storytellers

GeneralArnold77

Chapter 1
Sucker Brook
Hubbardton, Hampshire Grants
July 6th, 1777
11:24pm

Coughing, and some low whispers were all that could really be heard over the gentle rattle of the brook that ran by. The grass was long, and covered with a light dew, which made the sleeping wet. Wet or not, these tired soldiers were long overdue their sleep, and would have found anywhere comfortable. Some men sat by small, quiet fires and prayed, others sat next to them and read the last batch of letters from home. None of them really noticed the young officer walking by. They were much more interested in what lay before them in the coming days as the red coated juggernaut advanced towards them. It seemed hopeless, but then when didn’t it these days? However, despite how hopeless the situation looked these soldiers had persevered. They were all veterans now, veterans who knew what it was to sacrifice greatly in order to obtain that most precious of values; freedom.

The young officer continued his rounds. He wasn’t a tall man, five foot five if that. Still he had the presence of a man, much taller. He walked among the few men who lay out underneath the starry night, resting as best they saw fit. He had a face that looked far younger than people would find he was, but it was a face that had seen the first two years of this war. His coat, which was originally royal blue with red facings, cuffs and collar, was now faded to a light sky blue, though it tended to return to it’s original color in the flickering firelight. His boots were nearly worn through on the soles. His shirt had no ruffle at the cuff anymore, it had been taken off to make patches for other places in his shirt. His waistcoat was frayed and had a small hole here and there. The three cornered hat he wore on top of his dark brown hair was no longer black, but a brownish gold. His hand rested on the pommel of sword, which was held on a waist belt. Underneath that was his formally crimson waist sash, which now bore a more scarletty color. His face, despite it’s young appearance, was marked by a scar that ran from just below the corner of his mouth, up towards his ear. Lastly, the silver epaulet which was attached proudly to his right shoulder, was now gray and shriveled from years of wear. This was a well seasoned officer, despite however old he may have been in real life, he had well served his time in hell.

A taller man, roughly six foot, approached the young captain. His coat was in much the same shape the Captain’s was, but was less thread-bear and worn. The Captain nodded his head in respect to the approaching officer with two gold epaulettes on his shoulders, “Good evening, Colonel.” the Captain said.

“Everything in order, I trust Captain?” the Colonel inquired.

“Yes, sir.” the Captain replied, “Lads are bedded down for the night.”

“You were the last company into camp, were you not?” the Colonel asked, his tone was a caring one, rather than one of superiority. The Captain mearly nodded in response, “Any sign of the enemy?”

The Captain shook his head, “Other than some confrontation with a couple of Indians here and there, no sir. Any reason, sir?”

The Colonel looked up and scanned what he could of the tree-line before responding, “General St. Clair figured that Gentleman Johnny’s troops would be right behind us.”

The Captain shrugged, “Not that I’ve seen, sir.”

The Colonel nodded, “Well stay alert, just because we haven’t seen the bastards doesn’t mean they’re not around.”

“Yes, sir.” the Captain agreed.

“Carry on, Captain Sheridan.” the Colonel said, slowly walking away.

“Yes, sir.” Sheridan replied turning back to a man sitting on a canvas stool reading a letter.

The Colonel continued his way through the crowd of men scattered about on the ground. His hands were clasped behind his back, leaving his sword to swing free from the shoulder hanger it was on. He stepped over a couple of men, and around a drummer boy who was sitting on the damp ground leaning against his drum, staring off into space as if he were dreaming of home. Home, now there was a nice thought, something most of these men hadn’t seen in at least six months, but it was still the best memory they had, home. A place where they had families waiting for them, sons, daughters, mothers, wives, sweethearts, all waiting for their loved ones to come home. And yet here they were, sitting on a damp field in a town no one had even heard of.

The Colonel walked up to a man, who stood about the same height he did, but was built much bulkier than he was. The large man’s coat fit much tighter than either Sheridan’s or the Colonel’s, but was the same color faded blue, with a gray patch on the elbow. Instead of the traditional three cornered hat, this man had a short brimmed round hat on. On his shoulders were two silver epaulettes, which, like Sheridan’s, were gray and withered with age. The large man nodded his head, “Good evening Colonel Hale.”

