"Are you alright, lad?"
After about three weeks since the troopship ferrying the troops of the 49th Norburgh Battalion and some regulars of the 33rd Grey Destrier Infantry Brigade set off from the port of East Angles, the initial eagerness of the fresh new recruits for entering the war on the continent across the Atlantic started to wane as they began to succumb to diseases like scurvy, typhus, or smallpox while others were afflicted with seasickness and even homesickness. Thomas had seen a few of his fellow troops of the 49th succumb to the pox and get thrown over board as a result. Despite how much seeing his fellow young enlistees turn into scar-studded corpses still as scarecrows as they were thrown to the sharks unsettle him, what really disturbed him was the time when the ship's crew, including the cook, had tried to throw those who had pox, or were suspected of having it, off the vessel. Thomas, Sam, Winston, Breighton, and their respective units had risked being branded as mutineers as well as their lives in order to protect their fellow soldiers, but at the end, with even Lt. Col. Findlay backing the picketers , the crew had receded.
Turning around from the railing from which he had hurled his supper into dull gray waters of the Atlantic, Thomas glanced over to see the sergeant of the Destriers checking on him, arms crossed and a worried frown plastered about his face. Smiling wearily, the raw recruit from Norburgh turned to face the interunit liaison. He had a hunch that he looked like a unkempt tramp rather than the decorated enlistee of a prestigious unit of his majesty's army .
"Tis nothing, sergeant. Just my stomach not agreeing with the food the cook created or the motions of the sea really rile up my stomach."
Young Howard Breighton just chuckled and shook his head. "It wouldn't surprise me, mate. That stew would be enough to make the rats roll belly up. The beef must be stored since the Battle of Fort Necessity. I'd say we feed it to the rest of the rats and vermin onboard. It would be better than putting up mousetraps or having cats on the ship. Ugh! Captain Bacon's tabby is a demon in disguise."
Thomas laughed as he used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. "Such an inappropriate name for a captain of a war galley. Perhaps he should swap places with the ship's cook."
Sgt. Breighton grinned in response. "Not bad, I never knew you had the gift of tongues in you. To be fair, I'd have Bacon in the kitchens rather than heading our galley. Besides, the cook has more of the flair and personality of a Navy captain than Captain Bacon himself. "
"That I can agree on. I appreciate your concern for me, Sergeant. I assure you I'll be fine. My stomach just didn't agree with the slop served aboard this vessel."
"No worries." The Royal Infantry Liaison waved his hand. "I'm just looking out for a fellow regular. I request you call me Howard. Sgt. Breighton is for the faceless recruits who follow orders like sheep. Once we get better acquainted, you can call me Howie. How does that sound?"
Thomas chuckled once again. "Sounds dandy to me. I am Thomas Silas Parrish, but Tom would do. In the cadets' defense, isn't it in our position to follow orders of our superior officers "
"Lad, we have a lot to chat about. Would you care to join us for a game of Cribbage?"
The young enlistee raised the right side of his lips thoughtfully. "I'd prefer a game of chess or checkers, but it wouldn't hurt to try a game of cards for once. Only, I don't have much to wager."
Breighton patted the newest addition to the 49th Battalion on the shoulder. "Worry not. Just focus on having fun. There is plenty of grog available."
As the 33rd Sergeant led him belowdecks, Thomas glanced once at the picturesque blue sky dotted with several cumulus clouds before following the youth to the cabin which hosted the game room.
---
"Captain! The captain of the Carolinas militia has intel about a possible assault by the French and their braves."
Captain Silas Parrish, perched upon his chestnut Draught, listened intently to the page outside the camp in the yellowish fields which housed the Red Dragon regiment, the dragoons he lead. As the English messenger, who spoke with a non-rhotic accent that might have highlighted his rural background, informed the cavalier of the impending enemy attack, Captain Parrish immediately began to form a counter attack in his mind. He then motioned for the young man to follow him to the British camp. As they trudged underneath the hot summer afternoon sun, the cavalry captain prodded the messenger about possible military action alongside the colonists.
"Did our cousin from across the Atlantic happen to mention the supposed setting of this attack from the north?"
"It will supposedly take place in a fortnight on the settlements and the military positions of Great Britain close to the Virginian border," the page replied as they entered the makeshift camp that housed several British units that were necessary in launching the surprise attack into Virginia and as far north as New York through Pennsylvania. Once the large blue tent where the officers were housed materialized into view, Silas disembarked from his war horse and entered.
"Salutations, gentlemen." The dragoon took off his gorget and bobbed his head in respect. "I believe I have some urgent news I need to discuss with you. We owe our thanks to this young man here who possibly saved the lives of our troops in the north. Please give our guest a round of applause."
