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Time to camp out and wait to be first in line to read the next update.
Don't worry, I am sure all of us will be waiting till you have the time to update. I myself know how outside influences can really curb writing. Take your time, we are all .. fairly.. patient.
Don't worry, I am sure all of us will be waiting till you have the time to update. I myself know how outside influences can really curb writing. Take your time, we are all .. fairly.. patient.
Good luck, I've moved 14 times most of those went well, some didn't so I know how you feel.
Hey Cat! How's tricks? Did you get settled in? In case you can't tell, this is a shamless (well, a little shamed, but not much 
) plug searching for an update. If things are still hectic after the move, that's understandable, we (okay, I ) was just a wondering!
) plug searching for an update. If things are still hectic after the move, that's understandable, we (okay, I ) was just a wondering! 
CatKnight, I finally got caught up with your AAR, and if anything it has been even better than ever! Your battle descriptions are as vivid and gripping as TreizeV's. Though your fights are admittedly on a much smaller scale, you get the personal element very well.
You have had many fine episodes recently. Two that I particularly enjoyed were the fake "court martial" when they promoted Preston for his bravery, and Dragging Canoe's encounter with Exeter. The only problem was that the smug Indian brave spent too long gloating over his revenge and not enough time actually doing it!
I hope you get your housing situation and internet access stable. Let's see Heyward give the knockout blow to Exeter.
You have had many fine episodes recently. Two that I particularly enjoyed were the fake "court martial" when they promoted Preston for his bravery, and Dragging Canoe's encounter with Exeter. The only problem was that the smug Indian brave spent too long gloating over his revenge and not enough time actually doing it!
I hope you get your housing situation and internet access stable. Let's see Heyward give the knockout blow to Exeter.
Chapter 63: High Water Mark
Stuyvesant, Storey, Machiavellian, Zeno, Draco Rexus, JWolf: Thanks folks, I really appreciate your continued support despite the delay. Briefly - things are better then they were. Still unstable, but there may be light on the horizon. If this next chapter seems a little disjointed, it's because it took three sessions over a month to write. Knowing I have such support will help me to push onward. (I just hope I remember how to play when the time comes!) Without further ado....
Chapter 63: High Water Mark
10th March 1780
Near Darien, Georgia
"We're almost there, my boys. I've never served with finer.
We must push forward boys,and bayonet the Yankee tyrants.
To the copse of trees we charge, to crush the Union center.
And when they turn and run, an open road leads us to freedom."
- Attributed to General Armistead
High Water Mark (Gettysburg part 3)
Iced Earth (2004)
The Battle of the Altamaha River set up to be the decisive battle of the southern front, perhaps the entire war. It was true that Lord Cornwallis had slipped past Arnold and Kosciusko and now played harry up and down the Hudson River in New York, but there was never a moment in that bitter, snowy spring when the Americans weren't mere days behind and the constant pursuit must eventually bring him down.
Whether any of the men fighting for control of a Georgian swamp knew their role in fate and destiny, a fate that would extend to 1940s Europe, is uncertain. Certainly General Exeter had repulsed, indeed annihilated the American southern front over the past few months and both sides knew a decisive American defeat here opened the Carolinas and Virginia to destruction. They also knew if the British juggernaut should stumble here, with pirates in control of the seas and Frenchmen across the Mississippi, very little could save West and East Florida.
-------------
"Sir, Colonel Allen and General Heyward are advancing on our position."
Colonel Westerly looked down at his assistant, a short red-haired man from Beaufort, and frowned. They want to exploit my advance. Premature, ran through his head. Instead he said "Go tell Captain Hartley, with my compliments, that he really must pick up the pace." His mind was entirely taken up with trying to get his men past a narrow strip of swamp - perhaps only six abreast. Once across the Champneys it would be easier going.
He was now at the choke point, the narrowest gap between the river on one side and a thick, muck-filled pond on the other. A flock of birds, deciding there were far too many men here for comfort, spooked and took flight cawing angrily as they spiraled and winged eastward. Westerly watched them for a few moments, envying their ability to rise above the stinking morass when Captain Hartley opened fire.
Westerly lunged forward, his horse bobbing its head up and down as he tried to push through the men ahead. Abruptly he saw the cause for alarm: British regulars lined the other side of the river and lay down a murderous fire. Already Hartley was down and most of the command group besides. The Americans returned fire, but without clear orders it was hesitant, tentative, and Westerly could feel the beginnings of panic in the air.
"How? HOW?" They'd trapped the British, Preston destroyed their only bridge. He'd seen the bridge destroyed! "No, this is impossible!"
