. "The Mohicans?"

"Yes, mon Sergent. Little Wolf left a subtle clue for their trackers to find. It seems his ruse worked."

"Are you saying that he has led them here?" Malheur asked with some alarm.

"No, Sergent, the Mohicans are going to this place." Jacques sketched a rough map in the dirt. "The ridge ends here, it will take them another day to reach that spot. There is a narrow gap between there and the river, they will have to pass that way. We propose to attack them there. If you have at least fifteen men who are reliable and can shoot, we should be able to end the Mohican threat and continue on to Montréal."

Malheur looked at the rough map, "What is this here?" he said, pointing a a set of wavy lines Jacques had sketched in.

"That is the swamp we just went around. Do you see the possibilities?" Alain asked.

Malheur studied the map Jacques had drawn, he thought it might work. "Do you think Little Wolf can draw them here?" he asked, pointing at the notch in the ridge.

Alain smiled, "He already has mon Sergent. The Mohican will camp tonight to prepare themselves for battle. After all, we are merely French neophytes lost in the woods, yes?"

Malheur suddenly smiled at the thought of the men who had killed his officers and so many of his men being drawn into a trap.

"Let us head there now, the men have rested enough!"

By nightfall, Malheur and the Gaudry brothers had positioned the men. If Little Wolf did his part, the Mohicans stood no chance. They would hit the ambush position shortly after sunrise.

Little Wolf played his role superbly, the Mohicans were already boasting of their coming victory. The Abenaki warrior listened to those boasts from his position nearby. These enemies were overconfident. Soon, they would be food for the creatures of the forest.

Link to all of the Chant's fiction.

Malheur

One Step at a Time
Doug Hall
(Source)

As the bedraggled French soldiers moved away from the fort, Sergent Malheur let Sergent Bernard know, in no uncertain terms, that by right of seniority he was now in command. Bernard tried to protest, but he did so in vain. Bernard realized that he was completely out of his depth in this situation.

Sergent Louis Malheur had been a soldier for over twenty years, first in Europe, now here in the New World. His regiment had arrived in Quebec three years ago. He had served on garrison duty in that town until he had been told to retire. Not asked, but told. He could have gone back to France but he chose to stay in New France.

After casting about for employment, he had been in a small tavern on the Rue Saint-Louis when he had been accosted by a sergeant recruiting for the Compagnies franches de la marine.

"You there, you look like a soldier. We could use a fellow like you in the Compagnies!"

Malheur had turned to look at the man, "My own regiment, the Régiment de Carignan-Salières didn't want me, why should la marine want me?"

The man had sidled up to Malheur, "Different rules mon vieux¹, we belong to the Navy not those old women of the Army."

When Malheur started to bristle at the insult, the sergeant of la marine sat down, "No insult intended, I am Pierre Tournières. We need experienced men in la marine, many of our recruits are young and inexperienced, an old hand like you would be welcome."

One thing led to another, which is how Sergent Louis Malheur found himself in the wilderness far to the south of Quebec City. He knew that if he struck out for the north, very few of the men would make it, they were children in this vast wilderness. The Abenaki might give them succor, but after the bloody defeat they had suffered at the hands of les anglais, they might turn against them as well. Malheur figured they were on their own.

"Hold up!" he had commanded when the men had entered the edge of the cleared zone near the fort. Bernard looked at him in confusion.

"Les anglais commanded us to leave. Why are we stopping?"

Malheur turned in amazement, "Since when do we belong to les anglais? A pox on them. We will camp here for the moment. There is no sense in setting out into the forest with no plan, no direction, and no supplies. We wait."

The Gaudry brothers and their Abenaki friend left the Frenchmen who had fled with Alain in what they had hoped was a safe place. Alain had let them know that moving about in the forest could get them killed. The Mohicans were certainly still around. After leaving them, they had returned to the ambush site, as Alain had figured, there were still muskets and other equipment laying about. The Mohican had no need of them, they did. So they re-armed themselves.

"Little Wolf, do you think your kinsmen might lend us aid? We need to guide those other soldiers back to the north, they cannot do it themselves." Alain said as they made their way towards the fort, alert for any sign of the enemy.

Little Wolf shook his head, "It will be another moon before my people will return to war, they have many to bury, many to mourn. But they will return to the warpath, eventually. Though I think not against les anglais."