“Stand your ease, Major.” Colonel Nathaniel Hale replied looking over his depleated regiment, “Can you believe that there were over four hundred of these lads when we formed the Second New Hampshire two years ago?”

“It is hard to believe, sir, looking at what’s here.” Major Benjamin Titcomb replied blankly.

“Now there’s hardly a hundred of them left.” Hale continued, as if he’d never broken his thought train, “I’ve got to hand it to these men, they’ve certainly proven themselves.”

“That they have sir.” Titcomb replied again.

Hale looked over at his executive officer, “Colonel Warner has posted his regiment over the left side of the hill, by a cabin, while Francis has put his regiment at the foot of the hill. Our wounded and sick are still there, a good thirty of them. I’m going to remain with them, that way I can keep a good ear out for what’s going on. I’ll take Ensign Forsyth with me to act as a runner between us.” Hale paused a moment, “You should be able to handle the situation here.” Titcomb nodded in responce as Hale continued, “You’ve got Captain Sheridan under you with Coupon Company, so you should be ok.”

Titcomb looked a bit concerned, “Sheridan’s only a lad himself, sir.”

“True, but a lad who’s been as much a part of this war as any of us. He’s been with us since the formation of the regiment. He’s fought in Canada, Trenton, Princeton. He may be young, but he knows as well as any of us what to do.” Hale reasured him, “You won’t have to worry about him running.”

“We’ll see.” Titcomb said, “But everyone has their moment.”

Hale continued to look at his men, most of which were sleeping. They had marched twenty six miles in just under six hours. From Mount Independence to Hubbardton, over the military road, which was drastically in need of some road repair. Even with the sick and wounded it took them six hours, but then what choice did they have? When Burgonyne put the artillery up on Mount Defience which had turned Fort Ticonderoga, once the stronghold of the north, into a pathetic pile of rocks, all the officers knew it was over. There was nothing they could do then. Many of them wondered why they hadn’t listened to Benedict Arnold when he had insisted that they fortify the mountain, but everyone said that it was too steep and no army would attepmt to climb it, but there they were, British cannons looking right down their throat. The troops from Fort Ticonderoga withdrew to Mount Independence, and then on July 6th, they retreated under cover of darkness. Their stealthy get-away was betrayed, however, when a drunk artillery officer fell into the powder magazine with a lit cigar. This of course caused the wooden shack to explode, and cast a great light upon the withdrawing Colonial forces. What made their situation even more unfortunate was that Brigadir General Simon Fraser, the commander of Burgoyne’s advance guard, spotted the withdrawing Americans and rushed to tell Burgoyne that he still had a chance to catch the drastically under-supplied Americans. Burgoyne submitted to allowing Fraser and his advance guard give chance, and stop the Americans from getting to Castletown, where a large supply warehouse was. So, with elements of the Twentith Foot, Twenty-Fourth Regiment of foot, and others Fraser set out to defeat the Americans and allow Burgoyne safe passage to Albany.
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“Fixed fortifications are monuments to man's stupidity.” ~General George S Patton Jr.

Thalya · Posted: Wed Feb 27, 2008 8:39 pm Post subject:

Really good. Only issues i had was that there were some sentences that were really wrong, and i thought the last paragraph could be split (it was a little long)

GeneralArnold77 · Posted: Wed Mar 05, 2008 2:08 am Post subject:

Major General Arthur St. Clair, the current commander of the Northern Department of the Continental Army, figured something like this would happen, and thus directed The three rear-guard regiments to remain at the small town of Hubbardton to, “Stall the enemy forces and allow this army time to retreat to better supplies.” And so Seth Warner’s Regiment of Green Mountain Boys, Ebeneezer Francis’ 11th Massechusettes Regiment, and Nathaniel Hale’s 2nd New Hampshire Regiments were left to complete the task of stalling the British, a total of 1,200 men.

