Nichts Neues¹

There it is, the photo for the dust jacket on the first book. Maybe all of 'em.

The lad classes up an otherwise unremarkable photo.

Sasha is still hanging on, feisty but weak. The kitty is a real trooper.

Now, back to vacation.

Oh yeah, hit up Barnes & Noble, added four more books to the stack of the unread. BTW Virgil, I did receive the book The Indians of New Jersey: Dickon Among the Lenapes by M. R. Harrington. It's next on the stack I think.

Carry on, execute the plan of the day...

¹ Nothing new.

Summer Begins...

Bear wants to know, "Where is everyone?"

Summer is here, Tuttle, The Nuke, and their tribe arrived safely at 0330 Sunday morning. Just in time for the birds to start singing and the sun to start rising. Needless to say, it was late to bed, late to rise.

Monday on the coast was, shall we say, a bit foggy.

Sunday was a day of rest, perhaps because we were all too tired to do anything.

Laddie Boy, youngest of the tribe, wants to explore the gardens.

Monday we were raring to go, an overcast day which turned foggy by the time we drove down to the coast.

Lily pad, home of the Big Frog. (Seriously, he's in there.)

So far the visit has been great, lazing about the backyard and going places to see the sights. We're also eating far too well...

Kodi sits upon her throne, waiting for her subjects to pay homage.

Grandma and The Wee Lass go down to the sea...

The power of the sea never fails to fill me with awe.

Sasha yet lives, she is comfortable, she seems happy. I suppose it's all one could wish for after a long life with those who love you.

Her sister Anya, the same age, is still full of vim and vigor. Which is a blessing in and of itself.

Of Vivaldi's The Four Seasons, Winter is my favorite. Having only now really listened to it, Summer seems rather depressing. Here's the sonnet which accompanied Summer back in the day (Vivaldi may have written this himself, though in Italian) -

Allegro non molto

Under a hard season, fired up by the sun

Languishes man, languishes the flock and burns the pine

We hear the cuckoo's voice;

then sweet songs of the turtledove and finch are heard.

Soft breezes stir the air, but threatening

the North Wind sweeps them suddenly aside.

The shepherd trembles,

fearing violent storms and his fate.

Adagio e piano – Presto e forte

The fear of lightning and fierce thunder

Robs his tired limbs of rest

As gnats and flies buzz furiously around.

Presto

Alas, his fears were justified

The Heavens thunder and roar and with hail

Cut the head off the wheat and damages the grain.

(Source)

Seems to me that summer wasn't much fun in the early 18th Century.

YMMV.

And it's aaaa????????

 Well, Father's Day weekend was especially gratifying this year.  Saturday we drove over to Moscow on the Colorado for a get together with MBD and SIL and his family. Why did we make a trip there?

Simple, it was the day they revealed the gender of our first grandchild. 

Unfortunately, we had a quick turn on the guest house that day so didn't get to stay quite as long as we would have liked.

A quick turn, Beans, means that new guests arrive shortly after the current guests depart.  Mrs J, rightly so, is adamant about getting the place "Ship-shape and Bristol fashion".  My job?  Change the linens, make the beds, dust the furniture, vacuum, shake out the rugs and other actions as directed.  But....I don't have to clean the toilets.

So...I've got that going for me.

But, business is business, so we left and had the house mostly done when Mrs J received a phone call from the guests asking for an early check-in.  Mrs J negotiated an ok, if it was alright if we dropped of the hand sanitizer and coffee creamer to them when we got back from town.  

Kind of a Covid and Cream kinda thing.

They said ok, so we were good to go.  Nice folks.  New to Texas, from Florida.

Hey! How about Governor Abbot?  Vetoing the State Legislature's payroll bill because one party decided to stage a walkout on the last day to protest a law that would tighten State Election procedures. Guess which one.

Love the guy!

Where was I?  Oh, the folks from Florida.  Had two small kids and asked if they could go see Cabernet and Merlot.

Yes, Beans, the kids are too young for wine.  Our horses, remember, are named Cabernet and Merlot.

Cabernet

Merlot

With the Guests ensconced in the guesthouse, Mrs J and I settled in for the evening and discussed the great news about a grandchild and the machinations used to keep its gender secret until the reveal.

Now do you get the thought behind the title?

Here's video of the great moment.

Looking forward to meeting you face to face, Magnolia Grace!

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?

Link to all of the Chant's fiction.

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."

Link to all of the Chant's fiction.

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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