A Costly Encounter...

(Source)

Seamus MacTavish turned to his cousin, Dougal Campbell, as they cleaned and prepared their gear, camped within the ranks of the 42nd Regiment of Foot, "So Dougal, a fellow could look to get a wee piece of land out here wouldn't ye think? Settle down, start a family, 'tis lovely."

Campbell shook his head, his cousin on his mother's side had always been a dreamer. "The winters here are brutal laddie, snow up ta yer arse and the wind sweepin' doon from the north wull freeze ya to death. Only the bloody Indians live out here."

"What about the French, don't they live even further north?" MacTavish was young and impressionable, always looking for the silver lining in every cloud.

"Aye, they do lad. What is it then, do ye wish to be a bloody frog eater then?"

Before MacTavish could answer, their sergeant put paid to their talk. "Would you two ee-jits like to shut up, or do ye need my boot up yer arse? Pay attention to yer surroundings, or, as me old Da' might have said, shut up and get back to work!"

In truth though, it was a lovely day as the regiment camped where the army had landed at the top of Lake George. The sun was shining, the birds were singing in the trees, and the men were confident of victory. Their scouts had reported that they had the French badly outnumbered. 

Near the confluence of Bernatz¹ Brook and the La Chute River
(Source)

General George Augustus, Third Viscount Howe, turned in annoyance from speaking with Colonel Thomas Gage, commanding the 80th Light-Armed Foot, as a rattle of sporadic musket fire broke out somewhere to the rear. It was followed by the sound of war cries and screams.

"What the bloody Hell is that all about?" Howe muttered to his aide. At that moment a man came pounding up from the nearby woods.

"Sir, it's the French!" the man gasped.

"Merde!" Capitan Sieur de Trepezec hissed as he realized that he was now cut off from the rest of Montcalm's force.

He and his detachment of 350 men had been observing the advance of the English army from the slopes of Mont Pelee.² Once they had seen enough they endeavored to return to Carillon. Somehow they had gotten lost in the forest and had stumbled upon the rear of General Howe's column.

Firing had broken out but the fighting quickly became hand to hand.

"80th to me!" Howe bellowed as he began to run towards where the action seemed hottest. Gage's regiment immediately followed with their Colonel leading them, hot on Lord Howe's heels.

As they approached the main action, powder smoke erupted from the brush to their front.

The firefight that ensued was brisk and confusing. Men engaged in hand-to-hand combat as both French and English were clubbed and tomahawked. Howe was at the head of the 80th Regiment and quickly led the rest of his force to the Connecticut men’s aid. Within minutes Trepezec’s detachment was surrounded by Rogers to the north, Howe to the east, and the other British columns advancing from the south. Howe, on foot and ignoring the pleas from his subordinates, rushed forward into the maelstrom beside another officer from his own 55th Regiment of Foot, Captain Alexander Moneypenny. It was at this moment that a ball struck the general, killing him instantly. “Never a ball had a more deadly effect,” Moneypenny asserted, “It entered his breast on the left side, and (as the surgeons say) pierced his lungs and heart, and shattered his back bone. I was about six yards from him. He fell on his back and never moved, only his hands quivered an instant.” (Source)

Death of General Howe
(Source)

In one stroke, one of the most talented officers in the British Army was lost. The most senior officer who really seemed to understand warfare in North America was gone.

Abercrombie's Army would pay dearly for that in two days.

As to the forces of General Montcalm, his deficit in numbers were made worse by the loss of nearly all of Trepezec's force. Of nearly 350 Frenchmen engaged, 150 were killed and a further 150 captured. Capitan Sieur de Trepezec survived the annihilation of his detachment but succumbed to his wounds shortly thereafter. He had been with a party of fifty men who had managed to swim the La Chute River to safety.

The British detachment, demoralized and stunned by the encounter, but especially by the death of General Howe, camped on the field that night. They returned to the main body of the Army the next day.

¹ Now called Trout Brook. The picture was taken from Lord Howe St. in Ticonderoga, NY.

² Now called Rogers Rock.

