Arrogance and Empire: An Alternative 7 Years War Timeline

[Alt History Buff]

July, 1756

London

The Prince of Wales smiled warmly as parliamentarian approached upon concluding his conversation with a pair backbenchers that huddled around the rising star. Now, a full hour after Pitt's rousing speech had been foully overwhelmed by Newcastle's iron grip over the House of Commons, the main hall had nearly deserted. With a stylish bow that managed to avoid supplication, William Pitt graciously accepted the British Royal's applause in the good humor it was intended. As physically unimposing as the rest of the House of Hanover, the eighteen-year-old boy had overcome an unpromising childhood to develop firm convictions. As ever, the Prince's tutor, the Earl of Bute, hovered in the background to watch over his student. For much of the youth's life, Bute had guarded his protégé's interests without falter as Leicaster House, the faction lead by the Dowager Princess of Wales and forged from an alliance with the King's many opponents, evolved into a powerful player in British politics. Between the Prince's mother and the Earl of Bute, the two people that the future George III loved and trusted beyond all others, the Prince of Wales had suckled on the politics of the country party from an early age.

Long since alienated by her father-in-law, George II, even before the death of her late husband, the Dowager delighted in raising her son to vigorously oppose the King's will. The young Prince viewed his grandfather's obvious partisan preference for the corrupt ruling Whig Party will barely concealed contempt and had long vowed to stand above party upon his own ascension to the throne. Throughout the petty self-interests and outright theft so common to British politics, few men rose beyond their vulgar influences to reap a reputation of honesty and integrity than William Pitt. In many ways, the charismatic politician represented all the Prince of Wales desired for a Prime Minister to be. While not strictly a member of the Leicaster faction, the parliamentarian could not help but be welcomed as a kindred soul.

"Mr. Pitt," greeted the beaming Prince, "I cannot be more complimentary of your speech! An utter disgrace that so many others failed be swayed."

With a smug veneer of modesty, Pitt replied, "I am humbled by your attention, Your Majesty. And Lord Bute! It is always a pleasure."

Somewhat more restrained that his pupil, the Earl of Bute returned, "And to yourself as always, Mr. Pitt. You cut to the heart of the matter; I give you that. A terrible waste of treasure on a vainglorious Prussian King. Let the Germans fight their own wars and leave the Empire to its own path."

The somewhat dour Scot obviously cared as little for the fate of Hanover than the pudgy Prince. Pitt wondered how much of this callousness stemmed from the King's unobstructed affection for his ancestral homeland. For generations, the baffling disaffinity between the British Kings and their natural heirs brought the monarchy into disrepute. The King had been utterly loathed by his own father, George I. Frederick, the previous Prince of Wales that had died when his son was thirteen, maintained even worse relations with George II. Now, the Prince of Wales had inherited most of Frederick's ambitions that placed him in such conflict with the King. In the end, Pitt shrugged internally as he determined it hardly mattered. The elderly King was in poor health and his youthful grandson obviously adored the "Great Commoner". Surely, Pitt's appointment to higher office could not be far off. Had the King been more reasonable, he'd recognize that Pitt's obvious skills and vision could only lead the Empire to greater heights.

Thinking this, Pitt prompted, "Does your grace feel that this policy will drag Britain into continental war?"

"Oh, yes," The Prince said breathlessly, "I'm sure of it. War is as much a hobby as a necessity on the continent. Surely, even a minor incident might pull this interlocking alliance inexorably towards war."

Upon completing his thought, Prince George looked over to his tutor, whom gave him a paternal nod laced with a hint of pride. Though the Prince showed far more promise than during his underachieving childhood, the youth obviously still preferred to quote Bute's lessons rather than form his own opinions. Pitt doubted that the Prince of Wales knew what the word "inexorably" meant. Still, the future George III appreciated Pitt's value and that was a mark in his favor.

