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Post by Carl von Donop on Jun 11, 2014 9:10:24 GMT
New York City had its charms but Carl was here in this cesspit to fight, not teach Americans proper gentility. Carl's networking in New York paid off though, a drunken American let slip that he had heard of arms stockpiling in the interior of the state in the little town of Peekskill. While it might prove more interesting for future engagements to allow the American's to build their base up a little better but proper military strategy dictated that these munitions be captured or destroyed rather than assist the American effort. The most troubling news is that the rumors stated that a few artillery pieces were being collected there as well - apparently remnants of the so called French and Indian War but properly known as the Seven Years War. Carl had seen the devastating impact artillery pieces can have on the battlefield. It made this little policing action even better. The exact size of rebel forces in the area was not known for certain but what was known was that the rebels were not concentrating their forces in this region. Given the known information, von Donop's Brigade was thought to be sufficient, lest the Americans become altered by a major movement of British forces and draw a pitched battle. To be safe however, the British commanders attached a few British units to von Donop's forces providing for a sizable detachment entering the area.
How Carl hoped the Americans would try to stop him. Regardless, this being his first action in the colonies, von Donop intended to start cultivating his reputation. His plan was to march to the town round up all the munitions, arrest those who had stockpiled them and then burn down their property plus anyone's property who had assisted them. Carl believed very strongly in the need to discipline popular insurrection. The people should fear action against the state so much that they would be forever dissuaded from anarchical behavior.
His men marched in brilliant order. The blue of their grenadier's uniforms shone in the early light of day. They were deployed in marching columns so as to travel the American roads The British troops were given rearguard duty while von Donop's Hessians took the vanguard. Unseen and well ahead of the column were the Feldjäger Corps. Von Donop had studied reports of warfare in the Americas and he had knowledge of insurrection in Europe. He knew a popular strategy for inferior forces was to utilize ambushes as a means of overcoming their superior foes. To have his unit routed via ambush was not a mistake von Donop would make. The Feldjäger Corps screened the advance of the main body of troops. Any American forces intending on resisting Carl's advance should be spotted by the Feldjäger Corps before they had a chance to hit the main body. Carl knew this put his vaunted Feldjäger Corps at some risk by putting them into contact with the enemy first, but given their very dispersed skirmish formation, long range firearms, and advanced training, Carl felt that if they encountered a massed enemy formation, they wouldn't take heavy casualties and if they ran into enemy skirmishers, they would simply begin skirmishing and alert Carl to the enemy's presence.
To be on the campaign trail once again. The smell of leather and gunpowder. The flags waving proudly in the air. War was such a fantastic affair, he thought. A pity it doesn't happen more often.
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General
Sept 3, 2014 18:24:55 GMT
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Post by William Howe on Jun 11, 2014 19:49:44 GMT
The familiar streets and curves of the young city reminded the general of his much younger self twenty years before. There was a strange comfort in walking the streets of New York not unlike striding through central London. Of course, England was his home, and this was soon to be a battleground. He cared little for the American rebels now that he understood them to be more than a rag-tag group with some guns. They were a fighting force to be reckoned with, but he was leading the best trained soldiers the world had to offer. The chesnut horse beneath him pranced with each step and chewed on the bit. Kind words and loving pats did little to settle the creature's mind. Behind him was the rhythmic sound of boots striking the pavement--a battalion in perfect marching order. He was as proud as a father of his troops, loved and respected. Howe commanded discipline and order, but he was not above paying them personal visits or charging from the front lines. Most were knew to the colonies and benefited from and older and more experienced guiding hand. Even when he arrived to aid Gage, he was the senior general on account of his service some fifteen or so years before.
The monotony of marching permitted his mind to wander for a few moments. He thought of his brother George and the charming Betsey Loring. If not for the dratted rebels trying to stockpile weapons, Howe imagined he would have been in a warm bed with a lovely woman beside him. A small smile stretched across his face. "General, is everything alright?" The battalion captain asked. The poor lad looked nervous to be riding beside the famous General Howe. His achievements in Quebec preceded him along with his popularity in Parliament. "Yes, yes. All is well. I imagine this will all be taken care of by midday. Ride on ahead and see how our German friends are faring." The younger officer nodded and spurred his horse forward towards the head of the Hessian regiment.