Prelude to Disaster

The field of battle
(Source)

Alain Gaudry was alone for once. His brother Jacques had stayed behind in their village to await the birth of his first child. His wife, a Wyandot woman who had been baptized Marie-Jeanne, but who normally answered to White Fawn, was very pregnant. Though she was a very healthy woman in her late teens, Jacques worried.

Since the death of their Abenaki brother, Little Wolf, Jacques had become more of a settler than an adventurer. Now Alain was the adventurous one. Of course, he already had children, a boy and a girl from his wife Little Raven, a sister of White Fawn.

But when the governor of New France called for volunteers to help defend Fort Carillon, between Lac du Saint Sacrement and Lac Champlain, Alain readily joined a company of militia. These men were mostly Canadian but had a number of Wyandot and Abenaki scouts attached as well. Alain was one of the scouts.

At that moment they were to the south of the fort, seeking word of the English army that was coming to attack them. There, to the south, a large number of boats carried what seemed to be thousands of red coated soldiers. General James Abercrombie was indeed bringing his army north.

They looked unstoppable.

Captain Will Jefferson of Abercromby's Regiment of Foot (the 44th) marched beside his grenadiers. Since purchasing his captaincy and being accepted as the commander of the 44th's Grenadier Company, he had made a few changes. The first was concerning the man he wanted as his top sergeant.

His company sergeant major, one Sergeant Milton Lewis, had been with him on the Monongahela, he had promoted Lewis on the field and his superiors, having noted both men's performance that day, approved that.

While he was a strict disciplinarian, his men grew to appreciate his attention to detail and his willingness to accept the same risks as they did. Though his battalion commander often chided him for carrying a musket the same as his men, that officer did realize that war in North America was very different from Europe. Jefferson might be on to something, he realized.

No dressed lines, no careful approach to battle in the woods while maintaining dress and cover with the man next to you. No, here in the forests warfare was looser, more spread out. Though the "hat men" (the non-grenadiers, in fact the bulk of the battalion) still marched in tight ranks, Jefferson used his men more as individuals.

Roughly a mile ahead of the column of the 44th, Captain Edward Rutland marched with his own company of the 60th Royal American Regiment of Foot. He had managed to attract the attention of powerful men in London, including his own father, John Manners, Marquess of Granby. Though Rutland was a bastard, the Marquess's other sons had proved to be disappointments to him.

His eldest half-brother Richard, was a Lieutenant in the Blues, otherwise known as the Royal Horse Guards. Though Richard had managed to avoid going on active service so far, word from London indicated that he had left London to join his regiment in Germany. Rumors of pregnant ladies and outrageous gambling debts were left in his wake.

His other half-brother, Charles, managed the family estates and was a member of Parliament. His management of the estates was disastrous and he was considered a fool as an MP.

So the Marquess had taken a greater interest in Edward.

Captain Rutland didn't mind the attention, it had helped him advance his military career, but as he looked around at the steep, wooded hills around him, he realized that influence could only take one so far. At some point one had to actually perform.

He wondered where the New Hampshiremen were, supposedly they were also with Abercrombie's army marching north to seize Carillon and open Lake Champlain to King George. He would like to see the men he had served with at Number Five. Though it had been a few years since he'd seen them, his wife Molly had reminded him to seek his old comrades out.

The New Hampshire Provincial Regiment, also known at times as "Hart's Regiment," was indeed assigned to Abercrombie's force. However, they had yet to disembark from their boats. It was a large army, 6,000 regulars and upwards of 10,000 provincials, rangers, and Indians. It took time to land that many men.

"Damme Sarn't Major, what the devil is the bloody hold up?" Lieutenant Colonel Samuel Jenkins called out to Edward Jacobs, his long suffering Sergeant Major, at the prow of their boat.

"Hold yer water, Sir. We're about to land, the bleeding Connecticut boys are still clearing off from the shore. It's a dog's breakfast Sir. Let 'em get sorted, then we can get ashore!" Jacobs' tone would have shocked a more conventional officer, but Jenkins was used to it, in fact, he reveled in the rapport he had with his men.