Alain saw the truth of the matter, he turned to Jacques and said, "We must lead them north as best we can. We know the way."

"We don't have canoes brother, we will have to go on foot." Jacques pointed out.

"I know, but if the soldiers stay here, they will die."

Turning to Little Wolf, "You do not have to help us my brother. You have done enough."

Little Wolf looked disappointed. "I will not abandon my French brothers, you are the only kin I have left. Come let use make contact with the other soldiers. We need to start soon."

Malheur awakened just before dawn, something wasn't right. Getting up he looked for the sentries, all of them were asleep. He also discovered that Sergent Bernard was gone, along with fifteen men. Apparently he was going to strike out on his own.

The fool.

As he stood there, looking into the forest, almost bereft of hope, he heard a voice call out to him. A French voice.

"Hallo, Sergent Malheur, it is Private Alain Gaudry!"

Malheur was instantly on alert, he had seen Gaudry slip into the woods with a few others before he could stop them. But he had come back, he wondered why.

"Advance and be recognized." Malheur called.

Alain approached, he was armed, his brothers had scrounged weapons from the dead, firelocks, tomahawks, and enough powder and shot to make him feel safe again. He might be killed in the forest, but not without a fight.

"Sergent." Alain walked into the open, firelock in the crook of his left arm, his right hand raised in a sign of peace.

"Gaudry, where did you get a firelock?"

"There are many in the forest, the Mohicans did not take any. There are more. I wish to help you get away from this place. My brothers and I have traveled this land, we know the forest, we know the people. If you stay here, you will die."

"You abandoned your post Private..."

"Only to make contact with my brothers, one of whom is Abenaki. You must rouse your men, we need to start moving."

"Where are we going?"

"Montréal."

"How can I trust you?" Malheur was suspicious.

"Whether you trust me or not, I don't care. I and my brothers are going north, to Montréal, if you wish to come, then come. If you do not, then stay. I will give you until the sun is one finger above that mountain." He pointed to the ridge in the distance. "We will return to see you ready to travel, or ready to die. It is your choice."

"Give me time to rouse the men, we will go now. I see no other choice."

"You are a wise man mon Sergent. Make haste."

Sergeant Rutland reported to Major Jenkins, "Sir, the French, they've gone. Moved north I think."

"Good riddance to them. Now find my orderly, we have a busy day ahead. Sarn't Major!" Jenkins was bellowing for the senior non-commissioned officer, as he did at the start of every day.

Rutland was beginning to wonder who actually commanded the unit.

Editor's Note: Posting may dwindle to virtual silence over the next cuppla. We have family in town and a very sick kitty to boot. Things may get hectic this week. My morale is in the dumpster, thank the Lord that The Nuke and her tribe are inbound. Seeing the grandkids will be nice. A bientôt.

¹ My pal (vieux also means "old")

Link to all of the Chant's fiction.

Into the Forest

(Source)

Sergeant Major Jacobs didn't agree with what Major Jenkins, his commanding officer, was doing. He stood there, hands on his hips, as he surveyed the French prisoners. They had captured forty-three of them on the field of battle. The Mohicans had pursued the survivors who had fled into the forest, they brought back five men, all of whom had been roughly handled. One of them had died in the night from his wounds.

"Forty-seven of 'em Sarn't Major. I don't give 'em much of a chance out there in the wilderness. It's a long walk to Montréal." Sergeant Rutland shook his head, it seemed inhuman to release these men and subject them to the mercies of the wilderness and the natives. He wagered that less than a dozen might survive the trek.

"Orders, Rutland."

Rutland shook his head, "I know Sarn't Major but..."

"I already pled their case to the Major. He's reluctant to send these men back to Rumford under guard. Which he has a point, that would require thirty to forty men of ours, and we can't afford that reduction in strength. Particularly now that Leftenant Jefferson has gone off in a snit with his Mohicans." Jacobs looked to where the Major was instructing Captain Manderson on the changes he wanted to make to the fort to accommodate the increased garrison.

Rutland turned to one of the two surviving French sergeants, a man with the odd (yet fitting) name of Malheur¹, "Nous avons nos ordres Sergent, vous devez quitter cet endroit immédiatement. Vous ne serez pas autorisé à entrer dans le fort.²"

Sergent Malheur simply shrugged his shoulders and said, "Je comprends, c'est la guerre, que faire?³"

Jacobs looked in amazement at Rutland, "You speak French like a bloody Frog!"