Howe held the rest of the regiment in reserve. Sheer numbers wasn't enough to deter the American forces, and he wanted to limit casualties at all costs. The general didn't predict much resistance from the colonial forces. If it was necessary to call in reinforcements, Howe wanted them to split up into their respective companies and attack from various side streets thus closing off any sort of escape route for the American troops. He would use the urban landscape against them. His horse suddenly halted and tossed its head. Angrily, Howe dug his spurs into the creature's side to urge it forward. The horse could sense not all was as it seemed. The rider was more concerned about not creating a catastrophe farther back in the line from soldiers jumping out of the way of a horse's back end.
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Post by George Washington on Jun 11, 2014 21:27:04 GMT
He had gone to inspect the temporary armory in Peekskill. He had heard reports – mostly inconsistent reports – for some time and now he felt it necessary to take a look at it himself. It was in a strategic location and could prove important through the course of the upcoming war. That was one thing that the Continental Army was in short supply of – aside from men – it was arms and ammunition.
The lack of organization when he arrived shocked him. There was no sort of report detailing the numbers and type of guns and artillery and amount of powder. The powder – that was another issue. It had not been stored correctly. Several barrels had fallen into damp and were virtually useless. The artillery was not in such a condition as he would have wished as well though it they were still fireable and would do. He supposed that there was no point in complaining. They were the underdogs and would have to make do with what they had.
”Mr. Blackwell, they tell me that you're the officer in charge here. I suggest you begin acting the part. By tomorrow I will have a detailed list of every rifle, every musket, every cannon, and every barrel of powder here. You will keep a guard on duty day and night. And you will keep your guards sober.” The man was apologetic and kept nodding his head as he repeated ”Yes, sir … absolutely, sir … won't happen again, sir” over and over again. George dismissed him and good riddance.
He returned to a stack of papers that he had just been about to go through. Matters of intelligence … most false and many contradictory. There were reports of “news” stating the British intent to sail down to the Carolinas or Georgia or Pennsylvania or a hundred other places. There were devious plots to bring in foreign aid or considered assasination attempts. Talks of the Natives and Germans and Irish. It was so hard to believe anything. It was easier after the fact but by then it would be too late.
The sound of shouting brought him out of his thoughts. He stood up from his desk and went outside. A man had come tearing down the street on a gasping gray horse, his face red with exertion. He was out of breath and shouting. The wind was blowing in the other direction and, as such, was carrying his words away. He was a lunatic, perhaps
”You there, see what that commotion is about.” He said to a young man within earshot.
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Post by William Tucker on Jun 11, 2014 21:51:52 GMT
William had barely slept the past weeks. He was anxious for a fight with the British, mainly because he had been one of them. He knew the near perfect organization, the strength of the men and the good equipment. All the while, the Continental army possessed none of these things. He was trying his best to keep his company as much like his old one, but it proved easier to be said than done.
To make matters worse, his tent ripped, his private spirits had been stolen and the food was bad. Granted, it was better than what the common soldiers had to eat, but it was nowhere near as good as he had been used to.
The Captain was just walking around, enjoying his liberty for the evening, when suddenly there was all kinds of commotion. William turned to the rider's direction, and overheard a soldier ask him what happened. It seemed that the British were approaching. The man stood to attention when he saw General Washington, saluted, and said "Sir.. The British are coming, it seems"
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Post by Zachariah Sutton on Jun 11, 2014 22:03:44 GMT
"I shouldn't have had that small drink right before we set out," Rye said in a whisper to the man next to him. Small drink was an understatement as anyone would have known. He might as well have mentioned the large bottle of wine. But he wasn't too concerned. He could always hold his own. His musket was in no danger of dropping. He was still walking a straight line. And his aim would be as good as ever. But the damn sun. He glanced up at the sky, the large expanse of deep blue and glaring sun obscured by nothing so much as a wisp of a cloud. What he wouldn't give for a moment of shade.
He looked at the head of the man marching in front of him and resisted the urge to flick him in the back of the head. Perhaps he would have if he could have gotten away with it. The marching was terrible. Rye loved to fight. He loved to line up his musket on a target and watch it go down. But the marching! They marched more than they fought.
"You think we're going to get to fight at all?" he whispered again to his companion. "From what I've heard, these Rebels aren't much of fighters. Them Germans up front are going to get all the fun. By the time we get there, they'll have surrendered already."
In his opinion, that would be the positively worst thing to happen. All that marching for nothing.