Now all the American forces could do was wait. They knew the enemy was coming after them, but they didn’t know when they would hit, or where for that matter. The situation looked bad either way, but they also knew that they didn’t need a victory. All they had to do was stall the British. So as the night hours dragged on, Colonel Hale, called his officers together to go over the course of action that had been discussed earlier by the three Colonels.

“Well, here we are.” Hale started, “Gentlemen, our job is simple, if the British are as close behind us as General St. Clair believes they are, we are to stop them. Not beat them, but stop them. General St. Clair and the rest of the army need time to regroup and re-supply and are on their way to Castletown.” Hale looked around, “Remember gentlemen, we are only here to slow them down. We do not need a victory here, so keep that in mind. We’ll be doing a lot of firing and retiring. Captain Cherry we’ll be needing your lights to screan our movements quite a bit, so I hope their agile enough.”

“They’ll do their job, sir.” Captain Samuel Cherry replied, proudly.

Hale nodded approvingly, “I’m going to stay over on the left of the line with our wounded and sick, Major Titcomb will be in command. Should, may the Lord forbid, anything happen to the Major, Captain Sheridan will assume command.” Sheridan nodded, “Any questions?” Hale asked. None of the officers said a word as they thought about what the coming hours might bring, “If there are no questions, Gentlemen, then I wish you good luck.”

The officers nodded their heads and went off to rejoin their companies. The early morning hours were creaping on. The dew on the ground had begun to give way to a thin fog which was settling like a calm blanket over the landscape. At first some of the men thought it was just the smoke drifting down the backside of the hill from the other regiments fires, but as the damp chill drifted in, it became clear that it was dew.

Sheridan walked back over to a small fire, where another man wearing a blue coat with the same red facings sat on a chair. He was much older than Sheridan, one could have guessed that he was in his late thirties. He was leaned forward, with his musket resting against his arm. Sheridan walked over and sat down across from him and leaned forward much the way the other man was.

“So what’s the word, sir?” the man asked.

Sheridan took a breath, “Well Sergeant, we’re going to stall the enemy.”

The Sergeant looked confused, “Stall, sir?”

“Yes, sall them.” Sheridan repeated.

“Do you really think they’ll even come?”

“General St. Clair seems to think to, which is why we’re here.”
Sheridan replied, “We are here to ensure the survival of the army.”

“We got hung out to dry.” the Sergeant said.

“Pretty much.” Sheridan agreed reluctantly, “We pretty much got buggered.” Sheridan at in silence for a moment before speaking, “How many men are left in Coupon Company?”

“Somewhere around 100, if that.” the Sergeant said.

Sheridan nodded, as he took a deep breath, “We’ll get hit tomorrow. Those Indian attacks weren’t random, they were sent by Burgoyne to slow us down. My guess is there’s troops on the way right now.” The Sergeant nodded as Sheridan continued, “I want the lads up by six. Eat what breakfast you can, who knows when our next will be.”

The Sergeant nodded as the two drifted into silence. The hours continued to pass and the troops continued to wait. They waited to see what the morning would bring, but most of all they waited to see if their enemy would be there or not. Everyone was pretty sure they would be. It seemed the most logical, why wouldn’t Burgoyne send troops after them, why would St. Clair have left them there if contact with the enemy wasn’t iminent. It seemed all to obvious that there was a battle coming. However, it was coming much sooner than they had figured.
_________________
“Fixed fortifications are monuments to man's stupidity.” ~General George S Patton Jr.

eleison · Posted: Wed Mar 05, 2008 11:21 pm Post subject:

Alright, I just finished reading through and I heartily agree with Thaya: this is a great story, but there are definately errors.

I have, in a "Notepad" document, gone through this line by line with corrections. I won't spring these corrections on you unless you really want them, because I do not want to be too blunt or menacing to a piece I actually like. So, please, let me know if you wish to have these relatively small grammatical and structural errors pin-pointed for later reviewing.

