(no subject)
Title: The Swamp Fox
Rating: K (Suitable for all ages)
Disclaimers: None
Original pen-date: 26 November 2008
Summary: Colonel Francis Marion takes his men on a raid. August 1780.
Author's Note: There are probably some historical goofs in here, but I don't have many relevant books here with me. Any discrepancies or inaccuracies are due to my relying almost exclusively on Internet sources.
The report had come days ago, telling of a six-wagon supply train bound for Georgetown. Plans had been made and men selected, and Francis Marion prepared to make another strike against the British. Gathering the necessary men for the raid was easy. Many stayed within calling distance, while others were quickly gathered by fast-riding messengers. They came, with their own arms and horses. Ready for a fight or a quick victory. Whichever one it was didn't matter to them. Marion relied on such men. They would be put to excellent use that night, while Tarleton's British Legion were pre-occupied. There were, after all, important supplies to be captured.
A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. His scouts had earlier reported that a patrol of the Legion were probing the western marches, following a tip from a Loyalist. The tip was completely false, of course; one of Marion's men had ridden out dressed as his colonel, and the reaction from the British was nothing less than expected. The Legion's distraction was precisely what Marion wanted. There were fifty men waiting in the marsh behind him, all well-mounted and armed. With Tarleton and his so-called Raiders chasing what amounted to an impostor, Marion and his own men were free to conduct a raid of their own. Lifting an arm to signal the raiding party to advance, Marion spurred his own horse forward.
It was dusk. The fifty-one raiders left the safety of the marshes and made their way toward Georgetown, each man knowing their target and what they were to do upon engaging the British guards. Their horses' hooves had been muffled by burlap sacks, to avoid making unnecessary noise in their steady, stealthy approach. There was a group of British supply wagons passing through the countryside, guarded by a troop of dragoons. Marion had heard of the wagons' presence well before they had even crossed into South Carolina, but he had waited until they were closer to Georgetown before deciding to strike. With Tarleton and his Legion on the opposite side of the parish, the timing could not have been more perfect.
Half an hour's gallop brought them to the main road to Georgetown. The lanterns on the British wagons gave away their position on the road, two miles distant from the raiders. Marion kept his men off the road after sighting the wagons and split his force. He would drive directly at the wagons from the front, while his captain, Ezekiel Hamilton, encircled the wagons from behind and the sides. When Hamilton signalled by whistling that he was prepared, Marion would spring the trap. It was only a matter of waiting until the wagons were close enough. Their horses nickered and shuffled their burlap-bound hooves, as if they too were eager for the impending action. His men knew better than to talk, but they were confident and knew their tasks. There was no need for talk.
Marion watched the lightly-bobbing lanterns and counted. Six wagons, escorted by a party of sixteen dragoons. There was a mixture of powder, ball, and provisions in those wagons. He could find many uses for that sort of precious cargo. It would be a humiliating blow to Tarleton's pride as well. The British colonel was renowned for his eagerness to engage and disperse colonials and to capture a supply train, even a small one, would be a severe strike against Tarleton's ego. It would also deprive him of important supplies. With a slight smirk, Marion slipped his pistol a little more out of his belt. In almost all aspects, this raid would be a victory for the colonials.
There was Hamilton's whistle. Marion's group spurred their horses forward to a trot, coming up onto the road and moving toward the approaching British train. The dragoons, predictably, formed up to repel the frontal assault and were struck from behind by Hamilton's men. There was a brief confusion amongst the dragoons until they managed, admirably, to square off against both threats. Marion fired his pistol and hurriedly stuffed it away again to draw his hanger. His men held their own fire, using their musket butts to knock the dragoons from their horses. Hamilton's group were back with them, having driven through the other dragoons with only a handful of shots. The British horsemen were beaten, many knocked from their horses.
"Take the wagons," Marion ordered. Six men slithered down from their saddles and shoved the sullen, resentful wagon drivers from their benches. Their horses were taken by the reins by other raiders and, after offering a handful of bandages to the few wounded dragoons, the party set off along the road. They didn't fear a reprisal attack from the dragoons, for within a mile they were diverting from the road and crossing over-land, taking a different route back to the safety of the marshes. It was difficult going for the wagons, but they would be kept only until their valuable cargo was removed. The British would find the empty wagons abandoned on the road within days, well after the defeated dragoon escorts reported the incident. In the far distance, a night-bird sang. Marion's horse cantered easily near the head of his victorious raiding party, feeling content. It was, in simplest form, another successful night's work for the Swamp Fox.
