|
10 March, 1777
- New York City
"Having been
in the city but a short while, I was at first hesitant to pass
judgement on these colonials. However, I was struck by the squalor
in every direction. There was but one thing to do – drink.
And heavily at that.
I found my way to
a dingy tavern called the Bull's Head, situated next to a livestock
pen (how delightful). It wasn't long before I was weaving and
I soon wound up "shooting the cat" as they say.
As I struggled to
wipe the sick from my face, I noticed a rather distinguished
gentleman lying next to me on the floor. Between bouts of emptying
the contents of his stomach, he managed to introduce himself
as Beverley Robinson, a wealthy New York loyalist.
'Beverley? That's
kind of a girl's name, isn't it?' I said smugly.
'It's a family name,'
he shot back defensively.
'Perhaps but it's
still kind of girly, isn't it?' I returned.
He responded by
hurling me into several British Grenadiers who further pummeled
me for spilling their tankards of ale. Later, Robinson and I
wound up talking at length about his impending plans for forming
a loyalist regiment to fight against the rebels. He seemed stumped
for a name for the regiment.
'I was considering
His Majesty's Legion of Death as a name,' he said confidently.
'I don't like it.
I'd go with something simple and straightforward. Why not call
your loyal american regiment something like... the Loyal American
Regiment?'
'I can't say I like
the name but I'll think about it,' he returned as staggered off
into the alley to shoot the cat again. I smiled, knowing that
he would see it my way after he regained his senses."
6 October, 1777
- Fort Montgomery, New York
"As I struggled
to wipe the sick from my face, I looked around at the fort and
quickly realized that I was seeing history being made here on
the Hudson River. I had accompanied Colonel Beverley Robinson
and his bold Loyal American Regiment as they raided and took
Fort Montgomery. I surveyed the newly-captured fort. It was a
bit messy and I quickly became bored.
Since there were
no more rebels to slaughter, I walked into the abandoned rebel
officers' headquarters. Just a few minutes later, I was enjoying
one of the harlots that the rebel officers had left behind. These
American girls are devilishly saucy wenches. As this one attended
my [illegible] by [illegible illegible] like someone might milk
a cow, she told me with a sly wink to try on some leather breeches
that a rebel officer had left behind.
Not wanting to disappoint
her, I tried on the leather breeches and was strutting about
the room for her enjoyment when a Loyal American Regiment officer
stormed in and stared at me in anger. I recognized him as one
Captain Joshua Barnes, a disagreeable loyalist from nearby Westchester
County. We had locked horns before. [Five lines have been crossed
out] ... however, there was no way I could have known she was
his daughter in the first place.
'You little fop,
you!' he hissed as he knocked me to the ground. 'I'm taking everything
in this room – including those breeches,' he shouted as
he brandished his sword, and by that I do not mean his [page
torn]. As he raised the sword above his head, I fainted dead
away.
When I awoke, I
found myself alone in a jollyboat floating down the Hudson River
dressed only in a pair of old breeches that I realized to my
chagrin, I had soiled. I felt an odd stinging and looked down
to realize that the word, 'Fop' had been carved into my
chest with the tip of a sword. Still, the pain I could bear.
It was missing out on those leather breeches that truly hurt."
7 July, 1778
- Flushing Fly, New York
"As I struggled
to wipe the sick from my face, I noticed a platoon of Royal Provincials
coming my way along the dusty road. I was intrigued not just
by their flamboyant hats which rose a full two feet over their
heads but also by the fact that they wore sailor's slops rather
than trousers or breeches. I hallooed one of them and asked him
about the slops.
"Nice ones,
ain't they?" he said as he kicked me viciously to the ground
and took my brand new shoes with diamond buckles. "We like
the nautical look. You have some sort of problem with that, Sir
Nancy Boy?"
"No, they are
marvelous," I uttered with difficulty as he pressed his
new shoes upon my windpipe.
"Leave the
fop alone and rejoin your unit!" shouted a serjeant as he
passed (although he found time to spit upon me when he came within
range).
The soldier left
and I stood up, trying once again to breathe. As I watched them
march off into the distance, I couldn't help but admire those
slops."
20 October 1780 - New York
City
As I struggled to wipe the
sick from my face, I noticed a group of King's Rangers making
their way across Broad Street [Broadway]. Collecting myself,
I staggered out of the alley to observe these rather striking
soldiers. Their coats were green in colour with red facings which
made them stand out in an extraordinary fashion from the regulars.