Colonel John Hart, traveling with Jenkin's battalion, shook his head and turned to his aide, John Charles, "Frontiersmen, can dress 'em up, make 'em look like soldiers, but they're still rough around the bloody edges."

Lieutenant Charles just shook his head, he had heard stories of the Colonel when he had been a young officer in King George's War, some thirteen years ago. The men still told stories of those days. Seems that young Ensign Hart had been something of a hellion back then.

"No Sir, he ain't respectable like you Sir. Carries on like a young subaltern doesn't he?"

Colonel Hart looked at his aide, sure that he was being mocked. His days of swearing and carousing were well behind him. Damn it, he was a colonel now!

"Begging your pardon, Sir." Charles said, doffing his hat to his superior officer.

"Harrumph," was all the colonel could offer in reply.

As Abercrombie's army got itself in order near the ruins of Fort William Henry and moved to the north, they were being watched. Louis-Joseph de Montcalm-Grozon, marquis de Montcalm de Saint-Veran had scouts covering every possible approach to Carillon. He was ready, though outnumbered.

His force numbered a mere 3,600, a mix of regulars, militia, and Indians, he had set up field works to cover the approaches to the fort itself. Les anglais would have to fight their way through abatis and trench to even begin to attack the stone walls of the fort itself.

So Montcalm had to consider what Abercrombie might have in mind. The only approach by land was to the northwest of the fort, where he had his field works. So far none of his scouting parties had reported any detachments from the English forces. No fleet of boats worked its way up to the shore below Carillon.

Surely the man wasn't going to attack him straight on?

That would be madness.

The Battle of Lake George

General Johnson Saving a Wounded French Officer from the Tomahawk of a North American Indian
Benjamin West

"We must pursue les anglais into their camp, then our victory will be complete!" exclaimed Jean Erdman, Baron Dieskau.

The young captain of the Compagnies franches de la marine with him shook his head, "The Mohawk are distressed at the death of their leader, my men have lost too many friends, and the Abenaki won't advance if the Mohawk do not."

Dieskau swore under his breath then turned to the commander of his grenadiers, "Form the men into column, six abreast. We shall show these cowardly curs how to fight!"

Dieskau himself led the column as they set out down the lake road to attack the English camp.

Sergeant Major Jacobs saw Mr. Rutland coming towards him, cartridge box slung over one shoulder, the man even had a bayonet for his firelock. "Come to join the fun Mr. Rutland?"

"Don't know about that, but... Do you hear those drums, Sarn't Major?"

Jacobs listened, there indeed, towards the French position, the sound of drums. Moments later a column of French grenadiers wheeled into view. "Better keep yer head down Sir, looks like we're about to begin."

As the French column moved into view, Sir William was with his artillery. The commander of the guns turned to him, "Canister Sir?"

"Indeed Captain, canister, pour it into them. I don't see many of their provincials or Indians about. Fire when you are ready Captain." Sir William stayed on horseback, the better to keep an eye on things. It also made him a conspicuous target.

Lifting his sword Dieskau bellowed out, "En avant! Pour le roi!¹"

With a growl the grenadiers of France advanced at the double, into a hailstorm of canister shot. Many men pitched to the ground, among them Baron Dieskau. A few men managed to fire a volley towards the English line which did little damage, other than sweeping Sir William Johnson from his horse. Wounded, he left the field and retired to his tent, the command going to an officer from Connecticut, General Phineas Lyman.

The French began to withdraw, leaving their dead and wounded behind, including Baron Dieskau who nearly died under a Mohawk tomahawk. He managed to survive, though shot through the bladder. He would be succeeded as commander of the forces of New France by General Louis-Joseph de Montcalm-Grozon, marquis de Montcalm de Saint-Veran, better known to history as simply, Montcalm.

Some distance away, a party of New Hampshire and New York Provincials had been sent out from Fort Edward when the commander of that post had heard the fight between Dieskau and Johnson. They fell in with the French baggage train...