Rutland grinned and said, "I actually spent some time in France. That idyll came to an end when the lady's parents objected to my presence. So I left in rather a hurry, wound up here in the New World."

"You're a man of many surprises, Rutland." Jacobs shook his head as he said that, the man was educated, that much was plain to see.

Alain told the men near him, "Stay with me, I know the forest. My brothers will be there and will help get us to freedom."

Sergent Bernard gave Alain a nasty look, "You men will stay with your company and not wander off. You are still soldiers of the Compagnies franches de la marine and will obey orders."

Alain just looked at the man, "Bon chance Sergent. I truly hope you might find your way home, but I fear that your scalp will adorn a warrior's lodge before you have traveled two days."

"Cochon! How dare you..."

They were interrupted by a party of English soldiers, all with bayonets fixed to their firelocks. "Up you dogs, time to move. Allez, allez!" Which was all the French they knew.

Five of the men went with Alain. Before entering the forest, he bade them take off their greyish-white coats, the blue of their waistcoats wouldn't stand out as much in the shadows of the forest.

"What if the night is cold Alain?" one of them asked.

"Then you huddle with your mates, that white coat is like a bright beacon in the wilderness, it cries out to the Mohicans, 'Come, come and take my scalp!'" Alain told the man, a very young soldier named Louis.

The men followed Alain willingly enough, they knew that to stay with the others was to die. The sergeants had insisted the men march in a column, bunched together. Alain knew that most of them would die in the forest, the lucky ones. The unlucky would be taken to an Indian camp and slowly tortured to death. It was the way of many of the tribes.

Within an hour of entering the forest, one of the men with Alain stopped and groaned, "Mon Dieu, we are dead men."

For there, just up the trail, stood two of the natives of this savage land.

Little Wolf's face broke into a broad grin when he recognized Alain among les français staggering through the woods, only Alain would move with such confidence in the forest, his feet making almost no mark on the forest floor.

"Ça va mon frere?" Little Wolf called down to the man he knew as a brother.

Alain looked up, he thought he had recognized Little Wolf, but he was surprised to see Jacques with him, he had feared that his brother had been killed. The last he had seen him, he had been fighting hand to hand with a large Mohican warrior.

"Brother, you yet live?" Alain called out.

"The Mohican has not been born who could kill a Gaudry, my brother. Who are these children you bring with you?" Jacques called in a laughing tone, in Abenaki so that the other Frenchmen wouldn't understand.

"Survivors my brother, like you and me. We need to be away from here. One of les anglais left the fort with a number of Mohican scouts, I fear his plan is to kill the captives who were released this morning."

"Released? To go where?" Jacques asked in astonishment, knowing full well that the soldiers he knew wouldn't last a day in the wild on their own.

"Supposedly to return to New France, but you and I know that is ridiculous, the bastard anglais sentenced them to a slow death. It would have been better for them to have just bayoneted us on the spot." Alain answered, anger and sadness mixed in his voice.

Little Wolf looked at the French and said, "We have lingered too long. We must be away and quickly, tell your friends that if they cannot keep up, they will most surely die at the hands of the Mohican."

Alain did so, two of the soldiers looked as if they would sit down and cry, until Alain told them of the sort of death they could expect from the Indians.

The party was off and moving briskly in no time. Little Wolf went ahead, both to scout a path and also to stay away from the Frenchmen, who were making more noise than a wounded bear. If they survived the night, he would be amazed.

¹ Malheur translates to bad luck or misfortune.

² We have our orders, Sergeant, you must leave this place immediately. You will not be allowed to enter the fort.

³ I understand, it is war, what can one to do?

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Aftermath

(Source)

Standing Wolf came into the fort seeking Lieutenant Jefferson. Seeing him talking to Major Jenkins outside the soldiers' barracks, he walked in that direction. His heart was heavy, six English soldiers had been wounded in the fighting, only one seriously, but twenty-two Mohican warriors had fallen in the battle in the woods. Some of the French soldiers had fought fiercely and even though most of the Abenaki and Wyandot scouts had been taken down early in the fight, some of them had taken a Mohican warrior with them to the spirit world.

In the middle of their conversation, Lieutenant Jefferson noticed Standing Wolf, waiting patiently to talk with the English officers. "Standing Wolf, my brother, you are troubled."