Upon their cartridge boxes, some industrious fellow had painted
images of rebels being brutally bayoneted by King's Rangers.
I was impressed by the small details such as the blood oozing
from the touchhole of the musket.
The images was striking although
not nearly as striking as the King's Ranger hats. Rather than
the usual black round hats, these men wore white round hats with
the brim entirely cut off. Affixed to one side of the crown was
a green plume, which soared nearly three feet above the top of
the hat.
"A remarkable uniform,
if I may say so!" I uttered to their serjeant as the group
strutted arrogantly past.
"Foppish bastard!"
hissed the serjeant as he pushed me roughly back into a wall.
The Ranger had cracked several
of my ribs but I couldn't help but be impressed as I watched
the Rangers saunter down the street towards one of the many brothels
run by the army.
2 November 1780 - New York
City
After struggling to wipe the
sick from my face, I rushed to the headquarters of Commander
Sir Henry Clinton. Harry and I have been friends since the days
we went drinking and whoring in Edinburgh before the war. He
introduced me to a stern-looking gentleman wearing a green regimental.
This was Captain Samuel Hayden of the King's Rangers. The two
were in the middle of a heated discussion.
"This is completely and
utterly bogus, your Excellency!" exclaimed Hayden as he
took a liberal gulp from his wine glass.
"Sam, I've told you before,
I need your men on the Jersey coast," returned Clinton patiently.
"Let the New Jersey Volunteers
do it! I've had enough of this!"
"Sam, you're always making
things difficult," shot back Clinton with a stern look.
All of this was making me extremely
uncomfortable. I nervously looked at my pocket watch.
"Well, I really have to
be going, gentlemen," I said.
Hayden looked intently in my
direction. "Say, nice watch!" he exclaimed with a gleam
in his eye. "How much do you want for it?"
"It's not for sale, Captain
Hayden."
"Come on, how much?"
"He said no, Sam!"
exclaimed Clinton with a sneer.
"You're always interfering!"
shot back Captain Hayden and he left the room without another
word.
"Well, now you know what
I have to put up with!" uttered Clinton quietly as he leaned
back in his chair. "I'm going to ship those Rangers so far
away it's not funny."
"How's the war effort
going, Harry?" I said, hoping to change the subject.
"Awful. I don't have a
clue what to do next."
"Well, I'd suggest pushing
into places like Virginia... Williamsburg or even Yorktown perhaps."
"Bravo, sounds good to
me. Let's do it."
I smiled, pleased that the
commander-in-chief took such confidence in my opinions.
29 May 1779 - Albany, NY
Note: Testing has shown that this entry is written in human
blood (apparently, Ben Dover's).
As I struggled to wipe the
sick from my face, I noticed Jimmy Rogers, the rather handsome
brother of Robert Rogers, coming in my direction.
"That green uniform suits
you," I said slyly. I cursed my lack of originality, certain
he wouldn't be impressed.
"Thank you. Just got it,
you know. The breeches are a bit tight though," he returned
with an odd sparkle in his eye.
Before I had a chance to say
something clever, the rest of his King's Rangers stumbled into
view. They were quite drunk but very, very manly. Within a minute,
they pounded me senseless, leaving me in a pool of my own blood.
My fingers are broken and it will be several months before I
can write by my own hand.
Quotes about various British
& Loyalist officers
Major John Andre:
"A smashing fellow... bright, articulate and cultured, although
we did nearly tear into each other when I disagreed with his
glowing review of a dreary 1774 London peformance of Richard
III."
Lt.-Col. James Chalmers
(Maryland Loyalists):
"Arrogant, know-it-all... The man has a lisp and a Scottish
accent. If that doesn't doom you to failure, I don't know what
does."
Colonel Andreas Emmerick
(Emmerick's Chasseurs)
"Nice enough when
he's got his shipment of German sausages but put a gallon of
Madiera into him and he starts shouting in German and slapping
his knees. He scares me."
Sir William Howe (British
Commander):
"Loser... hopefully,
his ship will sink on the way back to England and he will be
fish food."
Lt.-Col. Alfred Clifton
(Roman Catholic Volunteers):
"This one likes his drink. In fact, the whole regiment does...
I don't see them lasting very long." |