A whistling sound and blast of warm air convinced Colonel Westerly this was very possible and a man slumped by his side. Westerly swallowed hard, staring at the body.
"Sir? What do yo want to do? Sir? SIR!?"
-----------
Half a mile to the rear, General Benjamin Lincoln glared along the barrel of a cannon and stepped back. "FIRE!!"
At his command twenty cannon belched flame and smoke, balls flying in and among the British infantry. This was what the navy called round shot, 24 and 32 pounds of hurtling iron. If they'd been a little closer, or Westerly wasn't in the way, he may have chanced canister but this would have to do. Again and again he fired, pausing only long enough to let Allen and Heyward thrust through the middle. Westerly's men, on the verge of rout, steadied at the approach of their comrades and then it was hard fighting.
Thomas Heyward managed to drive his horse into the thick of the American mass. Screams, shouts, the hollow thunder of a thousand muskets and the rising, sulfurous gun smoke. The British closest to Lincoln's artillery barrage thought better of their little plan and started to pull back.
-----------------
"Sir, General Dexter is pulling back!"
What!? Jasen Exeter ripped the spyglass out of Donnell's hands and stared. Even with his destroyed vocal cords he managed to utter something between a moan and a growl He thumped a trumpeter on the back of the head to get his attention. The man turned, eyes sparking with anger, then swallowed as he met his general's fierce gaze. Exeter signaled, and the trumpeter blew several sharp blasts. He had to get Dexter back into the fight. He had the Americans trapped, he could end this whole campaign right here!
Colonel Dawson, in charge of the 53rd Foot, looked up at the sharp blasts, saw Exeter's signalmen raise several flags. "Engage? Very well. Major, give the order." Up ahead he could see that the two armies, separated by some ninety yards (meters) of open water, mauled each other at point-blank range. Then...yes! General Piper ordered a battalion across the lone bridge, straight into what was left of Westerly's infantry. Leaderless (Colonel Westerly fell long ago), demoralized and pinned by friend and foe into taking the worst of the fire, they broke. Confusion as they ran into their own men. Heyward swept his men around Allen's flank to deal with the attackers.
And that pox-faced son of a bitch was still retreating! Exeter snarled silently as Piper's cavalry crossed the ford to his side of the river. He'd have the man court-martialed! No, he'd have him crucified! No, first he'd have him whipped, then impaled, THEN crucified! He signaled sharply to Donnell, then turned and mounted his horse.
"Sir? Where are you going?" Lieutenant Donnell grabbed Exeter's reins, and received a riding crop to the knuckles for his efforts. Exeter rode towards his own cavalry, he'd MAKE them fight!
Stuyvesant, Storey, Machiavellian, Zeno, Draco Rexus, JWolf: Thanks folks, I really appreciate your continued support despite the delay. Briefly - things are better then they were. Still unstable, but there may be light on the horizon.
If this next chapter seems a little disjointed, it's because it took three sessions over a month to write. Knowing I have such support will help me to push onward. (I just hope I remember how to play when the time comes!) Without further ado....Chapter 63: High Water Mark
10th March 1780
Near Darien, Georgia
"We're almost there, my boys. I've never served with finer.
We must push forward boys,and bayonet the Yankee tyrants.
To the copse of trees we charge, to crush the Union center.
And when they turn and run, an open road leads us to freedom."
- Attributed to General Armistead
High Water Mark (Gettysburg part 3)
Iced Earth (2004)
The Battle of the Altamaha River set up to be the decisive battle of the southern front, perhaps the entire war. It was true that Lord Cornwallis had slipped past Arnold and Kosciusko and now played harry up and down the Hudson River in New York, but there was never a moment in that bitter, snowy spring when the Americans weren't mere days behind and the constant pursuit must eventually bring him down.
Whether any of the men fighting for control of a Georgian swamp knew their role in fate and destiny, a fate that would extend to 1940s Europe, is uncertain. Certainly General Exeter had repulsed, indeed annihilated the American southern front over the past few months and both sides knew a decisive American defeat here opened the Carolinas and Virginia to destruction. They also knew if the British juggernaut should stumble here, with pirates in control of the seas and Frenchmen across the Mississippi, very little could save West and East Florida.
-------------
"Sir, Colonel Allen and General Heyward are advancing on our position."
Colonel Westerly looked down at his assistant, a short red-haired man from Beaufort, and frowned. They want to exploit my advance. Premature, ran through his head. Instead he said "Go tell Captain Hartley, with my compliments, that he really must pick up the pace." His mind was entirely taken up with trying to get his men past a narrow strip of swamp - perhaps only six abreast. Once across the Champneys it would be easier going.
