American History, Period 2 02/12
Students might have noticed that, instead of that stuffy old classroom, their History class was being held in the Danger Shop today, where there was a table with a selection of peanuts, Cracker Jack, and soft drinks for the students to help themselves to at their leisure. Beyond the table, there was a simple wooden bench, and then a field, with a decent amount of flat space that eventually gave way into rolling hills and forest area.
Captain Nathan Algren of the 7th Cavalry was standing with his arms crossed nearby, once again wearing his blue uniform. He watched the students file in without a word, an eyebrow arched upward. Tyler had faded far, far into the background this week; he knew this was Nathan's story to tell, and he wasn't sure what he could add beyond offering his presence.
"The Battle of the Little Bighorn," Algren began, once it looked as though everyone who was planning on showing up to class today had arrived, "took place on the 25th and 26th of June in the year 1876. For all that we've been talking about the defeats and downfalls of the Native peoples of America, I thought we could go for a slight change of pace." Really, he had no ulterior motives here at all. "This battle was a remarkable victory for the Lakota and the Northern Cheyenne against America in the Great Sioux War, which apparently lasted from 1876 through to 1877, which means I left my own time about halfway through, and so no, I wasn't there to see the end of this one. Yet."
Really, he looked too solemn to look amused by this point.
"It was a Lakota holy man by the name of Sitting Bull who had managed to convince over 2,000 Native Americans to leave their reservations to follow him. It was Lt. Col. George Armstrong Custer of the 7th Cavalry who, proudly and stupidly, attempted to lead a column of 700 men against the Indians in the middle of the day. He had assumed that there were no more than 800 Indians that his men would be facing, which would have meant that they were still outnumbered, yes, but with superior firepower it would supposedly have been little challenge." He shifted his weight only slightly, furrowing his eyebrows. This was the first movement he'd actually made since the start of the class. "Custer's biggest concern was to prevent the escape of the Indians he was advancing upon rather than actually fighting them, as he had only been able to observe the women of the village and the young boys who were moving the horses out to better pastures."
He set his jaw as he pressed on.
"By the end of the battle, 52 percent of the 7th Cavalry was dead; six officers and 242 troopers. One officer and 51 troopers were wounded. Those dead include Custer himself, and every single man in the five companies that had marched with him. Major Marcus A. Reno and Captain Frederick William Benteen managed to continue fighting with their men until Brig. General Alfred Terry and his column approached from the North, and the Indians drew off in the opposite direction. The surviving American soldiers were left to attempt to identify and bury the 7th's dead as quickly as possible, a task made near impossible by the fact that two days of June heat had sped up the rotting of the corpses, and most of the bodies had been stripped of their clothing and mutilated before the survivors could get to them."
Algren's gaze turned out to the field, his jaw set as his eyes focused on something that wasn't there at all, and lingered for a moment before he snapped back into the here and now and looked at the class with a sudden exuberance that was hardly natural.
"Also, 1876 is the year that the National League of Professional Baseball clubs was founded. Back in February, I believe it was. Cracker Jack didn't exist yet, that was a product of 1893, but I hear that it's become iconic of the sport, so grab yourselves a bag for the bench, pick up a glove each, and let's play ball. If you don't know what baseball is, it involves hitting things with sticks. You'll probably like it."
If anyone said anything to him about vampires today, he'd be taking back the Cracker Jack, dammit.
"If you need help playing," Tyler added, "ask one of us. Or ask your classmates. Or make it up. We'll be over here, either way."
[Play ball!]
Captain Nathan Algren of the 7th Cavalry was standing with his arms crossed nearby, once again wearing his blue uniform. He watched the students file in without a word, an eyebrow arched upward. Tyler had faded far, far into the background this week; he knew this was Nathan's story to tell, and he wasn't sure what he could add beyond offering his presence.
"The Battle of the Little Bighorn," Algren began, once it looked as though everyone who was planning on showing up to class today had arrived, "took place on the 25th and 26th of June in the year 1876. For all that we've been talking about the defeats and downfalls of the Native peoples of America, I thought we could go for a slight change of pace." Really, he had no ulterior motives here at all. "This battle was a remarkable victory for the Lakota and the Northern Cheyenne against America in the Great Sioux War, which apparently lasted from 1876 through to 1877, which means I left my own time about halfway through, and so no, I wasn't there to see the end of this one. Yet."
Really, he looked too solemn to look amused by this point.
"It was a Lakota holy man by the name of Sitting Bull who had managed to convince over 2,000 Native Americans to leave their reservations to follow him. It was Lt. Col. George Armstrong Custer of the 7th Cavalry who, proudly and stupidly, attempted to lead a column of 700 men against the Indians in the middle of the day. He had assumed that there were no more than 800 Indians that his men would be facing, which would have meant that they were still outnumbered, yes, but with superior firepower it would supposedly have been little challenge." He shifted his weight only slightly, furrowing his eyebrows. This was the first movement he'd actually made since the start of the class. "Custer's biggest concern was to prevent the escape of the Indians he was advancing upon rather than actually fighting them, as he had only been able to observe the women of the village and the young boys who were moving the horses out to better pastures."
He set his jaw as he pressed on.
"By the end of the battle, 52 percent of the 7th Cavalry was dead; six officers and 242 troopers. One officer and 51 troopers were wounded. Those dead include Custer himself, and every single man in the five companies that had marched with him. Major Marcus A. Reno and Captain Frederick William Benteen managed to continue fighting with their men until Brig. General Alfred Terry and his column approached from the North, and the Indians drew off in the opposite direction. The surviving American soldiers were left to attempt to identify and bury the 7th's dead as quickly as possible, a task made near impossible by the fact that two days of June heat had sped up the rotting of the corpses, and most of the bodies had been stripped of their clothing and mutilated before the survivors could get to them."
Algren's gaze turned out to the field, his jaw set as his eyes focused on something that wasn't there at all, and lingered for a moment before he snapped back into the here and now and looked at the class with a sudden exuberance that was hardly natural.
"Also, 1876 is the year that the National League of Professional Baseball clubs was founded. Back in February, I believe it was. Cracker Jack didn't exist yet, that was a product of 1893, but I hear that it's become iconic of the sport, so grab yourselves a bag for the bench, pick up a glove each, and let's play ball. If you don't know what baseball is, it involves hitting things with sticks. You'll probably like it."
If anyone said anything to him about vampires today, he'd be taking back the Cracker Jack, dammit.
"If you need help playing," Tyler added, "ask one of us. Or ask your classmates. Or make it up. We'll be over here, either way."
[Play ball!]