His Excellency's Orders

Written By: Commander Cody CC-2224


CHAPTER 7

Now that Sergeant MacKenzie's training session was over, the Fifth Regiment trainees, after being dismissed, headed off together to another direction.

"Never thought I'd see a man who could load and shoot a flintlock at lightning-fast speeds," Sergeant MacKenzie remarked.

Ben looked back at him in a manner that seemed to express skepticism. "My thanks, sir," he responded. "But I'm not sure I can say honestly…that I'm that fast."

"Faster than most…and almost flawless," Sergeant MacKenzie complimented, thinking that Ben was understating his ability to handle a flintlock firearm. "By God, Sergeant, if everyone jack of the men in Washington's Army were as proficient as you…"

"Well, we still have the Fifth Regiment…and the French on our side," said Ben. "But…we're still a long way off from ever achieving our independence from Britain. And…we still have to contend with their own professional forces."

Sergeant MacKenzie looked at Ben hard. "Sergeant, did no one ever tell you of the Battle of Culloden Lough?" he asked rather rhetorically.

"No, sir," Ben answered.

"The battle that took place on the Scottish Highlands in '46, where me and my fellow Highlanders on the Jacobite side pitted ourselves against the British when they encroached our lands," the sergeant expounded. "I was in the Atholl Brigade…charging on boggy ground, where the redcoats in front of us were able to repel us with their guns like they were shooting game…all because of that damn bog." He took a hard breath. "We kept on fighting…but we could not keep it up…not forever."

"What happened?" asked Ben.

"We were cut down…without mercy," said Sergeant MacKenzie. "Those barely alive on the battlefield were stabbed to death by bayonets." He looked at Ben. "But it was not entirely hopeless from the start. We had the French on our side…and we had Bonnie Prince Charlie to command our armies."

Ben thought on the sergeant's past predicament for a moment. "Why did you lose, then?" he asked.

"It's…probable…that the combined forces of the Scots and the French were probably not coordinated effectively," said Sergeant MacKenzie. "But not only that, Bonnie Prince Charlie abandoned us to our fates…when he thought that our cause was lost.

"Where is he now?" asked Ben.

"Damned if I know," said the sergeant. "Five years after the Jacobite cause was lost, I was already on a ship bound to the Colonies. I wouldn't be entirely surprised if General Washington did the same thing that Bonnie Prince Charlie did."

"It's not likely he will do that," said Ben. "I don't see him as the type of man who will give up on us."

"If your faith in Washington is that strong, sergeant, I pray God that it will be rewarded," said the sergeant. "But you…and every man jack in Washington's Army have the Fifth Regiment to call upon you to give you a strategic edge against the Brits…and the French to reinforce every man jack of you. You…you are lucky. Remember that."

"I'll keep that in mind, sir," said Ben considerately.

"Good lad," said the sergeant. "You're dismissed."

"Yes, sir."

Ben and the Scottish sergeant saluted each other before parting ways. After watched the sergeant walk away from him he decided to make his way to his tent, which happened to be set up at a block adjacent to where the Merriman family resided, specifically between Queen Street and Centre Lane. As usual, Ben's own comrade-in-arms, Private Walter Wheaton was there, settled at the tent as well. Walter waved at Ben to get his attention.

"Sergeant Davidson…you're here…at last," Walter greeted his superior rather dramatically.

Ben and Walter gave each other a man-hug. It was in the form of giving each other a close high-five before that manly embrace. For the most part, the feeling was mutual, and their attitude was to damn all regulations regarding greetings to people of different rank. They headed back to the tent.

"How was assisting Sergeant MacKenzie?" Walter started asking.

"Intimidating," Ben answered rather flatly. "Though I have to admit, the Sergeant was quite the loudmouth. Then again, that's what you'd expect of an officer desperate to train his men for the field of battle." He was used to the fact that life was not only busy, but also straining in Washington's Army. "It's a great relief to get a moment's respite," he said.

"Well, our moment's respite is to be short-lived, I'm afraid, Sergeant," said Walter. "We have to wait for Matthew Brady, who is soon to be joining us. We are to be briefed on our very first assignment by Captain Howell. And His Excellency General Washington is bound to be present at the briefing as well."

General George Washington had just made his arrival into Williamsburg on the morning of yesterday, and the Continental forces were working in conjunction with the French troops. The British had left Williamsburg a month and a half ago.