He was now at the choke point, the narrowest gap between the river on one side and a thick, muck-filled pond on the other. A flock of birds, deciding there were far too many men here for comfort, spooked and took flight cawing angrily as they spiraled and winged eastward. Westerly watched them for a few moments, envying their ability to rise above the stinking morass when Captain Hartley opened fire.
Westerly lunged forward, his horse bobbing its head up and down as he tried to push through the men ahead. Abruptly he saw the cause for alarm: British regulars lined the other side of the river and lay down a murderous fire. Already Hartley was down and most of the command group besides. The Americans returned fire, but without clear orders it was hesitant, tentative, and Westerly could feel the beginnings of panic in the air.
"How? HOW?" They'd trapped the British, Preston destroyed their only bridge. He'd seen the bridge destroyed! "No, this is impossible!"
A whistling sound and blast of warm air convinced Colonel Westerly this was very possible and a man slumped by his side. Westerly swallowed hard, staring at the body.
"Sir? What do yo want to do? Sir? SIR!?"
-----------
Half a mile to the rear, General Benjamin Lincoln glared along the barrel of a cannon and stepped back. "FIRE!!"
At his command twenty cannon belched flame and smoke, balls flying in and among the British infantry. This was what the navy called round shot, 24 and 32 pounds of hurtling iron. If they'd been a little closer, or Westerly wasn't in the way, he may have chanced canister but this would have to do. Again and again he fired, pausing only long enough to let Allen and Heyward thrust through the middle. Westerly's men, on the verge of rout, steadied at the approach of their comrades and then it was hard fighting.
Thomas Heyward managed to drive his horse into the thick of the American mass. Screams, shouts, the hollow thunder of a thousand muskets and the rising, sulfurous gun smoke. The British closest to Lincoln's artillery barrage thought better of their little plan and started to pull back.
-----------------
"Sir, General Dexter is pulling back!"
What!? Jasen Exeter ripped the spyglass out of Donnell's hands and stared. Even with his destroyed vocal cords he managed to utter something between a moan and a growl He thumped a trumpeter on the back of the head to get his attention. The man turned, eyes sparking with anger, then swallowed as he met his general's fierce gaze. Exeter signaled, and the trumpeter blew several sharp blasts. He had to get Dexter back into the fight. He had the Americans trapped, he could end this whole campaign right here!
Colonel Dawson, in charge of the 53rd Foot, looked up at the sharp blasts, saw Exeter's signalmen raise several flags. "Engage? Very well. Major, give the order." Up ahead he could see that the two armies, separated by some ninety yards (meters) of open water, mauled each other at point-blank range. Then...yes! General Piper ordered a battalion across the lone bridge, straight into what was left of Westerly's infantry. Leaderless (Colonel Westerly fell long ago), demoralized and pinned by friend and foe into taking the worst of the fire, they broke. Confusion as they ran into their own men. Heyward swept his men around Allen's flank to deal with the attackers.
And that pox-faced son of a bitch was still retreating! Exeter snarled silently as Piper's cavalry crossed the ford to his side of the river. He'd have the man court-martialed! No, he'd have him crucified! No, first he'd have him whipped, then impaled, THEN crucified! He signaled sharply to Donnell, then turned and mounted his horse.
"Sir? Where are you going?" Lieutenant Donnell grabbed Exeter's reins, and received a riding crop to the knuckles for his efforts. Exeter rode towards his own cavalry, he'd MAKE them fight!
It--it--it can't be--It is! It has returned!
*falls to his knees, blubbering* Oh, how I have waited for this day!
Yes, that was just about my exact reaction when I saw this AAR was updated.
*falls to his knees, blubbering* Oh, how I have waited for this day!
Yes, that was just about my exact reaction when I saw this AAR was updated.
Miss You? Were you gone? I had to go back and reread a couple of posts to get everyone straight in my head but I'm up to speed and waiting for the next post. Good to have you back.
Joe
I had to go back and reread a couple of posts to get everyone straight in my head but I'm up to speed and waiting for the next post. Good to have you back. Joe
I hope that Exeter shows what he's made of by trying to stare down a 32-pound cannon ball... Either his glare will prove to be more deadly than cannon fire, or he'll REALLY show what he's made of (blood, bone, entrails...).
Good to see you writing again, CatKnight. I only needed the slightest of brush ups to be able to follow the story again, and my distaste for Exeter returned very quickly indeed, as seen above.
So... will the retreating British cavalry reform in time to repulse Preston's surprise charge? You keep things exciting, that's for sure.
Good to see you writing again, CatKnight. I only needed the slightest of brush ups to be able to follow the story again, and my distaste for Exeter returned very quickly indeed, as seen above.