I know all to well how hard it is to figure out where things go amuk in one's own work. I STILL can't tell when I use run on sentances and I wish to God someone would tell me exactly where and when I do sometimes.

Anyway, the story itself is quite engaging. I find it more "slice of life" believable than your other piece, and thus a million times easier to get into. I know this is probably because of the subject matter, but there is definately an easier, "homier" feel to it as far as reading is concerned.

And, admittedly, I had a royal gigglefit when Hale was revealed. I am guessing you are not suprised at all, seeing as you know me.
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Everywhere I go I find that a poet has been there before me.
~Sigmund Freud~

GeneralArnold77 · Posted: Thu Mar 06, 2008 4:22 am Post subject:

I'll sit down with you at some point and go through it! It's always nice to have an editor.

It would interest you to know that the Nathaniel Hale that's mentioned here, is NOT the one who said, "My only regret is that I only have one life to give for my country." that was Nathan Hale and that was this one's distant cousin. This one was captured (as you'll find out) and sent on a prison ship and starved to death.

Anyway, Stay Tuned for more!
_________________
“Fixed fortifications are monuments to man's stupidity.” ~General George S Patton Jr.

eleison · Posted: Thu Mar 06, 2008 11:41 am Post subject:

Oh excellent!
_________________
Everywhere I go I find that a poet has been there before me.
~Sigmund Freud~

GeneralArnold77 · Posted: Thu Mar 06, 2008 1:03 pm Post subject:

Sucker Brook
Hubbardton, Hampshire Grants
July 7th, 1777
06:15am

The drums had beat reveille, and the men of Second New Hampshire had woken up to a dimly lit, gray landscape, covered in a thicker blanket of fog. They huddled around their small fires and heated their water to warm their used tea leaves to make the morning tea. Others packed up their blanket rolls, and readied themselves to move again. These soldiers couldn’t be more in a state of ill-preparation to respond to what was coming. Two men knelt down next to Sucker Brook and filled their canteens, also preparing for the day’s activities.

Sheridan wandered through his company’s formation. His eyes searched the faces of his men. Some were as old as sixty, others were as young as fifteen. All of them told the story of all the trials they’d gone through together. Even the ones who had been there only a short time had suffered in their garrison of Fort Ticonderoga and Mount Independence. Now they nibbled their hard tack, and moldy cheese, a meager breakfast, but well appreciated among the soldiers who had been living on half rations for the past four months.

Sheridan looked up for a moment, scanning the morning horizon, when he saw something dim, move in the distance. His eyes squinted, and his hand reached back into his haversack and pulled out his telescope and focused it in on the area of movement he’d just seen. Four men, then five, then six, appeared out of the trees. Men wearing short green coats with red facings. Black helmets sat on their heads with a silver emblem in the center. Two of them had red horse hair sprouting out the top. One of them pointed towards Sheridan. Sheridan pulled the spyglass down and turned towards the rest of the company behind him, “To arms, to arms!!!” Sheridan shouted, “Sergeants, form the Company!” Men scrambled up and grabbed as much of their gear as they could, particularly their muskets, cartridge boxes and bayonets.

By the time the companies of 2nd New Hampshire began to form their loose lines, an entire company of Kings Rangers had arrived outside the wood line. They moved gently into a skirmish formation facing their colonial enemies. Following the, now, two companies of Kings Rangers, came a company of red coated light infantry. They also formed a skirmish line and began firing at the colonial formations. They worked in pairs, one man fired while the other loaded. This kept at least half the men loaded at all times.

Coupon Company was the first to be fully formed and ready for action. Sheridan moved his company off the dirt road and into the brush some. The grass was wet, and soaked many of their clothes. They stopped, and brought their muskets down from the shoulder arms position to the loading position.

“Prime and load!” Sheridan shouted as he drew his silver hilted sword. It was not a large saber, but more a thin blade. Stout, but gentlemanly in appearance, however Sheridan had sharpened it to a razor edge on both sides of the blade. He slide the silver sword knot around his wrist, to stop him from losing his sword completely should it become knocked from his hand.