"Quite an incisive point, your grace," Pitt complimented, "I could not agree more. Far better that focus our efforts upon the conquest of the world rather than keeping small German states intact."

Working himself into a rant, the Heir Apparent went on, "If only the damn King could see the waste of such efforts, the burden upon the common man whom suffer from his egotistical fixation…"

With a subtle move, Bute diffused the diatribe with a soft hand on the boy's shoulder. Every informed courtier and politician had whispered of the Prince's reputation for tantrums, fits which only the Earl of Bute and the Dowager could contain. In this case, it was far better for the young royal to be restrained as verbally attacking the King directly was treason and could potentially bear consequences even for a Prince. Certainly, Pitt had walked that fine line many times before and learned to attack the sovereign's intermediaries and favorites rather than the King himself.

"The Prince feels strongly upon such subject," added Bute soothingly. Tall and handsome, the forty-five-year-old Scot managed to calm his protégé down. Pitt wondered if the spurious stories of the Prince's bizarre compulsions were true. An avid collector of clocks and other measurement instruments, Prince George always ate the same meal every day. Perhaps he simply seeks order?

If that was the case, Pitt was certain he could provide it. Seeing the Prince spy some of his faction members awaiting his pleasure, the Prince and his tutor offered Pitt another round of congratulations and took their leave. Watching the boy follow his teacher like a puppy, Pitt read into the relationship what a great many other politicians undoubtedly did. A future King that would prove more pliable than the last.

Sighing, Pitt knew that years, perhaps decades, would pass before that boy reached the throne. And William Pitt was not interested in waiting that long. The Duke of Newcastle, that fussy ninny controlling this mockery of a government, had graciously offered Pitt a supremely delectable target to attack before a British public that was rapidly tiring of taxation. They cried out for a man without limits to take the reign of power. They wanted the "Great Commoner". Pitt vowed to offer himself to them without reserve. It was only a matter of time before fate gave Newcastle a platform unstable enough to collapse. William Pitt would be waiting.

Later:

"And now, I say, my fine gentleman, why does our own Navy wither from lack of funds while another country is blessed with every last shilling lining the ratepayer's pockets! I say no more! No more!"

As the House of Commons roared alternately in favor and revilement at his latest words, William Pitt stood back and rejoiced in the mayhem. The forty-eight-year-old legislator was hardly an anarchist. However, he fully understood the political gains obtainable from a government in chaos. In this case, Pitt hadn't been forced to lift a finger. Having heard of some minor backwoods skirmish in North America led by……Washington? Was that it?....well having been led by a colonial officer in Virginia against his French counterpart, King Frederick of Prussia rationalized this petty conflict as justifiable grounds to invade Saxony. Through the interlocking alliances, Saxony was an ally of Austria and Austria was an ally of France. Since France assault Britain, an ally of Prussia, thus the Prussian had an excuse to seize Saxon lands with the full backing of Great Britain. Remarkably, Newcastle and the King had agreed to support such nonsense. Promptly, Austria entered the fray to support their own German allies and France soon readily joined the fight as well though it was doubtful that France would spend much in the way of reinforcements against the Prussians themselves. Naturally, the question of Russian involvement weighed heavily.

Since the breakout of open war on the continent, Newcastle demanded greater and greater sums from the public coffers to shore up the ambitious Prussian King's forces as well as those protecting Hanover from the French. With great enthusiasm Pitt rallied the opposition, the tax conscious gentry, the pacifists and every other disenfranchised parliamentarian into perhaps the greatest coalition against the King's policies in recent memory.

Despite the generous abundance of topics on which Pitt could lampoon Newcastle and the rest of the Privy Council, the parliamentarian took special care to tailor his three-hour speech towards the weakness such policies have instilled into the military. By happenstance, Pitt had waylaid an old friend, a Captain Keegan, normally stationed on a Royal Navy vessel in the Mediterranean. Keegan sat awaiting an audience with the King at the same time that Pitt was walking out of a meeting with some of the King's favorites. Seeing the fellow looking dismally grim, Pitt offered a concerned smile to his friend and inquired of his business. With a great rush, the Naval Captain spewed forth the horrific news of which he'd been entrusted to inform the King. Shocked to the core at the disaster which Keegan described, Pitt offered a few words of encouragement before the melancholy sailor was called into the King's presence.