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Post by Carl von Donop on Jun 11, 2014 22:35:16 GMT
MapThe Hessians marched up the road alongside the Hudson river. They hugged the river bank so that they couldn't be flanked from the East. Carl wasn't exactly trying to make his march secret, any American forces in the region would likely be alerted of their coming, if only by travelers who had seen the Hessian approach. His men being spotted was not Carl's concern, it was his men being engaged that was the issue. He wanted them to be ready and in battle lines. His skirmishers well ahead of the column would ensure that Carl would likely be well aware of any large body of American forces marching out to meet him. Carl actually wanted his men to be seen. American troops in the region would likely be pressed into defending their munitions meaning Carl would have his battle and the rag-tag insurrection would suffer an early blow. Carl smiled at the situation and almost felt badly for his enemies. Nipping their nascent army in the bud before it was ready was not very sporting but it was unfortunately necessary. He was lost in his dream of glory when one of the British officers in command of the auxiliaries Howe had attached to von Donop's unit. Carl wasn't thrilled at the idea of being babysat by a superior officer on a mission such as this. This was his moment he felt. Carl did not know this Howe well but he knew the man had a decent reputation. Carl was afraid that the glory from the field would be denied to him if people thought Howe was the real commander. Regardless, success here could prove useful for garnering the respect of the British command. So far the Hessian brigades had been purchased piece meal and attached to British units. Carl envisioned eventually gathering all the Hessians into one division, under his command of course. Carl looked at the young officer, "Guten tag! You may tell General Howe it seems all is quiet as of now. The men advance steadily. The skirmishers report possible movement ahead but have still not made contact with the enemy. Should we encounter the insurrectionists, we will send word immediately."Carl dismounted and had one of his aides bring him a quill, ink, and parchment. Quickly Carl wrote:
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Post by Onondakai on Jun 11, 2014 22:45:11 GMT
Onondakai sat on the ground, leaning up against the wall of a building. Only his feet remained outside the shadow of the structure. He had traveled to the town with a group of a few soldiers only a few days ago. He was not quite sure why he was here but he kept his ears open. In the last few days, the number of the blue coats had increased. Onondakai had heard tell of a general from the continental army was now in the town. Perhaps there was some information he could be listening too but he felt to longing to get up. He stretched his head up and stared at the sky, feeling the breeze against his loose clothing. A few soldiers ran past him in a loud ruckus. He never understood why everything was so important to the white man.
His legs cracked as he pushed himself up. Quietly he fell behind the running soldiers, curious where the rush was. It seems their enemy was coming straight for the town. Onondakai found it hard to hide a smile from his face. Instead, he stopped not far from what appeared to be the general. He stood, silently, with an emotionless stare. The battle seemed inevitable. His people did not fight unless it was needed. Instead they would approach each other and show their strength. But the pale faces lived with their gun in their hand.
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General
Sept 3, 2014 18:24:55 GMT
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Post by William Howe on Jun 11, 2014 23:59:37 GMT
It was virtually impossible to hide the scarlet red coats of the British troops. If the sound of hooves and boots on cobblestone didn't tell everyone they were coming, then the bright uniforms were impossible to miss. As they passed along a tow of buildings, a clearly disgruntled woman shoved herself part way out of the window and yelled various obscenities at the soldiers. To add a final insult, she dumped the contents of her chamber pot down on the unfortunate souls below. There was a fair amount of angry curses from the soldiers and a few threats to shoot the woman for her behavior. Howe's chestnut saw the movement out of the corner of its eye and jumped sideways nearly unseating the rider. "Whoa there. Steady, steady." The horse was sweating and shaking clearly in distress. No amount of coaxing would calm the beast. Howe pulled his horse to a halt and turned in the saddle to face his troops. "Peace, men. I will ensure your uniforms are cleaned or replaced when we return to camp. And you will have your revenge in due time before the day is out." General Howe was known for how he treated those under command. They were humans, British citizens, in his eyes and deserved respect. He was also aware that a happy soldier was a loyal soldier and would fight all the harder for a commander he loved.
The captain cantered back with note. He stared at the patch of filthy and stained uniforms and gasped, but said nothing as he returned to his place beside Howe. "Commander von Donop reports all is quiet, sir. The enemy is somewhere up ahead holed up in Peekskill," he then lowered his with a nervous expression, "General, permission to ask what happened in the ranks? Some of them appear to be, er, soiled, sir." Howe quickly read the note. He didn't care much for being ordered around by a mercenary commander. Howe took his orders from Gage and the Crown. "A rebel sympathizer, captain. That is all you need to know. Tell von Donop that the rebels are most likely on the hill on the north side of Peekskill. They're also most likely receiving munitions from the dock on the east bank. The Hudson River is too deep to cross, so our best bet is to march across the bridge south of the town. The rebels should be hiding the munitions between the docks and the fort. Tell him to clear any rebel troops. We can search the warehouses for the weapons." The general sounded slightly irritated, and that put the young captain on edge. Knowing better than to question orders, he nodded and cantered ahead to relay the instructions. It was clear that Howe would not be sitting by idly on this mission even if he was just babysitting a bunch of mercenaries.