So... will the retreating British cavalry reform in time to repulse Preston's surprise charge? You keep things exciting, that's for sure.
And then, in my moment of darkest despair, I heard the clarion call of the AAR. Rising my head from the cold stone floor I looked and mine eyes beheld that sight of sights, the beacon of hope, the return of Catknight to the AAR Forums! -- excerpt of weekly AARA meeting
Great to read an update from you Cat!
I, like Stuyvesant, dearly hope that dear Exeter (whom I never forgot my hatred for ) has an up close and personal meeting with some round shot from one of Lincoln's 32-pounders! Oops, was that too bloodthirsty? Well, let's chalk it up to the return of Cat to the Forums!
Great to read an update from you Cat!
I, like Stuyvesant, dearly hope that dear Exeter (whom I never forgot my hatred for
) has an up close and personal meeting with some round shot from one of Lincoln's 32-pounders! Oops, was that too bloodthirsty? Well, let's chalk it up to the return of Cat to the Forums!
Judas Maccabeus: * blushes * Gee...thanks!
J. Passepartout: Thanks! And yes, I'm back. Hopefully more and more consistently as time passes.
Storey: I'm so happy you missed me. * sniff *
Stuyvesant: All this hate for General Exeter, I mean really...
Draco Rexus: Hm, I've never been called a beacon of hope before!
J. Passepartout: Thanks! And yes, I'm back. Hopefully more and more consistently as time passes.
Storey: I'm so happy you missed me. * sniff *
Stuyvesant: All this hate for General Exeter, I mean really...
Draco Rexus: Hm, I've never been called a beacon of hope before!
Chapter 64: Twilight's Last Gleaming
10th March 1780
Near Darien, Georgia
"Oh no," John Preston protested, pulling his reins and listening. "No, they didn't start without us!"
"It appears they did." Major Engels tilted his head, Beyond the trees and hills they could hear the distant crackle of musketry and the occasional cannon.
"Well, the devil with them all! Double time boys," Preston shook his horse into a trot. "We don't want to miss this!" He spoke cheerfully, but inside John began to worry. They wouldn't be fighting already unless the British rushed to meet them, and that should have been impossible...unless they found a way across the river. Unless he'd missed a ford while scouting. <i>Damn it.</i> "At the gallop!"
"Colonel, we're still too far away. The horses will be exhausted if we charge too soon!"
Preston glared at Major Engels, but he was right. Damn him too...
--------------
"General Exeter?" Reginald Dexter, in charge of His Majesty's Horse, turned in his saddle. "I'm glad you're here." He paused as several horsemen galloped between them. "Though surprised. Shouldn't you be at headquarters, sir?"
Exeter answered by sternly pointing at the American line.
"I regret to say that their cannon barrage was rather intense....." He paused at Exeter's angry gesturing, understanding none of it, "....and we were obliged to withdraw. We cannot get to the guns, and we cannot return until the way is..."
Heads whirled at the report, and several horses neighed and reared. Jasen Exeter lifted his smoking pistol from what was left of Dexter's chest. He dropped it, drew another and turned on the colonel next to him. Several men paused, uncertain what to do. Exeter raised his eyebrows.
Colonel Ashton swallowed. "Orders, sir?"
--------------
"Fill the line! Fill the line!" Cries, shouts, the clash of bayonets and hard, rough impacts. The sharp rap-rap of muskets and balls whistling overhead. Tom drew his sword and Sweety reared in challenge. "Push them back!"
The British salient proved stubborn, but with Allen's men on the right and his on the left they couldn't hold, and inch by bloody inch the British recoiled. The front line roiled back and forth like a living thing and all of a sudden Heyward was in the middle. Bayonets thrust up at him from everywhere and a ball passed so close to his head he could feel the hot wind. Tom hacked inexpertly down as Sweety reared and stamped, extremely displeased with her current role. Then they were gone, the English were fleeing over their bridge. "Follow them!" Tom roared, seconded by Colonel Allen.
Exeter's artillery opened up at a range of one mile, six cannonballs arching high into the afternoon sky. One landed in the third rank to Tom's right, literally crushing one unfortunate soul. It bounced through the next several ranks, decapitating and maiming all in its path, before settling to a hissing, smoking stop. The others performed similarly, and with the bridge ahead it could only get worse.
Worse was an understatement. The British cannon broke off as the Americans charged over the wood bridge, a hundred men in close order meant to establish their own salient long enough for reinforcements to arrive. To Heyward's surprise, General Piper simply moved his men out of the way as they charged across, declining the engagement. Tom frowned. "What the devil is he doing!?"