"Yes Blue Eyes, we lost many warriors in the forest. Grey Bear would like to take our dead to a place where they can be sent to the spirit world properly. I know of your customs of burying the dead, we do that as well, but only after a period of days. And it must be near our ancestral home. He would take only twenty warriors, leaving the others here at the fort."

Jenkins nodded and said, "This is only right. Take what time you need. The French are not a threat right now. Neither are the Abenaki. We hurt them bad enough that it will be some time before they attempt another attack. Go my friend, take care of your dead, they died bravely and well."

Standing Wolf nodded and said, "I shall tell Grey Bear of your decision Long Knife, you are wise. I, however, will not be going. Grey Bear wants me to lead the warriors being left here."

"Very well, I, for one, am glad you are staying," Jenkins said.

Jacques and Little Wolf had managed to avoid the Mohicans who were hunting down the fleeing French stragglers. Most of them were killed and scalped when caught. Some were taken prisoner. Jacques was surprised to see one small party of captives being taken back to the fort. He looked at Little Wolf and said, "They are taking them to les anglais? I would have thought that the Mohicans would have taken them to their own camp and tortured them."

"No, I think the chief of les anglais wishes to talk with them. To try and find out why the French were here. Perhaps they don't know that the war drums have sounded between les français and les anglais." Little Wolf spoke as if were unsure, which he was, his dealings with Europeans other than the Gaudry brothers were limited.

"I did not see Alain among the captives." Jacques was beginning to despair of his brother's survival.

"I think he is still alive, he is a strong man, and smart."

Alain Gaudry was indeed still alive. He had been knocked unconscious by a fragment of another man's skull when the first English volley had torn into their ranks. The man in front of him had been hit, his head shattered, Alain had also been doused with that man's blood. The English soldier who had found him was stunned that he was alive. He had looked awful.

Other than a throbbing headache and a large knot on his forehead, Alain was very much alive. He was in a makeshift stockade where the English were keeping their captives. All of whom were French, none of whom were his brother Jacques. He was worried about his brothers, he included Little Wolf in that category. He had not seen a single Abenaki or Wyandot survivor from the battle.

What would he tell his father if he ever returned to New France? His father was right, they should have stayed coureurs de bois, Alain had had more than enough adventure wearing a uniform. Army life did not suit him at all.

"Begging your pardon Major, but what are we going to do with these prisoners?" Captain Manderson was new to the frontier, he had heard stories of prisoners being killed out of hand. But surely that was the savages, not his fellow Englishmen.

"I suspect I'll need to put a party together and take them back to Rumford. Let the Crown worry about them. I certainly don't want to either house them or feed them for very long." Major Jenkins looked out towards the river, he could see the Mohican burial party crossing the Cannitticutt. Grey Bear had said that they would return "before the next moon," which Jenkins interpreted as the next full moon, which was in roughly two weeks.

"Your Sergeant Major, MacDuff I believe, is he reliable?"

"Yes Sir, he's a good man, was in the Coldstream Guards before coming out here. Apparently there was something about a gambling debt. Couldn't stay with the Guards of course, but the Governor saw fit to make him a sergeant major, and he's proven himself rather good at it. Why?"

Jenkins thought for a moment, then said, "I'd like you to take a detachment of thirty to forty men and escort the prisoners back to Rumford. Your man MacDuff can command your company while you're gone. Is that acceptable to you?"

It was Manderson's turn to think. The trip out here had been arduous to say the least, he didn't relish making the trip back to Rumford then returning here again, and so soon. "Might I have some of your Mohicans as scouts? I'd feel much better about the round trip."

"Who wants my warriors and for what?" Lieutenant Jefferson jumped into the conversation unbidden and unexpected as he walked up.

"At ease Leftenant, I know how you feel about colonial officers. Out here, I don't care what London says, I am your superior officer. I would like to attach some of your men as scouts to Captain Manderson's column when he takes the French prisoners to Rumford."

Jefferson arched at eyebrow at that, "Why waste the manpower, Sir, if I might be so bold, Sir? Just let the Frenchies go free, tell 'em to head north. I doubt that we'll ever have to worry about them again."

Manderson was rather shocked at the cold-bloodedness of Jefferson's proposal, perhaps they were all savages out here, this lieutenant certainly dressed like one. Then again, to not have to make that trip?

"That is quite out of the question Leftenant, it is barbarous that you should suggest such a thing..." Jenkins began.