Howe withheld his own plans from the Hessian. Taking the fort was low on his list or priorities. The rebels had a naturally defensive position atop a hill, and the general wanted to avoid casualties. His focus was on securing the docks. Food and weapons moved through the docks to the rest of Peekskill, so naturally, controlling the docks meant controlling the rebels' supply of food and weapons. After that, it was only a matter of waiting them out. Once out of food, the rebels would surrender. The Hessian soldiers would simply make the job easier by clearing out any rebels first.
Up ahead, the captain pulled his horse up alongside Commander von Donop. "General Howe says to cross from the south. The rebels probably fortified the hill to the north. Follow the riverbank and clear the rebel forces. Don't waste time on the warehouses, General Howe will see to that."
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Post by George Washington on Jun 12, 2014 1:55:06 GMT
The British are coming? There was a momentary hesitation as he let the words sink in. The British were marching on Peekskill. He looked around. There was no sense of order. Men were standing about. Some were drinking. Some were drunk. They were not prepared to fight. It was a rag-tag collection of men – often times the worst in society – that he had been trying to mold into something that even remotely resembled a respectable Army. They have not yet been tested but, looking at them as he did right then, he did not have as much hope as he could have wished. He strode over to the man on who rode in. He had jumped down from his horse and was taking a good, long drink of water from his canteen. “Where are they coming from? Which direction? How many were there? Tell me all you know.” The man spoke urgently but his information was not as reliable as George would have wished for it to be. It seems he had heard from his cousin that a group of Redcoats had been spotted in North Castle. Naturally, panic had meant that they were marching towards Peekskill. It would make sense. But it would also be just as likely if they were headed south to New York. And that was even if there really were Redcoats in North Castle. George let loose a flurry of orders. The arms and ammunition were to be secured at once. Every man who was not on duty was roused and sent out to the commons where their commanding officers tried to push and nudge them into decently straight lines. He sent a company of engineers to work on their defenses. He wished he knew how far away they were. He could have an hour of time or he could have days. He stood back to survey the town. Peekskill was in a good location. The northern end of town was on a hill. If, there was to be a battle, and if the Redcoats were truly intending to march on them, he meant to hold out on his hill. He intended to defend this little town with everything he had. He could win this. He felt it in his heart. He turned to the man who had mentioned the British ( William Tucker) and gestured a second man over. ”Take a horse, both of you, and ride out in different directions. Find out how many and how far away they are. Be quick.”With the two scouts setting off, he turned his attention back to the defense of Peekskill. George disappeared into the house he had been staying in and returned a moment later with his sword buckled on, a pistol on his belt and his rifle. He would fight with his men. |
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Post by William Tucker on Jun 12, 2014 18:01:44 GMT
William was told to get a horse and to scout for the British. Did he hear that right? He was a bloody infantryman, not a scout. When the Commander-in-Chief tells you to do something, though, you do it. So William returned to his tent to quickly put on his blue coat, grab his pistols and some shot, and then mounted his horse.
After some time of riding, William came upon the river, and quickly took cover when he saw redcoats marching on the other side. He took note of what he saw, and while he tried to remain hidden, his horse gave him away. The horse made loud sounds, and what followed was the crack of several muskets. The horse fell, dead instantly.
The man crawled out of the bushes, going from cover to cover to at least try to remain unseen. His horse was dead, so he would have to walk -or run- back, once he found safety. After a few minutes, he was sure that the danger had passed, so he came out of cover. It had not, though, and again muskets cracked as the fired at his position. They missed, though, fortunately for him, and he quickly escaped to outside their range.
Some time later, he returned home. The Captain entered the house the General was residing in. He knocked on the door to the man's office, entered, and saluted. "Sir. The British... They're on the other side of the river, marching along it. "
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Post by Zachariah Sutton on Jun 13, 2014 6:44:56 GMT
Rye was fortunate to have missed the contents of the chamber pot. The row directly in front of him was not. He let slip a loud burst of laughter at their flailing about and angry shouts. They would never get those uniforms clean, no matter what General Howe said. The man directly in front of him turned at the sound of his laughter. He flicked his arm, sending a good portion of the filth into Rye's face. Rye's smile faded and his laughter stopped at once. Forgetting that Howe was nearby, he swung his fist and sent the guy tumbling to the ground.