Captain Michael Howell was the Captain of the Fifth Regiment. He was responsible for influencing Ben to join the Fifth Regiment rather than the militia or the regular infantry. In this way he steered Ben up from a lowly occupation in Washington's Army into an area where men with potential concerned about being stationed on the front lines of battle would be rigorously trained to perform special operations outside the regular occupations of Washington's Army. Capt. Howell also mentioned before to Ben that he served with Ben's father during the Cherokee Indian attack on Roanoke, where Ben's father, Matthew Davidson, fell in battle while stalling the assaulting Cherokee Indians. He was one of a handful of men who fought and died giving the Roanoke settlers a chance to escape the wrath of the Cherokees.

It was not long for talks to shift to visits of family members and acquaintances with whom both Ben and Walter knew back in Williamsburg.

"So how was your family back in Williamsburg you're still apprenticed to?" asked Walter.

"Apparently, they are the picture of health," Ben answered. "'Tis a blessing to see that they're quite well…considering how much they had to go through with the British occupation." He inhaled through his nose. "Especially Lissie. To this day I still remember the day she set her fancies on me."

Walter started looking at Ben in a rather wry way. "Come on, Ben. That was…how long?"

"Three years ago," Ben reminisced. "How strange…"

"Three years ago. How strange…"

"Aye, three," Walter started musing. "A lot can change within that time. Fervent longings experienced by sweethearts carried away by romantic raptures start to cool off as you get older…and as people grow up, their social perspectives will evolve to the point where they become skeptical of what society wants of them and they start to wonder whether what society wants of them is best for them…personally."

Ben had to give some thought over what Walter had said. If the war was ever going to be over, he would have to expect serious alterations in the life he led before it. "Your point being?" he asked.

"My point being is that when we return home from the war, the households we return to will not be the same as when we left them. Can't expect everything to be the same again."

"Sounds like we missed quite a lot while we were away," said Ben.

"Aye, 'tis true, mate," Walter agreed. "But think about it; life would be pretty dull if we had to go through the same old household daily routines. One of these days something has to change our lives."

"For good or for evil," Ben added. "The former is preferable, though the latter, sadly, can barely be helped."

"Well, I was hoping that this war wasn't going to be one of those things to change us," said Walter. "I was hoping for something…better."

"Like what?" asked Ben.

"Like…you know…well, traveling the Colonies," replied Walter. When the war was over he had plans to see what was up North. "I was hoping to get a glimpse of New York, though."

"Hmm…had I enlisted earlier, I would have seen it," Ben reflected.

"Tell me you're joking, mate, 'cause that's unlikely you would have seen New York," Walter contradicted his commanding officer. "If you were in Washington's Army, what you would be seeing instead would be your starving comrades at Valley Forge, 'cause the British took New York."

It turned out that Ben had kind of said it in jest. "Walter, it was a joke," said Ben. "Somewhat."

"So you did hear of it, then," said Walter. "So did I."

It was not until he started taking a glance at his pistol. "Heard it was a dreadful ordeal. I wasn't there, but 'tis mollifying how sharp the contrast had been between the British and us; the Brits were celebrating Christmas with all manner of pomp and gaiety while we suffered from starvation and cold. I'm willing to bet that if your body was eating itself, you'd shoot yourself with a pistol if you had one on hand."

"Remind me to thank the Lord that I was spared the misfortunes of Washington's Army during the early years of the war," said Ben.

"Better remember to do that the next time you attend service at Bruton Parish," Walter admonished him.

As Ben was slightly in his thoughts, he had a hunch to note his surroundings. It seemed that the place he was in had some sort of personal significance to him. "Hard to believe it's been this long since I joined the Fifth Regiment…here…in this very place…" he mused.

He could almost remember the time when he was asked to join the special assignments branch on account of his father's past history with Captain Howell long before the branch's establishment. Captain Howell figured that Ben had a sort of determined spirit; the type that seemed to compel him to run off to join Washington's Army seven years ago, before being talked out of it by the very same girl he found himself falling in love with.

"Don't worry, Sergeant," Walter tried to assure him in his own sympathetic manner. "When you and I get back home, we'll be back in the arms of our sweethearts, wishing our moments with them will last for all eternity." He scratched his head in a thoughtful manner. "Fancy that, Ben. At least the war hasn't hit this town hard, compared to those up North."

Walter did have a point to make. Much of the fighting during the war was done in the Northern Colonies. "But the British have vandalized almost everything in our homes," Ben had to mention.

"Aye, that be true, Ben…but you exaggerate," Walter answered. "All the British were asking for were necessary supplies to continue their journey. Granted, of course, their means of obtaining them were not exactly…savory, for want of a better word. Besides, according to Captain Howell, it seemed that the British…were retreating."

"To Yorktown?" asked Ben. Yorktown was the place where he was from; where he was born.

"Aye," answered Walter.

