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melpomeneprose · 1 year ago

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Yorktown, 1781

Yorktown, 1781

Read here originally written as part of this much longer work.

Now or never

September 20th, 1781.

The British had trapped themselves, at Yorktown. General Cornwallis had barricaded himself in a Virginian swamp, the Marquis de Lafayette had explained. What’s more the French fleet was more than happy to aid in the destruction of their mutual enemy, Great Britain. Still more, a double agent, a black man by the name of James Armistead Lafayette was feeding English intelligence false information. It was now or never, now that Cornwallis had sent for reinforcements and a fleet from New York.

“We must take Cornwallis, lest we lose all morale and the people,” Washington said. Tallmadge merely nodded, silent but never not observant holding his Dragoon helmet close.

“It is now or never,” Lafayette said.

These are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. - Thomas Paine

The trenches

October 11th, 1781.

Several sleepless nights for Major Benjamin Tallmadge as the patriot and allied militias dig trenches surrounding the English enemy. The English put up a fight, of course they do, amidst the darkness sounds of cannons being fired shake the ground and would burst any unaccustomed to war’s eardrums. The smoke from the English muskets fills the air, making it more than a little difficult to breathe, great plumes of white billowing into the air made worse by the southern heat and swampy ground of Virginia and every once in awhile a great booming noise just overhead and something were it less brutal one could half deceive themselves into thinking it a blazing red comet falling to earth.

By morning the trenches are dug, and remarkably, no American casualties, not yet Tallmadge only prayed for the least amount of life taken, and a steady and swift end to this conflict. There are a few casualties on their allies, the French side, but not enough to be noted in any war as substantive. Morale is still high, they need only push Cornwallis til he breaks. With the right poison, even a snake can take down a lion.

Firestorm

October 15th, 1781.

Across the York River, the sound of a French military drum echoed a steady “da-da-da-dum.” English warships held that side of the river, for the moment. Encroaching in the dead of night the navy of French Admiral Comte de Grasse, set about their cause, the one they were all to pleased to do on General Washington’s insistence.

Raining down cannon fire which soon spread set the vast majority of the English fleet aflame. Tallmadge didn’t see it, not all of it. Truthfully, it was hard to watch, the agony of others, even the enemy, even redcoat lobsters, practically flamed alive. Cornwallis retreated in a small escape vessel but in but a manner of hours, the English fleet at Yorktown and the men who had stood through no fault of their own for their… King and Country were obliterated.

Tallmadge sucked in his breath nervously as recollections of Sarah Livingston passed briefly before his blue eyes. It was necessary, sure, and he wouldn’t run. But… such ungodly suffering, like flames lapping up from Hell, consuming everything in it’s wake. The cannons, are like a heart beat that rips through you and tears you up. That tears the unlucky limb by limb. Worse than any bullet.

Some talk of Alexander and some of Hercules

Of Hector and Lysander, and such great names as these.

But of all the world's brave heroes, there's none that can compare.

With a tow, row, row, row, row, row, to the British Grenadiers.

Man or a monster

October 16th, 1781.

It had occurred to Benjamin but once before now that he might be wrong, even after all this time, Sarah’s words rang in his ears, ‘I am not ready to die for yours,’ Sarah had said, she had begged his assistance, and he had not returned it, he had killed her. As Comte de Grasse had demolished the English fleet and the man aboard those ships. It must be wrong, surely, or at least, not anything any Good God would approve of, on either side. His name was already tainted, at least to him, it was a wonder anyone could still see Good in him.

Benjamin, son of the right hand in Hebrew, is the chosen son. Or so one in all their wisdom had explained.

Wrong, would this be counted against him or for him, on the day he finally passes? As is most certain and unavoidable for all mankind.

Laying in his cot in his tent Tallmadge managed a prayer. A meek one, but, a prayer nonetheless. Tallmadge would do his duty, finish his task, mount his horse with his spurs and take up his musket and pistols were it so required. But, when this is over and he, at last, can hang up his spurs and his sword– he promises never to lay a hand on a gun or such a fatalistic tool as a sabre ever again. Such destruction and what cost? Surely it is only right for God to play such drawn-out affairs with life and death.

‘But what if perhaps God doesn’t exist?’