”You damn bast-” He shut his mouth. The man next to him had elbowed him hard in the ribs. He looked around quickly to see if he had been seen. It would have been unlikely as there was quite the commotion going on. The man on the ground had finally managed to return to his feet but it was not before several rows had tripped over him. That man, whose face was as red as his uniform from exertion, was now lost and trying desperately to figure out how to get back to his place. Rye smirked. He was sure to hear from him later.
The pop-pop-pop of musket fire reached him from somewhere up ahead. His heart rate quickened. They must be nearing Peekskill. But something was odd in the sound. It sounded almost … one-sided. ”What d'you think that is?” He asked his neighbor. Regardless, he tightened his grip on his musket.
(a little short but it's nearly 3am here and my brain is asleep)
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Post by Wyler Munroe on Jun 13, 2014 20:20:50 GMT
The drums were beating and the men rushed from their tents or blankets on the ground to form up in their company ranks, Wyler included. He'd almost forgot his floppy hat, no tricorne for him, couldn't afford one and the state hadn't supplied him with one. Everyone in the company knew their places and Wyler was no exception as he lined up on the far right. Just the other day he had been picked as one of those rankers who might possibly be ordered out ahead of the company to skirmish. It was all new to him but apparently sometimes the generals in charge wanted scattered bands of men to advance in front of the main ranks, take some potshots at the enemy and annoy them before the major fighting started with full unit volleys. He was also told the enemy would probably send out their skirmishers to do the same. Wyler pointed out the truth, he probably couldn't hit anything. The corporal in charge of the skirmishers of his company laughed.
"Don't you worry, lad, they probably can't either. Idea is to make noise and keep those sorts from getting too close to our main line. You'll do just fine. Just shoot and load, don't go too fast, keep calm."
It sounded easy enough, Wyler figured as they all stood there now in their units, awaiting further orders. Rumors had it the British were somewhere out there across the river. Seemed like a fight was close and it might be a big one. Wyler shuffled a bit then bit his lip. He wasn't scared, no. Not him. |
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Sept 3, 2014 18:24:55 GMT
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Post by William Howe on Jun 16, 2014 18:40:51 GMT
Howe had his back to his troops as his attention was focused on keeping his horse relaxed and behaved. The poor creature was frothing at the bit and sweating heavily. The colonel taking up the rear meanwhile, had an excellent view of the scuffle. "Order in the ranks! Get back in line!" The colonel was by no means cruel to his men, but a known disciplinarian with strict expectations. Unlike Howe, the colonel saw and treated his men like dogs, albeit like well-behaved working dogs in a dog-loving community.
The general never saw the scout on account of being too far away from the bushes. The irregular cracks of musket fire was unmistakable along with the rising plumes of smoke. The Hessians apparently found something worth shooting at up ahead. As he marched past the spot the Hessian mercenaries stood minutes before, Howe could just make out the form of a horse's head and neck sticking out from behind the bushes. He pressed his lips together and thought it was a waste of a good animal. Howe's own horse pulled a shoe the day before and was on stall rest until a farrier could be brought in.
Just as Howe had remembered, there was an old wooden bridge spanning the Hudson roughly a quarter mile south of Peekskill. His horse balked at the creaking bridge. A flash of anger or frustration crossed through Howe's mind aimed at whoever trained the chestnut horse. Hiding his spurs in its side only seemed to madden the beast who reared up violently and almost stepped on the unlucky lad behind it. Clearly annoyed, Howe jumped off the chestnut horse and walked it across the bridge. It was an irritating delay to say the least. The Hessian troops were farther ahead preparing to engage the enemy. Howe had the luxury of not having to rush in and fight the rebels. That was the Germans' job. His was to secure the movement of goods in and out of Peekskill.
"Attention, halt!" He called out only after all the troops were safely across the bridge. "Today's mission is very simple. We are to capture and secure the warehouses along the riverbank. Each section is to enter a warehouse front to back, nearest to farthest. Do not engage the rebels unless they try to resist! There is not a single warehouse that I myself would not enter." The battalion marched on towards the town where the steady cracks of musket volley fire could easily be heard. Sunlight reflected off uniforms and bayonets as little flashes in the thick smoke. For as much as he didn't like the rag-tag militiamen, Howe had to give the credit for not routing at the sight hundreds of bristling bayonets.