Hearing the report of guns in the direction of the Lake, they pressed forward, and when within about two miles of it, fell in with the baggage of the French army protected by a guard, which they immediately attacked and dispersed. About four o'clock in the afternoon, some 300 of the French army appeared in sight. They had rallied, and retreating in tolerable order. Capt. Folsom posted his men among the trees, and as the enemy approached, they poured in upon them a well directed and galling fire. He continued the attack in this manner till prevented by darkness, killing many of the enemy, taking some of them prisoners, and finally driving them from the field. He then collected his own wounded, and securing them with many of the enemy's packs, he brought his prisoners and booty safe into camp. The next day the rest of the baggage was brought in, thus securing the entire baggage and ammunition of the French army. In this brilliant affair, Folsom lost only six men, but McGennis was mortally wounded, and died soon after. The loss of the French was very considerable. (Source)

The three part Battle of Lake George was over.

The campaign was also over as Sir William received word of Braddock's bloody defeat on the Monongahela, there was no point in continuing.

And with that I shall be taking a rather long pause in the telling of this tale. I am heading out for to labor aboard one of the Navy's warships (tied up to the pier) for three weeks.

I have been promised ten hour days and six day weeks. Apparently we will be getting Sundays off. (I feel as if I've been swept up by the press gangs of old!)

Not a problem but it gives me little time to write and I do wish to finish editing my WWII tale so I can get that published before the year is out. I know any number of you are awaiting that event with something approaching impatience.

So for the next three weeks or so (a trip to Maryland will occur nearly immediately after my return from Occupied California) this tale of the wilderness must be placed on hold. I will try and entertain you with pithy tales of travel and my adventures out West.

We shall see...



¹ Forward! For the King!

Link to all of the Chant's fiction.

The Bloody Morning Scout

Battle of Lake George, September 8, 1755.
Death of Colonel Ephraim Williams, by Frederick Coffay Yohn.
(Source)

Sergeant Major Edward Jacobs of the 3rd Company of the New Hampshire Provincial Regiment looked down the length of the column, the twenty men of the New York Provincial regiment attached to his company who were bringing up the rear were doing a fine job of keeping the column closed up. Although Jacobs regretted the fact that his old commander had left the regiment, he understood.

That old commander, Captain Edward Rutland, had mustered out of the New Hampshire service and was attempting to gain a commission in a British regiment. He had heard from his elder brother, now in Parliament, that the Crown was considering raising a regiment in the colonies. A regiment which would utilize the lessons of King George's War for fighting in the wilderness. Officers were being sought, his brother indicated that the Crown was even considering opening Royal commissions up to foreigners with experience of irregular warfare.

Jacobs rather hoped that Rutland got what he desired, the man was a fine soldier. Jacobs thought to himself that that would be his last campaign. He was getting too old for this traipsing about the wilderness chasing the Frenchies and their native allies.

Little did Jacobs know that his old commander wasn't as far away as he had presumed.

"So tell me Rutland, what makes you think the Crown will offer you a commission in this new regiment?" Sir William Johnson studied the terrain as they rode along, hoping that Colonel Ephraim Williams' party would be able to return from Fort Edward in time so that they could continue on to scout the French strength at the fort on Lake George (which he had renamed for his King, the French, no doubt, still referred to it as "Lac du Saint Sacrement").

"Well, Sir William. I commanded a company on the frontier, prior to that I served in the ranks of the New Hampshire Provincials. We had to fight our way to Number Five. Damned dicey that was." Mr. Edward Rutland was accompanying Johnson's expedition to clear the French from the area around Lakes George and Champlain as part of Edward Braddock's overall strategy of clearing the French from the Ohio Country and the lands south of the St. Lawrence.

"Well good luck to you Rutland. Now if you'll excuse me, something is afoot." Rutland also heard the sound of musketry in the distance, apparently Colonel Williams had made contact with the French.

Sergeant Major Jacobs was well aware of their mission, the French were advancing on Fort Edward, it was vital that this column reached there to reinforce the garrison, thus preventing the French from taking that position. The loss of Fort Edward would pose a serious threat to Johnson's advance on Lake Champlain, placing a large French fort in their rear.