As Captain Parrish took a seat ,an attendant handed him a cup of cider. The boy , his messy dark wood-colored hair spilling out from his hat, who acted as the page for their unit look flustered as the officers of the Red Dragons clapped for him. Captain Parrish motioned for the messenger to come closer. Once the boy timidly complied, he leaned in and whispered.
"You done your country a great service, son. What do they call you?"
"Umm, Pullen, sir," the messenger stuttered.
"Well, Pullen, why don't you join us for some apple cider, fresh from the orchards of Camden and Hillsborough? I assure you none from the colonies can match with the refreshing taste of the local cider. Please grace us with your presence, I insist."
Hesitantly, Pullen took a seat between two dragoons and took a swig from the cider cup placed in front of him. His eyes grew wide and he nodded his head in incredulity.
"Tastes divine, does it not?" Parrish chuckled. "Well, you earned it. Now, when will our representative from the Carolinas grace us with his presence?"
"Captain Hayworth and his retinue are on their way as we speak, they will arrive slated to arrive tonight."
Silas intertwined his fingers. "Excellent! We discuss the value of his logistics and once it checks out, we will ride on north to put this ambush to rest. At worst, we will provide reinforcements to the units under attack. Let us prepare, officers of the Red Dragons!"
---
"Land ho!"
Glancing up from where he was playing Cribbage with some sailors and fellow redcoats, Thomas glanced to where the lookout in the crow's nest was pointing at, his eyes glued to the horizon and gasped, his breath catching in his chest at the majestic sight that greeted him. Several leagues ahead lay the dark green vegetation and foliage of what was known as the new world, augmented by the illumination from the late afternoon sun that was partially covered by dark clouds. His fellow regimentals and the Royal Navy crew must have felt the same sense and awe as he had since they seemed to have forgotten their cards and dice, rising from their places before they hurried to the railings.
"By Jove, we have made it!"
"It's so majestic!"
"Look at the beauty of the unspoiled land! Is that the Americas?"
"I heard there were savages out and about the woods. Where are they?"
Thomas made his way to the bow to get a better view of the land they were about to set upon. Sure enough, nestled between a fellow 49th recruit and an officer of the Destrier Brigade, distinguishable from the gold buttons and epaulet, his eyes were transfixed on this land that was pure and mostly unblemished by man. In other words, it was a heavenly respite from the large cities like London or Paris.
"Attention! Form up in your positions at once!"
Hearing the Lt. Col barking out orders, Thomas joined the rest of the Norburgh Battalion in taking his position alongside Winston and Sam, his weapon at his side. After being jostled by the many eager enlistees, the young teacher from Norburgh took his place and stared straight ahead with his musket pointed upward like a staff. The thought that he would soon face his first battle, possibly upon arrival to this alien world, exhilarated him and he assumed the others felt the same.
"We will be embarking upon the soil of the Province of New York shortly. I suggest you use this time to pack your necessities as once we arrive, you will be lead to Fort Brag. You will occupy your time before battle resting and drilling until we are called out to support Campbell or his adjutants. Dismissed!"
"Oi! What do you know?" Winston smiled at Thomas and Samuel. "We will be slaying savages before long."
"It's the froggies we need to be worried about," Sam stated.
As the two men bickered, Thomas glanced back to see the rows of British troops from two different regiments chattering, enlivened by the anticipated fight looming on the horizon , or moving belowdecks to retrieve their belongings. He noticed Howard Breighton standing in the middle of the galleon , speaking to a redcoat donning a black and green tartan. Once the conversation was concluded, Breighton moved toward the officer's quarters, but Thomas Parrish intercepted him halfway.
The Destrier and Norburgh liaison smirked as he saw the younger lad and crossed his arms. "Tommy boy, I was on my way to reclaim my essentials. What do I owe the pleasure this time?"
The enlistee cleared his throat and smiled. "I believe I have figured out why you avoid standing close to the rails when you are above deck."
Sgt. Breighton raised an eyebrow. "Which is?"
"You have a fear of water. Perhaps you haven't been taught to swim and avoid getting near any body of water as not to arise any anxiety."
The brunet infantry officer blinked a couple times. "Good God, you have such analytical skills."
Thomas couldn't help but smile. "I am gratified by your compliment. Worry not though, my lips are sealed."
"They better be or you may chance an Algonquin tomahawk in your back," Howard jested.
"Are you forgetting we are on the same side in this war, chap?"
Sgt. Breighton laughed and playfully smacked Thomas's shoulder. "Nay, you dandy. Just some playful banter. Here I was thinking you'd be my equal in a game of wits."