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Post by George Washington on Jun 17, 2014 19:33:35 GMT
The scouts returned quickly, one on foot. It was clear from that and from the distant popping of a musket that they had not remained unseen. If the enemy believed that they lost their element of surprise, it was always possible that they may try a more straightforward approach. Such a maneuver would prove to their benefit. One of the scouts – the one who had traveled north and returned with his horse intact – saw nothing. The other found the enemy marching north along the western bank of the Hudson. However, Washington fought back a swear – a good general never swore in front of his men – when Captain Tucker failed to observe the number headed their way. The man was certainly not a scout. For a brief second he wished that he had spent a few extra minutes to find and send out someone more experienced in the arts of observance. But every minute had been – and still was – of the essence. He had had no time then and he had less time now.
To stand face to face with the greatest army in the world would be slaughter. Washington knew that even if those in Congress were clueless. To defeat the British, it would take a different line of thinking. Washington had been letting his mind drift down that different line for some time now. He had read book after book on military strategy and he had looked at the strategies employed by Indians – something he remembered all too clearly from his time in the French and Indian War. It was possible to win – of that he was certain – but it just may entail a great deal of skirmishing, raiding, and keeping two steps ahead at all times. And that was what he intended to do.
But, first things first, the arms and ammunition could not stay in Peekskill. He called a man over and had him and his company immediately set to work on packing the barrels and crates onto every available wagon. They would need to be taken out of the city. Washington intended to have them sent north to West Point. But such a thing would take time. They needed more time.
”Captain Tucker,” Washington called the young man over. ”Choose the best in your company and proceed south to meet the enemy. You are ordered to harrass the enemy, slowing their movements, and giving us time to move out and secure the arms and ammunition. You are to hold out as long as possible but I put it in your hands to sound retreat when you believe it necessary. At that moment you are to pull back to this point and rejoin the rest of your Regiment where - with the arms and ammunition secure – you will receive further orders.”
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Post by Ronald Norris on Jun 19, 2014 16:35:12 GMT
It was really tempting not to make the colours go "swishy swish" as Ron marched alongside the other junior officers. The colours were wrapped around their pole with great care as he marched along like a goose with his nose in the air trying to look superior like the other officers, but it was hard when there were just so many exciting things to see! Wow! There were Hessians! REAL HESSIANS! He found himself staring at the Von Donup troops-- they were giant! Real giants!They were the tallest people he had ever seen, especially with those shiny miter caps-- Hey look! There were the loyalists marching along, too, wearing green! He had a friend in the New Jersey Volunteers that he liked to play with and he was super friendly, but the loyalists were a little scary because he heard things about them. Apparently they had burnt a schoolhouse in Elizabethtown-- wherever that is-- and were really vicious on the field, but they seemed nice to him--
Ooooooh, they passed by a bakery in the town. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the windows and straight into Ron's nose; a loud gurgling sound emanated from the ranks-- yes, that was his stomach; he broke his fast this morning, sure, but it wasn't enough because, after all, he was certain he was getting a growth spurt. His American cousin, Liza, would have to make new sleeves for him again, she hated making sleeves, but it was for a good cause? Right? Was it too late to have a second breakfast? He was hungry now. Maybe he could break his fast again right before battle, his mom always said it was important to break one's fast right before battle so that he won't have to fight on an empty stomach. Mmmmmmmm foooooooodddd.... He could really go for some bacon right now--
Wait, he could hear the loyalists quietly singing under their breaths. He craned his neck to listen,
"The continentals formed a line
Way-hey a ro-o-vin
The Continentals formed a line
Mark well what I do say
The Continentals formed a line
and turn and ran from Brandywine
I'll go no more a ro-o-vin with you fair maid"
"Quiet in the ranks!" Their captain silenced them with a hint of reluctance in his voice. Ron continued humming the tune and the next thing he knew, it was stuck in his head before coming to a halt. General Howe made the command to cross the bridge and the army broke step to safely march over the bridge-- why did they do that? It didn't sound right, it was weird! he heard a slight groan from the loyalists behind him when the command was given to not engage the enemy yet. His ears perked up like a hunting dog's when he heard musket fire. He was so excited! His first battle! It was so hard not to sit still, but he used every ounce of will power to stay still and wait for orders.
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