(no subject)
Title: Rallying
Rating: K+ (Suitable for ages 13 and above)
Disclaimers: None.
Original pen-date: 14 January 2009
Summary: After the victory at Trenton, the Massachusetts Line marches toward Princeton.
Author's Note: There are probably some historical goofs in here and I apologise for them.
The world didn't seem so bleak anymore, somehow. They had beaten the Hessians at Trenton somehow and miraculously had only lost two men killed. Benjamin Strout found that nearly impossible to believe, even three days after. The army had withdrawn across that freezing river after their victory, taking supplies and prisoners with them. Somehow, despite the biting cold, ice-rain, and snow, they had beaten a well-drilled and competent garrison. The thrill of it lingered in almost every man in the regiment. What a blow! Captain Hill had wasted no time praising his men, an occurrence made all the more memorable because Captain Hill offered praise so rarely. Strout had never been more proud to call himself a Massachusetts man.
Things had happened quickly after getting back ashore in Pennsylvania. Rumour had it that General Washington wanted to score another victory to keep the British on the defensive. Preparations had begun for a third crossing of that damned river, almost immediately after the army had gotten back across it the day after their successful attack. They had returned in Trenton, though Strout would never complain about the accessibility of hot food and campfires. It was a drastic improvement to unsheltered nights on the march. Never again would he grouse about a room being too hot. Not after this!
The supplies they had taken had been distributed out amongst the regiments, offering the worst-clothed men with very welcome shoes and heavy coats. Jack Leech had cried for joy when he was given a pair of boots for his swollen feet. Strout himself had received a blanket, from which he'd promptly cut two long strips to use as makeshift shoes. It was not as good a prize as Jack's, but he would never begrudge the boy that battered pair of boots. Not if it saved him from losing his feet to the surgeon's knife. Other men received their bits gladly, though some were foolish enough to lose their prizes to others in card games or by theft.
To bolster the suddenly-renewed confidence even more, word had spread about the surprise success. Men were coming in regularly, in groups sometimes, to join the army. Some, Strout had heard, had served before but had quit when their enlistments ended. Or, as somebody had grumpily observed, when things had looked dim. The men suspected of quitting to save their own skins weren't regarded very highly by the others, but still they came. And stayed. The reality of an actual victory had provided many with courage. Strout didn't care who came to join them, as long as they were willing to fight.
Barely three days after quartering in Trenton, the Twenty-Third and most of the rest of the army slipped out of the town after night-fall. Spirits were high and few men complained about the cold or the march. Jack Leech was skipping along, delighted in his new boots. His antics amused the men and more than once they were admonished sharply to keep their silence by Captain Hill. It made little difference to the regiment's mood. They were going to repeat the success at Trenton, every man knew it. For their officers, the sudden upswing in their morale was a topic of bemused relief. To the men, it was simply a sign that their poorly-clothed and badly-armed army was rallying.
Rating: K+ (Suitable for ages 13 and above)
Disclaimers: None.
Original pen-date: 14 January 2009
Summary: After the victory at Trenton, the Massachusetts Line marches toward Princeton.
Author's Note: There are probably some historical goofs in here and I apologise for them.
The world didn't seem so bleak anymore, somehow. They had beaten the Hessians at Trenton somehow and miraculously had only lost two men killed. Benjamin Strout found that nearly impossible to believe, even three days after. The army had withdrawn across that freezing river after their victory, taking supplies and prisoners with them. Somehow, despite the biting cold, ice-rain, and snow, they had beaten a well-drilled and competent garrison. The thrill of it lingered in almost every man in the regiment. What a blow! Captain Hill had wasted no time praising his men, an occurrence made all the more memorable because Captain Hill offered praise so rarely. Strout had never been more proud to call himself a Massachusetts man.
Things had happened quickly after getting back ashore in Pennsylvania. Rumour had it that General Washington wanted to score another victory to keep the British on the defensive. Preparations had begun for a third crossing of that damned river, almost immediately after the army had gotten back across it the day after their successful attack. They had returned in Trenton, though Strout would never complain about the accessibility of hot food and campfires. It was a drastic improvement to unsheltered nights on the march. Never again would he grouse about a room being too hot. Not after this!
The supplies they had taken had been distributed out amongst the regiments, offering the worst-clothed men with very welcome shoes and heavy coats. Jack Leech had cried for joy when he was given a pair of boots for his swollen feet. Strout himself had received a blanket, from which he'd promptly cut two long strips to use as makeshift shoes. It was not as good a prize as Jack's, but he would never begrudge the boy that battered pair of boots. Not if it saved him from losing his feet to the surgeon's knife. Other men received their bits gladly, though some were foolish enough to lose their prizes to others in card games or by theft.
To bolster the suddenly-renewed confidence even more, word had spread about the surprise success. Men were coming in regularly, in groups sometimes, to join the army. Some, Strout had heard, had served before but had quit when their enlistments ended. Or, as somebody had grumpily observed, when things had looked dim. The men suspected of quitting to save their own skins weren't regarded very highly by the others, but still they came. And stayed. The reality of an actual victory had provided many with courage. Strout didn't care who came to join them, as long as they were willing to fight.
Barely three days after quartering in Trenton, the Twenty-Third and most of the rest of the army slipped out of the town after night-fall. Spirits were high and few men complained about the cold or the march. Jack Leech was skipping along, delighted in his new boots. His antics amused the men and more than once they were admonished sharply to keep their silence by Captain Hill. It made little difference to the regiment's mood. They were going to repeat the success at Trenton, every man knew it. For their officers, the sudden upswing in their morale was a topic of bemused relief. To the men, it was simply a sign that their poorly-clothed and badly-armed army was rallying.