The soldiers of Coupon Company quickly pulled the cartridges from their boxes. They didn’t have many, but it was enough to at least send some rounds down range at their enemy. Sheridan kept his eye on the enemy as they began firing and advancing. Titcomb organized the rest of the regiment and got them ready to move. The question was, move forward or back. One of the companies was already on it’s way up the back side of the hill. Titcomb, remember Hale’s instructions. Though he would have enjoyed standing and taking the fight to the enemy, but he had his orders, and he was going to carry them out. He looked around for Coupon Company, planning on having Captain Cherry’s Light Infantry form a screen allowing the rest of the regiment to withdraw.

“Make ready!” Sheridan shouted, as his men pulled the hammer back on their muskets, “Present!” The soldiers leveled their muskets at their enemy. They didn’t aim, not that it would have done any good if they had because the muskets were so inaccurate where you “aimed” it didn’t determine where the musket ball would go when it came out the end, “Fire!” The muskets roared out into the morning, sending musket balls flying out the muzzles. Unfortunately few of them would reach their intended targets. Only two of the enemy units coming against the lone company fell as they continued to advance.

“Captain Sheridan! Fall back!” Titcomb hollered from across the field as Cherry’s Lights formed a skirmish line, matching that of the Crown Forces.

“Yes sir.” Sheridan shouted back before turning back to his company, “Coupon Company, Shoulder your Firelocks!” the men moved their muskets to the shoulder and prepared to leave, “Right about face!” his men turned around, pivoting on the balls of their feet and their heals, “To the front, quick, march.”

The men of Coupon Company, who had given the British their first resistance of the day, began to march across the dirt road and across the field to the back side of the hill. Slowly they began to climb the hill, along with the rest of the Regiment. A few shots were heard as Cherry’s lights covered the withdrawal of their brothers in arms.

By the time Sheridan and his company reached the top of the hill, the 11th Massachusetts was already formed and moving up to the top of the hill. Most of them were in normal civilian clothes, while a few managed to retain their blue coats with white facings. Some loose musket fire could be heard from the other side of the field where Seth Warner’s Green Mountain Regiment with elements of the 2nd New Hampshire and Witcomb’s Rangers begining to engage the second prong of the British advance.

Hale and the men of 2nd New Hampshire, that he had with him, formed a line as best they could and prepared to fight. Hale turned and looked to Colonel Seth Warner, a large man, from the Castletown area of the grants, and a cousin to Ethan Allen, the former commander of the Green Mountain Regiment. When the regiment had decided to try and be recognized as a Continental Regiment prior to the invasion of Canada, they voted Seth Warner in as their commander, feeling that Ethan Allen would never be taken seriously as a Continental officer. So this regiment of back woodsmen and farmers belonged to Seth Warner, for almost two years now, and here it was, fighting at home.

Warner stood tall behind his lines as he recived reports from the other areas of the battlefield. Hale listened closely to hear of any news from his 2nd New Hampshire Regiment. Dispite his best efforts, Hale could hear little over the increasing musket fire that was now beginning to take place between the American troop on the left end of the line and the advancing Crown Forces.

Musket balls flew. Some spattered dirt from the ground as they plowed their way into the dirt. Others sliced the air above the heads of their intended targets. Few actually struck home. Muskets were very inaccurate weapons, and practically useless unless afixed with a bayonet. The problem was that it was smooth bore, and thus had no riflings in it to make the projectile spin as it came out. The other problem was that most of the men were using a smaller caliber ball than the diameter of the musket. This caused the ball to bounce down the barrel, only adding to it’s inaccuracy. The one thing the American’s had going for them that day was that they were firing a combination called “Buck and Ball.” This meant, simply, that the muskets were loated with more than just the normal lead musket ball, but they also had small pelets thrown down to add projectiles to them, like small pieces of bird shot. This would prove to have devistating effect this day.

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“Fixed fortifications are monuments to man's stupidity.” ~General George S Patton Jr.