The cannon fired again, destroying the bridge and raining a hail of wood shrapnel on the American forces. Piper's men swarmed the one hundred, butchering them on their bridgehead.
"No quarter!" Heyward screamed, raising his sword again. It hardly needed saying, the infantrymen fired at each other across their little river with intense hate. Occasionally American or British cannon would speak, but this was truly a contest of musketry and order. Behind them Tom could clearly see the enemy cavalry crossing the river.
---------------
General Exeter nodded to Colonel Ashton and pointed imperiously. Ashton swallowed and called out. "Musicians, sound the advance!" Trumpets blew up and down the line, and they slowly advanced into the cold, running water. Up ahead both lines were obscured in powdersmoke - this was perfect. Exeter's men were better by virtue of experience, half a year working their way up the Gulf and Atlantic coast. An even fight must favor him. So long as Lincoln and his awful cannon couldn't enter the fray, then this battle was as good as won. Granted it'd be a Pyrrhic victory, but casualties didn't matter. Killing Heyward, burning Charleston, and proving his worth to his new masters - now that mattered.
"Sir!" Ashton grabbed Exeter's arm. "The enemy!"
He looked over. American cavalry! If they caught him in the middle of crossing the river they'd be slaughtered! All his plans would come to naught!!
---------------
"Running? He can't run! What kind of idiot runs!?" Preston cried indignantly. A moment later he remembered his own less than stellar start and flushed. Ahead Exeter's cavalry was...running? He raised his hand to slow his men down, stared at the distant battle to the left and the fleeing cavalry to his right. Reluctantly he turned back to help Tom and the others.
Lieutenant Donnell realized his danger and started to turn the British cannon around. Slow, too slow, with the thunder of hoof beats and their insane yelling in his ears he drew his sword. "Steady!" he cried to the crewmen, who hastily picked up unloaded muskets. A quick, savage melee with horses wheeling. He thrust up at John and missed, Preston hacked down with his sword. They were running now, but Engels quickly rounded them up.
--------------
"Across! Get across!" With a furious roar Heyward's men charged through the river across what was left of the bridge. The fallen timbers left distinct ripples in the running current which gave them some clue where to step. Nonetheless many fell on the slick rocks and wood, and the resulting charge resembled a disordered mob. It seemed to answer though, as again Piper recoiled. Flanked on both sides by cannon and with no hope of retreat he quickly surrendered. It was over.
---------------
27th March, 1780
Boston, Massachusetts
Henry Stewart read the dispatch from Savannah grimly. So...Exeter had failed. The American southern flank was secure.
Unfortunate.
Most unfortunate.
10th March 1780
Near Darien, Georgia
"Oh no," John Preston protested, pulling his reins and listening. "No, they didn't start without us!"
"It appears they did." Major Engels tilted his head, Beyond the trees and hills they could hear the distant crackle of musketry and the occasional cannon.
"Well, the devil with them all! Double time boys," Preston shook his horse into a trot. "We don't want to miss this!" He spoke cheerfully, but inside John began to worry. They wouldn't be fighting already unless the British rushed to meet them, and that should have been impossible...unless they found a way across the river. Unless he'd missed a ford while scouting. <i>Damn it.</i> "At the gallop!"
"Colonel, we're still too far away. The horses will be exhausted if we charge too soon!"
Preston glared at Major Engels, but he was right. Damn him too...
--------------
"General Exeter?" Reginald Dexter, in charge of His Majesty's Horse, turned in his saddle. "I'm glad you're here." He paused as several horsemen galloped between them. "Though surprised. Shouldn't you be at headquarters, sir?"
Exeter answered by sternly pointing at the American line.
"I regret to say that their cannon barrage was rather intense....." He paused at Exeter's angry gesturing, understanding none of it, "....and we were obliged to withdraw. We cannot get to the guns, and we cannot return until the way is..."
Heads whirled at the report, and several horses neighed and reared. Jasen Exeter lifted his smoking pistol from what was left of Dexter's chest. He dropped it, drew another and turned on the colonel next to him. Several men paused, uncertain what to do. Exeter raised his eyebrows.
Colonel Ashton swallowed. "Orders, sir?"
--------------
"Fill the line! Fill the line!" Cries, shouts, the clash of bayonets and hard, rough impacts. The sharp rap-rap of muskets and balls whistling overhead. Tom drew his sword and Sweety reared in challenge. "Push them back!"