(Source)

Jacobs wasn't far from Colonel Williams when he heard musket fire to the front. What on earth was happening, he wondered, the musket fire seemed to be going straight up into the air and Jacobs could also hear heard two parties of Indians shouting at each other. One group seemed to be off on the flank, looking in that direction Jacobs saw Indians, a lot of Indians. Things quickly devolved into absolute confusion.

It was only later that men in Williams' detachment learned that the French had Mohawks with their force in the region. Catholic Mohawks who had moved to Canada and allied with the French. Those Mohawk had tried to warn the Mohawk with the English, not wanting to shed the blood of their compatriots. The remainder of the French force, including a sizeable contingent of Abenaki, had no compunction against shedding Mohawk blood and had opened a galling fire upon Williams' column.

Though the Colonel was an experienced frontier fighter he had blundered into an ambush skillfully laid by the French commander Dieskau. Dieskau had abandoned his assault on Fort Edward when his Indian allies had refused to assault the battlements of the fort. His scouts had warned him though of the approach of Williams' column, so he resolved to ambush them then chase the survivors back to Johnson's main body, encamped further north.

Colonel Williams was killed almost immediately as he tried to assault into the ambush, going down with a ball to the head. The majority of the New Englanders (mostly militia) under his command broke when a company of French grenadiers positioned barring the road began to pour volley after volley into the head of the English column.

Though wounded, Jacobs joined a group of a hundred men who were returning the French fire while slowly withdrawing. The surviving Mohawk warriors also fought back skillfully, covering the flanks of this party as they withdrew.

Calmly firing, reloading, stepping back a few paces, then repeating the process, Jacobs felt a raging thirst, it had been years since he had stood in the firing line. He was far more used to controlling the fire of the men, not firing himself. But fire he did, he had had the wit to grab a firelock and a cartridge box from one of the dead. He knew it was a question of fight or die.

Rutland watched as the men in camp formed up in their defensive positions. He could see a ragged horde of defeated men running and staggering towards them. Evidently Colonel Williams had suffered a defeat. As the disorganized mob entered the camp, officers and sergeants immediately worked to rally them.

Some rallied, a number kept running. Some of the Mohawk were angry and ashamed that their sachem, the great Theyanoguin, had been shot from his horse then bayoneted to death by the French. From what Rutland could tell, many Mohawk warriors had been lost as well as a large number of English.

Rutland saw that a well-formed party, perhaps two companies in strength, were falling back in the near distance. He could tell that they were English, mostly Provincial troops. He was stunned when they reached the camp and he saw his old sergeant major among them. His face blackened, his uniform torn, his left arm oozing blood.

"Sarn't Major Jacobs!" He called out.

Jacobs turned, he looked puzzled for a moment, then he managed a wry smile, "Mr. Rutland, what brings you out here to the lake country? Still looking for that Royal commission?"

"My father knows Sir William, he thought it might be a good idea for me to accompany this expedition. So far, I see nothing new, though I never thought I'd see Englishmen run from the French."

A dark look passed over Jacobs' face, "It ain't like it was in New Hampshire Mr. Rutland. The French are very strong in this area. So are their allies, Huron, Abenaki, even renegade Mohawks."

"Renegades?"

"Well, not exactly, the French gave them popery, which the Crown didn't like. So that lot went off to Canada to be with their French masters. Canawaughga Mohawks they calls 'em. One of the Indians I know told me that the French Mohawks opened fire prematurely, tried to warn their southern kin I guess. Didn't stop the Abenaki and the Frenchies from cutting us up pretty badly. If you'll excuse me Sir, I need to get this wound treated. If I were you I'd find myself a firelock and some powder and shot, the Frenchies are headed this way."

Edward Rutland began to do just that.

Link to all of the Chant's fiction.

The Warpath is Decided Upon

(Source)

Ten Deer looked around at his fellow leaders, "Is it to be war again my friends? Do we help the English in their fight against the French and their Huron and Abenaki dogs? Why should we, the people of the flint¹ go to war? Are our crops not many, our hunting and fishing grounds rich? Why must we fight the white faces' war?"