Thomas clicked his tongue. "I'm aware of your speech antics. I only answer in kind. I apologize if it was a tad bit indistinct for you."
"I can only decipher what is known as quality banter, but no worries, you will get the hang of it in time. You should pack your belongings before we make landfall. Like Findlay said, once we arrive on shore, it will be drilling and then rest until you get your first taste of battle. If you ask me, I doubt you'd have time to rest upon landing in a warzone. You are susceptible to French and Indian attacks on arrival and not from the good Indians, the Iroquois, but the Algonquins, Shawnee, and the Mikmaw militants. "
Thomas halted as he started to turn a corner in the wooded interior of the ship's hallway. "You ever seen these Indians during your tenure in the Royal Infantry? If so, are they as savage as they are made out to be?"
Howard turned to face him. "If they are on our side, they can be civilized and ferocious fighters simultaneously. Those on Louis's side are very vicious. Best not get captured by them if you value your scalp."
Tom Parrish chuckled. "Oh, I prefer my tissue to be intact with the rest of my body."
"I am quite positive that any person with even a shred of sanity in their noggins would not take pleasure in being scalped by a screamer."
Winston emerged from the quarters with his musket clutched in his left hand and a burlap sack containing his belongings. Upon seeing Thomas and Sgt. Breighton chattering away about the upcoming conflict with the French and their native allies, the heavyset lad decided to put in his two cents.
"You should pack up your gear and be on deck promptly before Findlay blows a seal. The last thing I'd like to do upon arrival is to drill until my legs detach from my torso."
"If you ask me, a lot of drilling would do good in installing discipline within you freshies," Howard remarked. "It could save your life in battle."
Tom and Winston exchanged glances before the latter replied.
"I understand that, but I'd rather not wear my body out prior to landing on new soil. It is imperative to preserve my strength for the real battle ahead."
"Indeed," Thomas agreed with a nod. "My legs are still spindly from being at sea for weeks. "
"Suit yourselves." Howard Breighton shrugged as he turned to reach the officer's quarters.
In a matter of under 10 minutes, Thomas was above deck alongside the rest of the 49th as the officers of the 33rd Destriers stood along each side of the recruits, facing them. The bookish enlistee spotted Captain Bacon stand at the bow when Lt. Col. Findlay arrived to make a final statement before the ship made landfall.
"Attention!" His beady eyes scanning the British troops as they stood at attention. "Boys, I hope you have garnered all your belongings as Captain Bacon will begin unloading the regulars and sailors shortly. Bear in mind the objective of our presence in this land mass. King Louis' butchers as well as their redskin dogs are murdering our people and the colonials can't defend our land on their own. That is where we come in. The sooner we land in New York, the sooner we can relieve our beleaguered brothers-in-arms. They've taken a heavy burden and need to be replaced with fresh troops like yourselves. Now off you go!"
As soon as the commanding officer of the 49th Norburgh Battalion finished his lecture, the ship lurched as it came to spot. From the corner of his eyes, Young Thomas saw the sailors unfasten the anchor and the boats being prepared to be boarded by the British troops. Once the naval servicemen gave the signal, the regulars began to file into the ships. Thomas preferred to be seated among his familiars, but as circumstances would have it, Winston nor Sam were on the same boat as he was. Nestled between a 33rd and 49th soldier on each side of him, Tom felt the boat shudder as it was lowered over the side of the war vessel and once it made contact with the electric blue waters of New York's Atlantic border, the boat jolted a bit. Once the sailors assigned to them started to row the boat toward shore, the Destrier beside him spoke in a northern Irish lilt.
"Oi, would you look at that! Those gulls are flying low to the water."
Sure enough, there were white and gray birds, their feathers contrasting with the deep blue, calling to each other in high-pitched calls. The closer they flew to the shore, the lower they went. Thomas wondered why anyone would be interested in gulls at a moment like this. The descent into the small boats and the journey toward the shore of New York, where they would likely face unknown dangers, seemed to warrant more attention than a few birds. However, he quickly realized that the fascination with the gulls might be more than just a casual observation.
Gulls were often seen as harbingers of land. For sailors and soldiers who had spent long periods at sea, the sight of gulls could signal that land was near, indicating that they could have their feet on solid ground soon. Thomas welcomed the feeling of grass and dirt after the three long weeks in the rocking sea.
The 49th enlistee on Thomas's left side rolled his eyes. "We have eyes, you know. Dry land is so close that we can see it."
The sailor rowing the chuckled. "Give the lad a break, chum. He was making a remarkable observation. Gulls, they say, can sense a storm coming. If they're staying close to the water, it might mean calm weather ahead. That's a good omen for us, don't you think?"