The British salient proved stubborn, but with Allen's men on the right and his on the left they couldn't hold, and inch by bloody inch the British recoiled. The front line roiled back and forth like a living thing and all of a sudden Heyward was in the middle. Bayonets thrust up at him from everywhere and a ball passed so close to his head he could feel the hot wind. Tom hacked inexpertly down as Sweety reared and stamped, extremely displeased with her current role. Then they were gone, the English were fleeing over their bridge. "Follow them!" Tom roared, seconded by Colonel Allen.
Exeter's artillery opened up at a range of one mile, six cannonballs arching high into the afternoon sky. One landed in the third rank to Tom's right, literally crushing one unfortunate soul. It bounced through the next several ranks, decapitating and maiming all in its path, before settling to a hissing, smoking stop. The others performed similarly, and with the bridge ahead it could only get worse.
Worse was an understatement. The British cannon broke off as the Americans charged over the wood bridge, a hundred men in close order meant to establish their own salient long enough for reinforcements to arrive. To Heyward's surprise, General Piper simply moved his men out of the way as they charged across, declining the engagement. Tom frowned. "What the devil is he doing!?"
The cannon fired again, destroying the bridge and raining a hail of wood shrapnel on the American forces. Piper's men swarmed the one hundred, butchering them on their bridgehead.
"No quarter!" Heyward screamed, raising his sword again. It hardly needed saying, the infantrymen fired at each other across their little river with intense hate. Occasionally American or British cannon would speak, but this was truly a contest of musketry and order. Behind them Tom could clearly see the enemy cavalry crossing the river.
---------------
General Exeter nodded to Colonel Ashton and pointed imperiously. Ashton swallowed and called out. "Musicians, sound the advance!" Trumpets blew up and down the line, and they slowly advanced into the cold, running water. Up ahead both lines were obscured in powdersmoke - this was perfect. Exeter's men were better by virtue of experience, half a year working their way up the Gulf and Atlantic coast. An even fight must favor him. So long as Lincoln and his awful cannon couldn't enter the fray, then this battle was as good as won. Granted it'd be a Pyrrhic victory, but casualties didn't matter. Killing Heyward, burning Charleston, and proving his worth to his new masters - now that mattered.
"Sir!" Ashton grabbed Exeter's arm. "The enemy!"
He looked over. American cavalry! If they caught him in the middle of crossing the river they'd be slaughtered! All his plans would come to naught!!
---------------
"Running? He can't run! What kind of idiot runs!?" Preston cried indignantly. A moment later he remembered his own less than stellar start and flushed. Ahead Exeter's cavalry was...running? He raised his hand to slow his men down, stared at the distant battle to the left and the fleeing cavalry to his right. Reluctantly he turned back to help Tom and the others.
Lieutenant Donnell realized his danger and started to turn the British cannon around. Slow, too slow, with the thunder of hoof beats and their insane yelling in his ears he drew his sword. "Steady!" he cried to the crewmen, who hastily picked up unloaded muskets. A quick, savage melee with horses wheeling. He thrust up at John and missed, Preston hacked down with his sword. They were running now, but Engels quickly rounded them up.
--------------
"Across! Get across!" With a furious roar Heyward's men charged through the river across what was left of the bridge. The fallen timbers left distinct ripples in the running current which gave them some clue where to step. Nonetheless many fell on the slick rocks and wood, and the resulting charge resembled a disordered mob. It seemed to answer though, as again Piper recoiled. Flanked on both sides by cannon and with no hope of retreat he quickly surrendered. It was over.
---------------
27th March, 1780
Boston, Massachusetts
Henry Stewart read the dispatch from Savannah grimly. So...Exeter had failed. The American southern flank was secure.
Unfortunate.
Most unfortunate.
Who thinks that someone is up for punishment from their master?
Well, Exeter is stayed at great cost. Here's to him not returning... ever.
Well, Exeter is stayed at great cost. Here's to him not returning... ever.
Can you give us a post mortem report on that battle so we know who is left standing, and where? And is Exeter still breathing?
I envisioned a nice game of charades by the othe British officers who tried to interpret Exeter's orders.
"Right, sir, three words, beginning with A. First syllable sounds like ... "
I envisioned a nice game of charades by the othe British officers who tried to interpret Exeter's orders.
"Right, sir, three words, beginning with A. First syllable sounds like ... "
CatKnight said:
Seems a trifle irritable doesn't he? The guy really could us some anger management lessons. Still it could have been worst. I’m not sure how but still I hope he got away safely since he’s definitely someone you love to hate.
Joe
Aye, Cat, a post mortem would be nice... I'm hoping that Exeter didn't survive, but I'm having this seeking supsicion that since we have read the details of his death, the mute miscreant with (wink to Storey ) an anger management issue is still out there to cause problems for our heroes! Blast his eyes!!!