Ben heaved a very heavy sigh, as that place was his former hometown. It was also where the only relation left of his own family, his mother, was residing, after his father and sister died, and he had plans on visiting her after the war was over. Now he strongly suspected the British would be nearly turning the place inside out in order to make it a more fortified stronghold. It was sad point of fact that the tranquil place where he was from was now being occupied by the British.

"Your hometown…wasn't it," Walter said to him sympathetically. Ben only answered with a nod of his head. "Ben…I don't think His Excellency would give the order for our troops to make a long march to Yorktown…unless he was certain he could whup those arrogant Brits up their arses quick and clean." With that he flung his hand sideways from Ben as some sort of gesture motion.

In a seemingly timely moment, there was a rumble sound outside. Ben and Walter went outside their tent to check to see who it was. Arriving nearly at their doorstep was a young man, Matthew Brady. The entire state of his body was for the most part unkempt. His curly blond hair which bordered between dark and light was matted with sweat, and his uniform was rugged with wear and tear. Ben and Walter could almost come to conclusions that the young man himself had seen better days.

"Brady!" Ben greeted. "What the hell happened to you? You look like a starving, haggard old man without an army!"

"Aye, Sergeant," Brady answered rather cheerfully. "I just got back."

"Well, guess what, Brady," said Walter. "We're to be briefed on our next mission."

Walter started taking notice of Brady's sword. "You've got to show me how that sword is made," he said to him.

At a hunch, Brady pulled his sword to check it. Remarkably, the blade was shaped in a straight fashion rather than curved, and its point was angularly shaped in the form of a right triangle, like a katana. But there was something more unusual about the sword as well.

Brady's sword was crafted in a manner foreign to the conventions of European cutlasses. Rather than pounded by blacksmiths' hammers on one layer of steel, Brady's sword had its blade utilize an amalgamation of steel in differing physical densities. Essentially the blade was topped with medium steel, and the back of the blade was reinforced with soft steel. For the blade's edge, hard steel was used to provide slashing strength and more guided force power for use in battle. The hardened steel on the blade edge could also minimize bluntness, and reinforced the entire blade almost impervious to breaking. The hard layer of steel underwent a metallurgical procedure called differential hardening, where metal was heated at a very high temperature and cooled rapidly.

Brady had this sword specially made for him. The entire technique was clandestinely borrowed from the Far East by a friend who visited a little of the place and came back to the Colonies. The whole procedure was said to cost a little more than hundred pounds. Somehow Brady was able to have the Fifth Regiment cover two-thirds of the cost, while he paid the remainder out of his own pocket. Brady could almost brag that his sword would be strong enough to sometimes break the cutlasses of the British if he fought hand-to-hand with them. Ben had heard Brady discuss the details of his sword a long time ago, so he was accustomed to seeing him use it.

Ben, Walter, and Brady were pretty much involved in a fair number of tasks, half of them involving reconnaissance, and some involving being couriers for food and game. Ben's wry face indicated a desire to see it all end. In the case of the Fifth Regiment, supply missions were a little more dangerous because redcoats and various members of Loyalist militia would occasionally launch raids on Fifth Regiment supply parties. But that usually didn't happen a lot.

"Cheer up, Ben," said Ben. "For the Fifth Regiment, every mission we do for His Excellency brings us one step closer to being free from British rule. "

"Walter's right, you know," said Brady. "You ain't the only one who longs for this war to be over soon. So…" he continued, turning to Ben. "Who are our honored guests for this season?"

"Captain Michael Howell, and the French General…Rochambeau," Ben answered.

"And don't forget to include His Excellency," added Walter.

"General Washington?" Brady inquired rather quizzically.

"Aye," Walter answered. "We'll be having a hell of an audience with him."

"When does it start?" asked Brady.

"Noon." Walter looked up at the thin overcast hovering across. "And…it's nearly noon."

At that Ben picked up his personal effects and slung them over his shoulder. "Well, we're wasting time," he declared.

"We've wasted time already, Ben" said Walter. "In fact, we wasted nearly half a quarter of an hour just waiting for good ol' Matthew Brady to show up."

The young men slung their muskets over their shoulders and left the tent. Their walking destination was General Washington's command tent, which was situated about a quarter of a mile from their tent.

Walter and Brady shouldered each other. Ben could nearly overhear their conversations, though at that point he was not at all intent in knowing what was going on between both Walter and Brady.


A/N: The description of how Matthew Brady's special sword was forged was based on the forging techniques of Japanese sword-smithing. Perhaps it's quite possible that Brady's unnamed friend somehow knew something about forging techniques he brought back from Japan. If that's so, you might be asking why any of the Continental Army officers never bothered to have swords like the one Brady has. Well, the expense is prohibitive, for one thing, as Brady mentioned. Another consideration is that it would be too unwieldy for officers accustomed to European-style sword-fighting.