"On the other hand, Major..." Manderson interjected.

"What, you as well, Captain?"

"The Abenaki are their allies, surely they won't harm these Frenchmen. The trek north would take them many days, and you have already detached a sizeable number of Mohicans from your command, detaching another thirty to forty men would leave you weak here. If the Abenaki were to gather their strength..." Manderson made it all sound so reasonable.

Then Jefferson chimed in again, "The scouts are my men Major, I am seconded to the 29th Foot and their commander sent me to rally the Mohicans to our side. I am not under your command, neither officially nor by any agreement between the Governor of this province and the Crown. I am free to come and go as I see fit in order to accomplish my mission. Need I remind you, Major, that because of my position in the Foot Guards, I rank as a major in the regular service. Also, as I am an officer in the King's Guard, I am certainly higher in rank than a mere colonial."

Jenkins began to turn bright red, he was astonished at the effrontery of this man. "You Sir, are, I might remind you, thousands of miles from London and your precious regiment. I hold the command of this fort, if you wish to remain here, you will obey my commands. Otherwise, I invite you and your scouts to depart."

Oh dear Lord, what have I gotten into the middle of? Manderson asked himself.

Jefferson simply nodded, turned on his heel and called out, "Standing Wolf, gather the men. We are going north to hunt the Abenaki!"

They marched out of the fort that very day.

Sergeant Major Jacobs stood atop the western palisade with his commanding officer, who was still fuming as he watched Jefferson and his Mohicans head out of the fort, then bend to the north.

"Bloody pompous ass." Major Jenkins muttered.

Jacobs simply said, "Begging yer pardon Sir, that was a mistake. I hope it doesn't get us all bloody well killed. Begging yer pardon. Sir."

Jenkins said nothing, he knew that Jacobs was right and he knew he could have handled things better. As he watched the scouts disappear into the woods, he turned to Jacobs and said, "Tomorrow morning cut the Frenchies loose, send 'em home, send 'em north."

"Sir?"

"You heard me Sarn't Major." Jenkins then went down the ladder and to his quarters without another word.

Jacobs sighed, then shook his head, "Bleeding officers and their bleeding honor."

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They Had No Chance

(Source)

Surprisingly, the company sent out from Rumford under Captain Horace Manderson had arrived at the fort without having seen any trouble along the way. Two men died on the trip out, one from a fall, the other a suicide, but Manderson had left Rumford with 97 men, he'd arrived with 95.

"So this is Number Five." Captain Manderson said after doffing his cap to Major Samuel Jenkins.

"Number Five, Captain?" Jenkins looked puzzled.

"Yes, the Governor of New Hampshire refers to this place as Number Five, seems logical as we have posts running up the Cannitticutt starting with Number One, we're north of Number Four, so..."

"Ah yes, makes perfect sense.¹" 

"So Major, where would you like my men to bivouac? It's obvious there isn't enough room within the fort to accommodate all of us, so..."

At that moment one of the Mohicans raised a blood-curdling cry from atop the westward facing palisade. While most of the Englishmen turned in that direction, Lieutenant Will Jefferson and his Mohican companion, Standing Wolf, looked to the west, towards the river. Within moments they could see what Tall Crow had seen from his higher vantage point, a party of Mohican warriors coming up from the river.

"How many do you see Standing Wolf?" Jefferson asked, shading his eyes against the afternoon sun.

"Many warriors, Blue Eyes, sixty-seven by your way of counting. There, you see the tall man in the front? That, my friend, is Grey Bear."

Jefferson could now see the man Standing Wolf mentioned. A very large warrior, both tall and broad, his hair was grey, like a wolf's pelt. He was a man of some years but from the look of him, he was a powerful man. Jefferson now understood why his name was known along the length of the Cannitticutt.

"Lieutenant!" Jefferson heard his name being called, he turned to see the Major walking towards him along with the new captain.

"Sir, how may I be of service?" Jefferson doffed his hat to both men. It wasn't really necessary as a Guards lieutenant stood higher in the service than even a major in the colonial service. But he knew when to subordinate himself to the greater good, which was keeping the men in the fort alive.

After introducing Manderson and Jefferson, Jenkins said, "I would greatly appreciate you taking command of my old company, Leftenant. I believe our Mohican allies have two war chiefs now to lead them. So they might dispense with your services?"