Thomas nodded. "Aye, I presume he made an important conjecture. We won't have to deal with a tempest once we go ashore Long Island. I don't know about you gentlemen, but I had enough of soggy weather for a while. We have enough of it back home in England. "
"Well, does it look like it has been pouring here?" the Norburgh recruit, his dark brown curls falling over his neck. "The whole area would have been covered by a cloud the color of steel if there was a squall occurring at this moment. Dear Saint Michael, have the soldiers of Crown misplaced their wits back home?"
The sailor just cackled and shook his head. He turned to the boys and smiled, revealing crooked rotten teeth. "Don't mind him. He has been a bit of a sourpuss since we set off from Kingston upon Hull. I am not certain if it has to do with the lengthy trek here, impressment, or issues back home. I am Jobe. Nice to meet you boys."
The Irish lad extended his hand."I am Sean."
Seeing his fellow 49th not return the greeting, Thomas placed his own hand into Sean's. "I am Thomas. The pleasure is mine."
After a moment of silence and perhaps it was due to the three pairs of eyes , the snotty recruit sighed and introduced himself "I'm Noel from the Northumbria region. I was staying with an uncle in Norburgh when the call came to enlist and not wanting to send his own sons, my mother's own brother volunteered me for service in this godforsaken land far from civilization. Such indignation!"
Thomas only nodded. " Pleased to meet you as well, Noel. I will be looking forward to protecting the Crown's interest and people in this 'godforsaken' land as you call it, but the pilgrims would beg to differ on that point."
The pot-bellied sandy-haired Irish lad in the grayish uniform burst out into fits of laughter while Jobe shook his head, chuckling. Noel rolled his eyes and turned away.
"It will be a joy, I am dead certain of that."
It wasn't long until they made it ashore. Once the British troops gathered their belongings and disembarked the ships, trudging through some shallow wetness, they arrived onto the soft soil of the colony of New York. Thomas had mixed feelings about his first steps into the New World. On one hand, he was thrilled with having made his first foray into a new uncharted land. On he other, he had just stepped into hostile territory ripe with dangers at every turn. He wasn't entirely sure what he had gotten himself into, but the young hopeful enlistee was determined to see it through. As he searched for Winston and Samuel, Lt. Col. Findlay went before the newly minted 49th regulars and began address them.
"About face!" Once the British troops complied, the hook-nosed officer continued speaking. "Welcome to the frontier world we refer to as the New World. Once you get settled -I am aware that getting acquainted with dry land under your feet after a long voyage at sea won't occur instantly -, we will begin drills promptly. Before you open your mouths to protest, you must know that you are not here on a pleasure run or a pilgrimage. Captain Walsh and Major General Braddock need your assistance as soon as possible to take on General Charles LaSalle's and Montcalm's team of Calibans. The longer we delay, the higher their chances of succumbing to the uncivilized savages. Now let's march to the fort we will be defending!"
"Egadz! Indians!"
Hearing Noel's outburst, the 49th recruits and their 33rd escorts as well as their commander turned to the marshlands to see at least four heads sticking out, observing them. Clearly not belonging to anyone of European descent, the heads contained braided long hair or shaved in the middle and in a cut known as the mohawk. As the natives of the Americas stepped forward to observe these trespassers on their land, Thomas felt his heart beat like these warriors' war drums in his chest. They'd barely made it to the colonies and they were already under Indian attack. Could these be the Algonquins or their vicious Mohawk allies? He instantly raised Old Bessie and aimed it at the Indian standing before the others before a shrill voice broke out.
"Stand down, mates! These Seneca and Onundanga are good Indians, part of the Iroquois Confederacy. They were curious about these tenderfoot Old World riflemen to their land. They weren't notified of reinforcements landing on their shores. I suppose the fault lies with me."
A man wearing a white unsleeved waistcoat and navy blue trousers flanked by a few more Indians materialized from the foliage. The middle-aged colonist, his flaxen to his shoulders and bearing a musket, scanned the area before he addressed the newly minted troops.
"I am Sergeant Benjamin Spall of the New York Frontier Defense. I am here to escort you to Fort Edward, which we will use to launch attacks on King Louis' uncivilized heathen army. Sir William Johnson will be eager to have any troops he can to bolster his forces. Captain Walsh's Destriers have their ranks depleted so they will welcome any sort of replenishment of their troops. Come now. We have ways to go before we make it to the fort by nightfall. The French and Algonquin tribes have many positions they could ambush us along the way so keep your eyes peeled. "
With that note in mind, Thomas marched with the 49th and their allies, marking the beginning of his first expedition in the colonies.
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