Rating: K (Suitable for all ages)
Disclaimers: None
Original pen-date: 26 November 2008
Summary: Colonel Francis Marion takes his men on a raid. August 1780.
Author's Note: There are probably some historical goofs in here, but I don't have many relevant books here with me. Any discrepancies or inaccuracies are due to my relying almost exclusively on Internet sources.
The report had come days ago, telling of a six-wagon supply train bound for Georgetown. Plans had been made and men selected, and Francis Marion prepared to make another strike against the British. Gathering the necessary men for the raid was easy. Many stayed within calling distance, while others were quickly gathered by fast-riding messengers. They came, with their own arms and horses. Ready for a fight or a quick victory. Whichever one it was didn't matter to them. Marion relied on such men. They would be put to excellent use that night, while Tarleton's British Legion were pre-occupied. There were, after all, important supplies to be captured.
A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. His scouts had earlier reported that a patrol of the Legion were probing the western marches, following a tip from a Loyalist. The tip was completely false, of course; one of Marion's men had ridden out dressed as his colonel, and the reaction from the British was nothing less than expected. The Legion's distraction was precisely what Marion wanted. There were fifty men waiting in the marsh behind him, all well-mounted and armed. With Tarleton and his so-called Raiders chasing what amounted to an impostor, Marion and his own men were free to conduct a raid of their own. Lifting an arm to signal the raiding party to advance, Marion spurred his own horse forward.
It was dusk. The fifty-one raiders left the safety of the marshes and made their way toward Georgetown, each man knowing their target and what they were to do upon engaging the British guards. Their horses' hooves had been muffled by burlap sacks, to avoid making unnecessary noise in their steady, stealthy approach. There was a group of British supply wagons passing through the countryside, guarded by a troop of dragoons. Marion had heard of the wagons' presence well before they had even crossed into South Carolina, but he had waited until they were closer to Georgetown before deciding to strike. With Tarleton and his Legion on the opposite side of the parish, the timing could not have been more perfect.
Half an hour's gallop brought them to the main road to Georgetown. The lanterns on the British wagons gave away their position on the road, two miles distant from the raiders. Marion kept his men off the road after sighting the wagons and split his force. He would drive directly at the wagons from the front, while his captain, Ezekiel Hamilton, encircled the wagons from behind and the sides. When Hamilton signalled by whistling that he was prepared, Marion would spring the trap. It was only a matter of waiting until the wagons were close enough. Their horses nickered and shuffled their burlap-bound hooves, as if they too were eager for the impending action. His men knew better than to talk, but they were confident and knew their tasks. There was no need for talk.
Marion watched the lightly-bobbing lanterns and counted. Six wagons, escorted by a party of sixteen dragoons. There was a mixture of powder, ball, and provisions in those wagons. He could find many uses for that sort of precious cargo. It would be a humiliating blow to Tarleton's pride as well. The British colonel was renowned for his eagerness to engage and disperse colonials and to capture a supply train, even a small one, would be a severe strike against Tarleton's ego. It would also deprive him of important supplies. With a slight smirk, Marion slipped his pistol a little more out of his belt. In almost all aspects, this raid would be a victory for the colonials.
There was Hamilton's whistle. Marion's group spurred their horses forward to a trot, coming up onto the road and moving toward the approaching British train. The dragoons, predictably, formed up to repel the frontal assault and were struck from behind by Hamilton's men. There was a brief confusion amongst the dragoons until they managed, admirably, to square off against both threats. Marion fired his pistol and hurriedly stuffed it away again to draw his hanger. His men held their own fire, using their musket butts to knock the dragoons from their horses. Hamilton's group were back with them, having driven through the other dragoons with only a handful of shots. The British horsemen were beaten, many knocked from their horses.
"Take the wagons," Marion ordered. Six men slithered down from their saddles and shoved the sullen, resentful wagon drivers from their benches. Their horses were taken by the reins by other raiders and, after offering a handful of bandages to the few wounded dragoons, the party set off along the road. They didn't fear a reprisal attack from the dragoons, for within a mile they were diverting from the road and crossing over-land, taking a different route back to the safety of the marshes. It was difficult going for the wagons, but they would be kept only until their valuable cargo was removed. The British would find the empty wagons abandoned on the road within days, well after the defeated dragoon escorts reported the incident. In the far distance, a night-bird sang. Marion's horse cantered easily near the head of his victorious raiding party, feeling content. It was, in simplest form, another successful night's work for the Swamp Fox.