But it is surely not Benjamin’s place to question God’s design, faith and friends had kept him alive, however much he wavered and seemed ill at ease. It had been six years fighting George III’s empire, he would surely not break now. Even if it condemned his soul from thereafter.

Even if it made Benjamin no better than the demon or a Lamia the scriptures warn men about.

Redcoats redder

October 17th, 1781.

So the bombardment of the English began in earnest at last. Benjamin was aching for a fight and so it seemed were his colleagues Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens. Washington promised them soon enough – they must break the English defensive in its entirety first. 2,500 Patriots and 4,000 French allies… up against 8,000 English troops. But, as fate or God would have it, 8,000 unguarded, ill of malaria and dysentery and trying to hold a strategic position on land any sensible person would say was unholdable. Perhaps it was just Cornwallis’s spite for the Americans, the English always seemed to forget the collective power of her colonies, or perhaps more foolish yet, holding out for reinforcements from New York. What it was, didn’t matter. Not when the clock was ticking and in this rare instance, God seemed to favour the patriot side. They’d take the remaining redoubts by storm it is either that or the noose. Liberty or death.

Benjamin had thought on the concept of dying now so many times, it seemed, he now had a sort of disconnect from the entire concept. That was until now. Until he could no longer deny its likelihood. Guns and strategic advantages aside, they were still outnumbered and they were still facing the worlds greatest Empire, if one could call it that. Tallmadge much preferred the concept of putting down a hungry beast, like a Mantacore of Greek legend, or… Echidna the mother of monsters from the same. Surely that was the most apt description for the thing they were fighting. Even bloodsucker or a leech was far too kind. So, into the belly of the beast they charge, it is, simply… win or the bayonet end or the noose of the hollow crown.

Rochambeau

October 18th, 1781.

The code word, Alexander Hamilton informed him: Rochambeau. We face them now, staring into the whites of their eyes, so the enemy cannot run. Alexander Hamiton and his Achilles, to his Patroclus to his Achilles, John Laurens would lead infantry. Benjamin would, such as his rank of 2nd continental light dragoon said, was to cut them off as calvary give little room for them to hold ground, or fight back. It would be brutal, Hamilton bluntly said to Tallmadge, but necessary. Tallmadge nodded, despite himself and gave Hamilton a friendly and determined smile, this is what Benjamin’s been fighting for since 1776. He was not about to give these men in red an inch. For Nathan, for how he couldn’t spare Major Andre, or Sarah, to end the conflict Miss Shippen was running from. For Anna Strong’s revenge, for Caleb and the ring, for their America.

Not charging into the frey not yet. Alexander and Laurens move silently in the dead of night removing the bullets from their guns until absolutely necessary. With the British defences pummelled to the ground, they take the redoubts with comparative ease. Until the English answer with their remaining cannons and the fog and fumes of war. Laurens and Hamilton stay their ground. Try as men might atop his horse, the men in red are easy targets. He cuts them down hacking and slashing with all his rage and all his might, like Achilles at Troy. They attempt to fire upon him and the calvary he is missed. One man’s horse is shot from under him and he hears the screams of an injured or dying animal, still, they keep fighting. Cannon fire shoots back in response, a last-ditch attempt by the English to hold their position. By 4 am it is decided in the end the total casualties amounted to 857, for both sides. But, outgunned, outplayed, exhausted and ill the English now as weary as their patriot enemies surrender.

The world turned upside down

October 19th, 1781.

A young redcoat stands atop the defences with a white handkerchief, and a drummer accompanies him. By 10:30 am the English offer sufficient terms of surrender. Humiliated, or ill, Cornwallis neglects to be present. Benjamin cannot help but scoff but he suppresses it if only out of politeness and civility to the now-defeated enemy.

A line is formed and sure enough, Washington receives the sword of the enemy, a symbol of surrender and a remarkably civil surrender at that. Save for poor Banastre Tarleton, not with his reputation for brutality. However, the English refuse to look at the Patriots, to whom the French and English are subordinate.

The Marquis de Lafayette merely sighed softly. “Yankee doodle,” he commanded, as the British drummer and fifer played the folk song, ‘The world turned upside down.�� There is a look of disbelief on the faces of the English, but, Tallmadge cannot help but return it with a grin, smug perhaps, but, this is what he had spent six years fighting for! What is more, he had survived.

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