Okay, I'm gonna go out on a limb and ask for some assistance. My memory is failing me and I need somebody to clue me in to who the heck is Henry Stewart and why do I think that he may be the next person I'm gonna develop a burning hate for?
) an anger management issue is still out there to cause problems for our heroes! Blast his eyes!!!Okay, I'm gonna go out on a limb and ask for some assistance. My memory is failing me and I need somebody to clue me in to who the heck is Henry Stewart and why do I think that he may be the next person I'm gonna develop a burning hate for?
Henry Stuart was the bad guy who also was from the nineteen forties. So far as I can tell, he was sent to ensure history as it happens in the first post of the story, and Heywood was sent to counter him, or the other way around.
J. Passepartout: Yep!
jwolf: Oh, I suppose so. Charades hm? I like it!
Storey: Yeah...anger management issues...
Draco Rexus: See J. Passepartout's response
J. Passepartout: Bingo.
Or is it the other way around?
Hmm
jwolf: Oh, I suppose so. Charades hm? I like it!
Storey: Yeah...anger management issues...
Draco Rexus: See J. Passepartout's response
J. Passepartout: Bingo.
Or is it the other way around?
Hmm
Chapter 65: Post Mortem
20th March 1780
Charleston, South Carolina
Sir, the letter began.
I have the honour to inform you that on the 10th day of March, near the Altamaha River in Georgia at ten o'clock in the morning, the army that I have the honour to command met a force of British regulars commanded by Jasen Exeter, a general in His Majesty's forces.
After a mutual engagement lasting six hours, the British army was routed with heavy losses. General Exeter himself was not found, and I now believe him to be in charge of a cavalry regiment that retreated before our advance in the direction of Eastern Florida.
I do, however, have to lament the loss of Colonel Daniel Westerly, who fell at the height of the action. His courage and skill we are much indebted to.
I have taken the liberty of ordering an advance against Saint Augustine, East Florida and points south in the hope of pinning down General Exeter and ending any further British resistance. Screens have been placed to my west to prevent any rallying force from getting around us.
I am, your obedient and humble servant,
Thomas Heyward,
Commanding, Army of Carolina
American Forces at Onset: 8,977, 20 cannon
Casualties: 974 killed, 2,109 wounded
Commanding Officer Losses: Col. Westerly - killed
British Forces at Onset: estimated 5,800, 6 cannon
Casualties 1,853 killed, 3,095 wounded and captured
Commanding Officer Losses: Gen. Dexter - killed (by own men)
Gen. Piper - captured
Lt. Donnell (in charge of artillery) - killed
Edward Rutledge quietly folded the letter. He did this without looking down at it, though part of him longed to read the words 'routed with heavy losses' again and again. Despite his attempt at composure, Rutledge couldn't resist the urge to smile tightly as he regarded the Joint Assembly of the Carolinas and Virginia with pleasure.
"Gentlemen!" he called, his voice echoing in the open chambers of the South Carolina State House. "As we surmised, this is our deliverance. It's over, we've won!" They roared, and one of the North Carolina representatives cried "Hear him!"
Rutledge relayed the gist of the letter. At the sacred word 'routed' there were smiles. At the less welcome news of Exeter not being found, they looked grave.
"Never mind," Rutledge smiled. "Never mind it! General Heyward's failing in this is minor. Mister Exeter may be a singularly devious, clever man but let's see him fight without an army! The Gulf and Atlantic coasts are interdicted, they cannot reinforce him. I am certain we will make good this little error." In truth, he was perfectly happy Exeter was still alive. He'd keep Heyward busy and out of his business.
"Now gentlemen you see the truth of my words, do you not?" A few roars, some uneasy grimaces as people realized where he was headed. "The north has failed. We're stuck in endless war with the Shawnee, and the Canadians have pushed into New York. How come they, with more men and greater resources, cannot do what we have managed in a few short months? Is it their courage?"
He held up a finger against the ensuing debate. "Nay, for in all fairness there is nothing wrong with their heart nor their will. Is it their training? Well, now we are closer to the mark my friend, but not quite. No gentlemen, it is true the common soldier in these armies is ill-bred, underfed and poorly equipped, but is that their fault? No! It is not the common man of Pennsylvania and Connecticut and Delaware I question, it is their leaders!"
"Am I wrong?" he cried at the few stalwart defenders of their northern brethren. "You have not been in Congress, I find. I must tell you, that never in my life have I heard such caterwauling. And what do you think their aim is, gentlemen? I will give you a hint, my friends. There are three of us - four if you count Georgia. There are nine of them. Each state receives one vote." He watched closely as everyone's brow furrowed in thought, then noted the handful that figured out his point. They were the smart ones.