Lone Elk lifted his hand, the others fell silent as the oldest warrior on the council indicated that he wished to speak. "My brothers, we have traditionally fought against the tribes from across the great Kaniatarakwà:ronte² and the French continue to encroach upon our lands from the north and from the west, with help from their Huron dogs. Of course, our traditional enemies would help the French. But are not the French and English also traditional enemies, much like the Huron and the Haudenosaunee?³ Their fight is now our fight."

A number of the men nodded and murmured their agreement with the old warrior. But one man, Long Canoe, was shaking his head in disagreement. The men ceased their murmuring and looked to him.

"We have spent many years fighting against the Abenaki and the Huron. We sought only to defend that which the Great Spirit gave to the people of the flint and their Haudenosaunee brothers and sisters. But now the white and red soldiers come and kill each other, they kill the peoples of this land, and for what? They mean to take it all, their numbers are as the stars in the sky. We kill many, many more come. I say we stay out of this war. If they come to our lands, then we fight, but we do not go to fight the red soldiers' wars. That is my opinion, but I will bend to the will of the council." Again the men talked quietly among themselves, Long Canoe had spoken the truth. But so had Lone Elk. Neither man was young enough to take to the warpath himself, but had tread that path many times in their youth. They only sought what was best for the people.

Finally Ten Deer, after having listened to the men, said, "I do not like the ways of the men from across the great waters, but the English have always kept their word with us, the men of the north, these French men, they lie to us and they arm our enemies the Huron and the Abenaki. We must follow the path to war with our English friends, for if we do not, war will come to these lands anyway."

Capitaine Jacques Marie Étienne Louis de Montparnasse had been sent by the great Marquis de Montcalm de Saint-Vera himself to seek out and hire such men of the coureurs de bois who would be willing to serve as scouts for the French army in New France and to bring as many of the natives with them to serve as auxiliaries.

The English were actively trading with the peoples of the Ohio country, an area claimed as part of New France. War was coming, blood had already been shed. A force was being gathered to completely eject the English and cow the tribes in the area from further trading with the English.

As the forces of King Louis XV were small in the New World, great reliance would be placed upon the colonial forces such as the Compagnies franches de la marine and other militia. Of the utmost importance was the support of the Iroquois and Abenaki Confederacies.

The Capitaine found himself sitting in an Abenaki longhouse with three of the Abenaki leaders and two of the local coureurs de bois, the Gaudry brothers. "You cannot begin to understand the importance the King places upon his Abenaki subjects in this war against les anglais. Surely you wish to see your Mohawk enemies crushed?"

Little Wolf turned to Alain and Jacques and said, in Abenaki, "Crushed? No. Humbled? Very much so. Do all of your countrymen think that killing is the only way to mend a problem? And since when did we start bowing to this Loo-ee?"

Alain answered, "No my brother, but it is the way of the kings and the nobles who sit in their fine houses. They send the little people to war, while they grow fat from the spoils. They are not like the wolf or the panther who hunts for his meals, no, they are like the carrion birds, feeding off that which someone else worked for."

"But do we help the king of les français, this Loo-ee?" Little Wolf wasn't convinced, he was content with his life here. His woman took good care of him, had given him a son and a daughter, he was loath to leave all that to go down the warpath once more.

Ugly Bear raised a hand, "The king of les français has been good to us. Les anglais keep coming and taking, they have pushed us further and further north. The Mohawk traverse our lands as if the Great Spirit had given them all the Earth. When do we stop running? When we are in the land of the snow people where the sun never shines? We must fight, we have no other choice if we are honest with each other."

Walks Slow nodded at the Frenchman, who was trying hard to contain his impatience, "Look at this man in his fine clothes and fancy hat, will he fight? Or will he stay in the cities and tell others to go fight?"

Alain nodded and addressed the Capitaine, "My sachem wonders if you will take the warpath with your Abenaki brothers, will this Montcalm do so as well? Or will you stay in Montréal and Québec and send others to die for the king in Paris?"