"It would be my honor Sir. Standing Wolf expressed much the same thought." He looked over to where the Mohicans were greeting each other. As he watched, he saw a man come running towards the fort from the north.  He thought he recognized the man, ah yes, He Laughs, a most ironic name for a man who seldom smiled.

He saw the man talking with Standing Wolf and Grey Bear, then saw Standing Wolf point in his direction. He Laughs immediately ran up to him as the Mohicans began to move off to the north.

"Blue Eyes, the French are coming down the valley, my people are going out to meet them and slow them down. Grey Bear says that if you form a line with your fire sticks south of the little river, you can kill many Frenchmen. We will be in the woods to either side of the trail they use. None will escape." He Laughs had said all of this in Abenaki, which Jefferson spoke rather well now. Of course, neither Jenkins nor Manderson had any idea of what was said.

So Jefferson quickly explained as He Laughs ran off to join his people. Jenkins' eyes lit up.

"Sarn't Major! Muster the battalion immediately. We march north as soon as you're quite ready!"

"If you'll excuse me Sir?" Manderson tipped his hat as he walked over to take charge of his own company.

Jenkins let the men in his own company know that they were to follow Jefferson into battle, "You go to war with one of the finest scouts on the frontier. An officer in His Majesty's Foot Guard!"

Sergeant Rutland immediately raised a "Huzzah!" Within minutes the men were formed in march column and were setting off.²

"Alain, something is wrong, I can sense it." Jacques Gaudry looked nervously at his brother. Their sergeant looked back and nearly told them to be quiet, but he too was nervous. He knew the brothers had experience in this wilderness.

"Yes, Jacques, there are people to our flanks and they are not our allies. Where are our flankers and lead scouts?"

The column marched on, though a ripple passed down it as more of the men felt an unseen presence. As for the Abenaki and Wyandot scouts, most of them were dead, ambushed and overwhelmed with barely a whisper. Little Wolf still lived, he had pulled the corpse of a dead Abenaki over himself, feigning death as the Mohican passed him by.

Sous-Lieutenant Louis François Joseph Marie de Vignerot was marching idly along beside the first men in the column. He could see that the trees began to thin out just ahead. The young noble had superb eyesight and thought he saw people forming up in the fields past the edge of the forest. People in red uniforms. As he turned to tell Capitaine Alphonse Étienne Comte du Langeron of his observation, he thought one of his soldiers had punched him from behind. He was puzzled and not a little upset.

Sergent Pierre Caillou couldn't believe his eyes as the young lieutenant sank to his knees, blood was beginning to issue from his mouth as well. Only when the young man fell onto his face did the sergeant see the arrow in his back.

"Alarme! Alarme! Les indiens attaquent!³" As the sergeant bellowed his warning, the man next to him spun around and fell onto him, an arrow protruding from the side of his head.

"Steady! Form up, form line!" The captain was trying to get the men to deploy into a firing line, then realized that would be impossible here in the trees.

"Advance! To the meadow! Third company, cover the rear!"

Major Jenkins watched as the French came stumbling from the woods, they were trying to form ranks to fire upon the Indians attacking their flanks, and now their rear. It seemed that they had not noticed the English formed to their front.

"Battalion will advance!" Jenkins commanded.

The drummers began to beat the pace as the line advanced. Some of the French heard those drums and turned, not sure what to think. Once they realized that the soldiers were English, some of them tried to form a line to face the advancing red ranks.

It was far too late.

Third Company had managed to semi-form and fire a single volley. A number of the Indians went down, but these new troops were very slow to reload. Before they could fire another volley, a tide of screaming Mohican warriors overwhelmed them.

Capitaine Alphonse Étienne Comte du Langeron saw his Third Company torn to red ruins in mere moments. He drew his sword.

"Second Company! To me! First Company, about face. Sergent Malheur take command of the First!"

As he turned to take the Second Company under command and face the English, the red coated ranks fired a volley.

(Source)

The French battalion was in utter ruin. Most of the men threw down their arms and begged mercy from the English. Those of the First Company who could, ran towards the English line with the Mohicans in hot pursuit.

Before the day was done and Major Jenkins regained control of his Mohican allies, one-hundred and three French soldiers were down, many of them dead, many of them wounded badly enough that they would not survive the night.