"Did you know" he asked, very softly, "that Massachusetts wanted America to ban the slave trade?"
Slavery. Future generations would of course revile it, but once you get past all the moral challenges and attempts at justification one fact became undeniable: They were the lifeblood of the southern economy. Without them Virginia and the Carolinas would instantly become poor backwaters.
"What do you propose?" Thomas Jefferson of Virginia asked, frowning.
"That we use this famous victory to our advantage. That we send our northern brethren a message they will not soon forget. They will treat us as equals - or they will regret it."
20th March 1780
Charleston, South Carolina
Sir, the letter began.
I have the honour to inform you that on the 10th day of March, near the Altamaha River in Georgia at ten o'clock in the morning, the army that I have the honour to command met a force of British regulars commanded by Jasen Exeter, a general in His Majesty's forces.
After a mutual engagement lasting six hours, the British army was routed with heavy losses. General Exeter himself was not found, and I now believe him to be in charge of a cavalry regiment that retreated before our advance in the direction of Eastern Florida.
I do, however, have to lament the loss of Colonel Daniel Westerly, who fell at the height of the action. His courage and skill we are much indebted to.
I have taken the liberty of ordering an advance against Saint Augustine, East Florida and points south in the hope of pinning down General Exeter and ending any further British resistance. Screens have been placed to my west to prevent any rallying force from getting around us.
I am, your obedient and humble servant,
Thomas Heyward,
Commanding, Army of Carolina
American Forces at Onset: 8,977, 20 cannon
Casualties: 974 killed, 2,109 wounded
Commanding Officer Losses: Col. Westerly - killed
British Forces at Onset: estimated 5,800, 6 cannon
Casualties 1,853 killed, 3,095 wounded and captured
Commanding Officer Losses: Gen. Dexter - killed (by own men)
Gen. Piper - captured
Lt. Donnell (in charge of artillery) - killed
Edward Rutledge quietly folded the letter. He did this without looking down at it, though part of him longed to read the words 'routed with heavy losses' again and again. Despite his attempt at composure, Rutledge couldn't resist the urge to smile tightly as he regarded the Joint Assembly of the Carolinas and Virginia with pleasure.
"Gentlemen!" he called, his voice echoing in the open chambers of the South Carolina State House. "As we surmised, this is our deliverance. It's over, we've won!" They roared, and one of the North Carolina representatives cried "Hear him!"
Rutledge relayed the gist of the letter. At the sacred word 'routed' there were smiles. At the less welcome news of Exeter not being found, they looked grave.
"Never mind," Rutledge smiled. "Never mind it! General Heyward's failing in this is minor. Mister Exeter may be a singularly devious, clever man but let's see him fight without an army! The Gulf and Atlantic coasts are interdicted, they cannot reinforce him. I am certain we will make good this little error." In truth, he was perfectly happy Exeter was still alive. He'd keep Heyward busy and out of his business.
"Now gentlemen you see the truth of my words, do you not?" A few roars, some uneasy grimaces as people realized where he was headed. "The north has failed. We're stuck in endless war with the Shawnee, and the Canadians have pushed into New York. How come they, with more men and greater resources, cannot do what we have managed in a few short months? Is it their courage?"
He held up a finger against the ensuing debate. "Nay, for in all fairness there is nothing wrong with their heart nor their will. Is it their training? Well, now we are closer to the mark my friend, but not quite. No gentlemen, it is true the common soldier in these armies is ill-bred, underfed and poorly equipped, but is that their fault? No! It is not the common man of Pennsylvania and Connecticut and Delaware I question, it is their leaders!"
"Am I wrong?" he cried at the few stalwart defenders of their northern brethren. "You have not been in Congress, I find. I must tell you, that never in my life have I heard such caterwauling. And what do you think their aim is, gentlemen? I will give you a hint, my friends. There are three of us - four if you count Georgia. There are nine of them. Each state receives one vote." He watched closely as everyone's brow furrowed in thought, then noted the handful that figured out his point. They were the smart ones.
"Did you know" he asked, very softly, "that Massachusetts wanted America to ban the slave trade?"
Slavery. Future generations would of course revile it, but once you get past all the moral challenges and attempts at justification one fact became undeniable: They were the lifeblood of the southern economy. Without them Virginia and the Carolinas would instantly become poor backwaters.
"What do you propose?" Thomas Jefferson of Virginia asked, frowning.
"That we use this famous victory to our advantage. That we send our northern brethren a message they will not soon forget. They will treat us as equals - or they will regret it."