The Capitaine managed to contain his temper, how dare these rustics question his motives, nay, the motives and courage of the Marquis himself. He took a deep breath, then answered, "I will be marching with you. The Marquis will as well, we go into the wilderness to defeat les anglais and drive them from the Ohio forever. But first we must clear them from the area around the lake. For that I will dress as you do, I will eat as you do, I will fight as you do. In this, you have my word." The last came out almost as a snarl, a challenge.

Ugly Bear grinned and said, "I like this français, he snarls like a badger defending a kill. Tell him that we will go to war with him, this Badger With Feathers."

So it was done, so it would be, the brothers Alain, Jacques, and Little Wolf would go to war once more with les anglais, not in the uniforms of the Compagnies nor the uniform of King Louis XV, but as scouts and supports.

That night the Abenaki were pleasantly surprised when the Capitaine joined them in their war dance. It seems he liked his new name, the Badger With Feathers.



¹ The Kanienʼkehá꞉ka became wealthy traders as other nations in their confederacy needed their flint for tool making. Their Algonquian-speaking neighbors (and competitors), the people of Muh-heck Haeek Ing ("food area place"), the Mohicans, referred to the people of Ka-nee-en Ka as Maw Unk Lin, meaning “bear people”. The Dutch heard and wrote this term as Mohawk, and also referred to the Kanienʼkehá꞉ka as Egil or Maqua. (Source)

² The Mohawk name for Lake Champlain.

³ The People of the Longhouse, that is, the Iroquois Confederacy to which the Mohawk belonged.

Link to all of the Chant's fiction.

The Storm Clouds Gather

(Source)

"You've sent a messenger to Number Five already I presume?" Lieutenant Colonel Samuel Jenkins asked the governor. He had his back to the man and was looking out over the ships anchored in the Piskataqua Harbor. Two transports just in from England and the frigate which had escorted them across the Atlantic.

"Yes Samuel, I took the liberty of doing so three days ago. The militia have already been mustered at Number Four, there seems to be no point in continuing to man Number Five. Especially as the natives seem to have evacuated the area." The governor poured himself another glass of port, then stepped away from his desk.

"I believe you know one of the company commanders from the 44th Foot, chap name of Jefferson. He's been here before." The Governor remarked.

Jenkins turned abruptly, "Surely not Will Jefferson?"

"The very same, so you do know him?"

"Yes, he led a band of Mohicans when I commanded at Number Five. Got them slaughtered he did, from what I recall. We never really did get along. He was always reminding me that a leftenant in the Foot Guards outranked a mere colonial captain. So now he's back?"

"Yes, he was mustered out of the Guards on account of his wound, officially. Unofficially the Crown was rather irked at his defeat by the Abenaki."

Jenkins thought for a few moments, swirled the remainder of his port, then downed it, slapping the glass down on the table. Which made the Governor jump, ever so slightly.

"Damn it man, must you always be so abrupt in your movements?"

"Sorry Sir. So we're to march to Number Five, then proceed north? To where I might ask?"

"Northwest actually, to Albany in New York. It seems that the Crown has designs on Fort Saint-Frédéric and Lake Champlain, as the French call it. But to get there from Albany I do believe Fort Carillon stands in the way. At any rate, our forces are gathering at Albany, for what purpose I am not privy to, just a glance at a map makes me look at the lake."

"That makes sense, my colonel has already sent a company ahead to build a fort at the conjunction of the Cannitticutt and the Upper Ammonoosuc Rivers. Once that's built, the company is to march to Fort Edward."

"Is that the company under Richard Rogers, that ranger chap?"

"It is Governor, it is indeed. Fellow is a bit of an adventurer from what I've heard."

"He knows the back country, that's for sure..." The Governor broke off as he saw the transports, which were now tied up at the wharf, begin to unload. "I say, that must be the 44th Foot, yellow facings, yes?"

Jenkins looked in that direction, damned if he could make out the colors of the facings. Damned Governor was showing off. As far as Jenkins knew, the 44th was the only unit disembarking in Portsmouth this day.

"Damned politicians," Jenkins thought.

"Sir! Natives approaching!"