A number of the French had shed their grey-white coats and fled into the forest. Jenkins released the Mohicans to track them down. "Bring us prisoners Standing Wolf, they can give us information." Jenkins had pleaded. He truly doubted any of those Frenchmen would survive. If the forest didn't kill them, the Mohicans would.

Sergeant Major Edward Jacobs came up to Jenkins and reported, "Forty-three prisoners Sir. Some of 'em wounded, most are okay, but they're all absolutely terrified."

"Did we take any officers?" Jenkins wanted to know.

"No Sir, just two sergeants. One of 'em said that all of their officers fell, there were three of 'em I gather."

"Pity, the common soldiers won't have much information as to the French king's intentions in the New World I should think."

"Probably not Sir. King's don't hobnob with the likes of fellows like me."

Jenkins grinned, "I don't know Sarn't Major, I rather think our king would get along with you just fine."

Jacques Gaudry had stripped the clothing from a dead Abenaki. Though he now looked somewhat like a native, he was disturbed at how pale his skin was. It had been some time since he'd been long enough in the sun to darken up. Living in an army barracks wasn't conducive to that sort of thing. He gathered soil from the forest floor and rubbed it into his face and neck, arms and legs. An imperfect disguise at best he realized.

He had met up with Little Wolf and the two had hidden themselves as the Mohicans chased the French survivors through the forest. They were safe for the moment. But Jacques worried, where was his brother Alain?

They had been separated in the fierce fighting at the tail of the column. The last sight he had of Alain was his brother locked in combat with a Mohican warrior. Then he too had had to grapple with a screaming warrior who had thoughts of lifting his scalp.

His bayonet had silenced that man, but in the melee he had lost sight of Alain. Now he had to find his brother. He couldn't leave this place without knowing Alain's fate.

Maps -

The area around the Fort at Number 5
Google Maps

The area of our story.
Google Maps

The Tribes of the Northeast
(Source)

Editor's note: To my knowledge, no battle like the one I describe occurred in the vicinity where I had it taking place. It would have been very unusual for a French unit to be that far south. Unlikely and improbable, though not impossible. Call it artistic license...

¹ As I've mentioned before, the post at Number Five is entirely fictional. The posts at Numbers One through Four really did exist (see this post). There is a museum/tourist attraction in Charlestown, New Hampshire which is a recreation of the Fort at Number Four. I spent a summer there firing a cannon. Great fun.

² Jenkins had 96 men available for duty at the fort, of whom twenty were left behind under a corporal to guard the fort. Manderson's company had 95 men. So under Jenkins' immediate control were 171 men. Grey Bear and Standing Wolf controlled 73 Mohican warriors. The French numbered roughly 210 men, European and Indian. Most of the Europeans were poorly trained.

³ The Indians are attacking!

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The French Move South

(Source)

Shadow Walker watched as the party of soldiers made their way down the trail. They were not dressed as their friends the English did, these men wore coats the color of clouds on an overcast day. He turned to look at the man with him, He Laughs.

"French soldiers." Shadow Walker hissed.

He Laughs nodded.

As the two Mohicans slipped away from the enemy column, both noted that the French had scouts ahead and to either side of their column. Not Abenaki, but Irri-ronon¹. A matter of some concern, these men were a long way from their home along the Kaniatarowanenneh². They must get back to the fort and let Blue Eyes know this!

Captain Samuel Jenkins was sitting in his quarters with Lieutenant Will Jefferson and the Mohican war chief, Standing Wolf. The three men were pondering the meaning of a dispatch which had been brought to the fort by a rider from Portsmouth. Britain and France were at war and had been since March. The Governor of Massachusetts was expected to follow suit any day now.

The Governor of New Hampshire had already placed the colony on a war footing, it was expected that whatever the governor of Massachusetts did, New Hampshire would do as well. Jenkins had also been informed that another company of his regiment was on its way to them under a Captain Horace Manderson. A separate letter for him personally had notified him that he was gazetted to major upon receipt of the letter with all the rights and privileges pertaining to that rank.

"Congratulations Major Jenkins." Jefferson offered. He was torn between staying with his Mohicans or returning to his own regiment, the 29th Foot. War was coming as was the chance of promotion. He liked the idea of being promoted, he had the funds to make the purchase, but he enjoyed life on the frontier and he had come to care deeply about his Mohicans.