Captain Rutland nodded at the Sergeant Major then went up to the ramparts to see what the fuss was. As he approached he heard, "English officer with 'em!"

After mustering the guard, Rutland had the gate opened, he was expecting a party of Mohawk Indians, this must be them. He half expected to see old Will Jefferson leading the Indians, now that man had been pretty effective in the wilderness, until he grew over-confident.

"Halloo the fort!" The Englishman shouted as he doffed his hat.

"Rutland, New Hampshire Provincials, Captain commanding this post. And you are?"

"Leftenant Rawlinson, Roger's Rangers. I trust you have received word of our coming?"

Rutland shook hands with the man, saying, "Yes, glad to make your acquaintance, your warriors look fit and ready. Are your men hungry Leftenant?"

"They are, but Dancing Bear, that's the big chap over there, wants to make camp and prepare their own rations. There's a likely spot down by the river..."

"Certainly Leftenant. Would you care for some of our boring, yet filling fare?"

"As long as you've got tea, I don't care what you feed me Sir!"

"Quite, come along then."

After a fine meal of Indian squash, beans, and a plump turkey, Lieutenant John Rawlinson sat back in his chair, "You make a fine meal, Mrs. Rutland. I dare say, if I might be so bold, that if I were your man, I fear I would have to buy new uniforms periodically to contain my ever expanding girth!"

Molly Rutland laughed and said, "Why thank you Leftenant, I think Edward would gain weight as well if it weren't for the stress of running the garrison here." Turning to her two sons, Daniel, eight, and Noah, five, she said, "Would you boys gather the plates and put them in the tub? Then run out to the well, get some water and heat it over the fire. We'll wash the dishes shortly."

"'Tis a fine family you have Captain! When we march for Albany will they go back to Rumford or perhaps back to the capital?"

Rutland shook his head, "Mrs. Rutland would scalp me if I tried to send her back to the towns. She loves it out here. When we march, she and the other families of the garrison will head south to Number Four."

"Is the Indian threat in this area that much diminished then?" Rawlinson asked, he was more familiar with the northern parts of New Hampshire and New York.

"The Abenaki have mostly moved north, closer to Canada and their French allies. They fought hard for this land, but we are so many and they so few. I tried to establish better relations with them, but they hate us. With good reason I might add. One of my predecessors at this post was not a friend to the Indians, he destroyed a village not far from here and put the people to the sword."

Rawlinson nodded, he understood why some Europeans wanted the Indians gone. For his part, he got along well with the natives. He never could understand why they couldn't co-exist, wasn't there enough land for everyone? He'd mentioned this once to another officer of the Rangers, who had said, "Plenty o' land in England too, doesn't stop the bloody lords from snapping up as much as they can, damnation to the poor peasants. They're all land hungry Johnnie, why would it be different here, in the New World?"

Rawlinson saw the man's point, but he also knew that many of the Europeans saw the natives as being somehow less than human. He shook his head at that, he knew many a fine man among the Mohawk, better men than many an Englishman he'd known.

"Leftenant. Leftenant?"

Rawlinson realized that he'd been daydreaming, "Sorry Captain, I'm afraid that I am far more tired than I thought. Your wife's cooking has made me rather sluggish I'm afraid."

"No worries Leftenant, go and get some rest. We can put you up here in the fort if you'd like?"

"Not necessary Sir, I'll camp with the Mohawk, wouldn't have it otherwise. If you'll excuse me?" Rawlinson stood up.

"Certainly Leftenant, sleep well. Have your men rest as well, I expect the rest of my regiment to be here in no more than three days time." Rutland stood and walked with Rawlinson to the gate.

"It certainly is lovely here, Sir." Rawlinson remarked as he watched the sun beginning to set across the river.

"Yes it is Leftenant, bloody shame we're always fighting over it."

"Indeed, I bid you good day Sir."

"Good evening Leftenant, I shall see you on the morrow."

A visit to the source below is highly recommended.
You can zoom in on the map in all it's colonial glory.
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New Beginnings

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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.

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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."

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"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!"

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