After the massacre in the forest, only six Mohicans remained out of a war party of nearly forty men. Standing Wolf, the war chief who led the war party, still burned at the loss of his warriors. He hated to admit that the Abenaki had outwitted him, but they had. His remaining men - Slow Fox, Small Elk, He Laughs, Shadow Walker, and Tall Crow - were still loyal and were more than ready to stay on the war path with their English brothers.

Two days ago a messenger had come into the fort from the Mohican council of sachems at Esquatak, more warriors were coming to join Standing Wolf. Great Bear of the Wolf clan, Standing Wolf's sachem, was sending his three sons with that party.

"It seems that we all have much to celebrate, Blue Eyes. You will have at least fifty warriors to help you. My sachem has confidence in you and your English soldiers. Long Knife, you are a war chief in your own right now. How many warriors will this give you?"

Jenkins had been honored with the Mohican sobriquet "Long Knife" for the sword he sometimes carried when on duty in the fort. Though they would call him Cap-i-tan on occasion, the warriors liked the name "Long Knife." He did as well.

"If they all make it," Jenkins paused as he remembered his own trip to the fort last summer, "that would give us over a hundred and fifty soldiers. With your warriors, we would be a formidable fighting force along the Cannitticutt."

Standing Wolf had a sudden vision of leading a war party to destroy the Abenaki villages all along the river. Perhaps they might even have a chance to kill French soldiers. He would enjoy that.

Alain and Jacques Gaudry were beginning to wonder if their officers had any idea of what they were doing and where they were going. Their friend Little Wolf, who spent most of the day with the flanking parties, had expressed his concerns to the French brothers.

"This trail leads us to the Great River. I have seen signs of the Iroquois along the way. They are most likely Mohawk, who are allied with les anglais. I fear we might blunder into a trap." Little Wolf shook his head as he slipped off to the Indian camp. They camped separately from les français because, as Little Wolf explained, "Most of the soldiers smell very bad."

The Gaudry brothers had noticed this as well, none of their comrades in the regiment ever seemed to bathe. They themselves were mocked because they did frequently. Something they had learned from the Abenaki.

What most concerned the brothers was the lack of training among the newer soldiers. They could march and they could fire their muskets, but that was about it. Very few had ever been in the wilderness before, in fact most of them were terrified of the deep forests and the native peoples. The Abenaki and the Wyandot loved to scare the younger troops. As they considered themselves on the warpath, they had painted themselves for war. To the young Europeans they presented a hideous aspect and the Indians liked to make warlike faces at the young troops just to unnerve them.

Little Wolf had told them, "If we are attacked, throw away your cloud-coats and head into the forest, I will find you. If you stay with the column, you will die."

Jacques turned to Alain shortly afterwards, while they were on the march again, and asked, "Why did we leave Louisbourg? We could have sat behind those walls and fought forever."

Alain wasn't so sure, "You don't know of cannon, do you brother? The enemy has many. Les anglais also control the sea, we would have been starved out had we stayed in the fortress. But Little Wolf is right, we are walking into the wilderness like a blind man walking into a room full of wildcats. Angry wildcats."

An inauspicious start to a campaign, Alain thought. Only the war chief of the Wyandot gave him any confidence, a large man named Grey Bear. He had fought in many wars. Little Wolf said that the man was known throughout all the lands by the Great River, even the Iroquois feared him, it was said.

It was also a comfort to see just how many Indians accompanied the column, many of them the fierce warriors of the Wyandot, who, for some reason, the French called "Huron." Alain had no idea why. His brother suggested that it was because the Europeans were ignorant.

"But we're Europeans Jacques." Alain protested.

"Yes, but we have seen the wilderness, we have lived with the Wyandot and the Abenaki, we have adopted many of their ways. We understand, at least I think we do."

"Don't be too sure brother. All you say is true, but you've seen them in battle, they can be barbarous."

"And we French cannot?" Jacques asked.

"You have a point brother... Why is the damned column stopping again? We will never get to the river." Alain grumbled.

Little Wolf appeared out of the woods to their right and murmured in Abenaki as he passed the brothers. "The Mohawk are in the area, there is a burned village ahead. An Abenaki village." The last was said with an angry hiss.

Death was near.

¹ An Iroquois name for the Wyandot, or Huron.

² The Mohawk name for the St. Lawrence River, I'm making the assumption that the Mohican used the same word or something similar for that body of water. I also note that the Mohawk and the Mohican were traditional enemies.

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