Though greatly dismayed at the information as any patriotic Briton would be, Pitt swept out of his offices without delay and nearly sprinted towards parliament. After nearly bowling over a half dozen of his colleagues, Pitt demanded the morning docket and immediately noted one of his allies was scheduled to speak on a matter of minor importance, colonial taxation. Tracking the parliamentarian down, Pitt prevailed upon the man to cede the morning speech to him with a promise to reciprocate at a later time. Pledging his undying friendship, Pitt hastily prepared his speech.

Now, Pitt reveled in the outpour of support, already noticeably stronger than he'd have received only a few months ago. While he'd given better speeches before, seldom did he compose so extra porously. Today, though, he made the exception out of necessity.

Waiting for the din to die down, Pitt concluded, "Sirs, I entreat you, reject this administration's ridiculous demands upon our treasury, our noble soldier's and sailor's lifeblood and the unraveling honor of this nation. I thank you, sirs."

Again, the applause overrode the jeers as the Commons clearly swayed in favor of his words. Pitt bowed gallantly and took to his seat with great dignity. Several of his colleagues managed to congratulate him over the noise for his latest oratorical masterpiece. Henry Fox, Newcastle's repugnant leader in the Commons, vainly attempted to regain order. Shrewdly, Pitt knew any moment now, his final card would come into play. Almost by providence, a young man whom Pitt knew to be a page in the Royal Residence. Spying Fox upon the floor, the boy offered the parliamentarian a note and skittered off. The green pallor spreading across Fox's pallor brought a smile to Pitt's face.

 

[Alt History Buff]

July, 1756

London

While William Pitt had seen many a man symbolically flayed alive before the Commons, the unfortunate Captain Keegan deserved it less than most. In the end, he was just a man who offered his best attempt at doing his duty. Sadly, Pitt's friend could not escape his fate. Upon informing the King of the disaster of Minorca, more disgrace had been heaped upon the Naval Officer as he'd been promptly ordered to report to Parliament as well.

For the past two hours, he'd explained in great detail of the events that led to the loss of Minorca, that vital naval base in the Mediterranean which so vexed their French and Spanish enemies. Barely a hundred miles off the coast of Spain and twice that to France, the Island's strategic significance could not be overstated. With Gibraltar, it formed one of the twin pillars of British strength in the Mediterranean.

Until it was captured three weeks prior by a French invasion force.

Parliament finally adjourned after the MP’s grew nearly riotous. Hours later, formal word of the French declaration of war reached London as well.

 

[Alt History Buff]

August, 1756

London

“How could this travesty be called “an administration”? They shift and shuffle the charge from one to another: says one, I am not General; the Treasury says, I am not Admiral; the Admiralty says, I am not Minister. From such an unaccording assemblage of separate and distinct powers with no system, a nullity results.”

Fox listened to Pitt’s daily tirade with only half an ear. At another time, Henry Fox would have been outraged at the contempt uttered against the government that Fox had spent years in service to. However, Pitt’s constant harangues against the administration, despite the viciousness of their intent, had dulled Fox’s ire with their repetition. The Minister of War rarely took personal offence anymore to anything Pitt said. Far more disconcerting, though, were the rousing cheers that the speech evoked from the assembled Parliament. Only a year ago, Pitt would have been bombarded with protests and boos from the benches on behalf of the Ministry. Now, Pitt’s vociferous allies routinely howled down the supporters of Newcastle’s government.

Today, the tide against Newcastle had risen to an alarming degree. The seemingly endless influx of bad news over the past year had weakened Fox’s iron discipline in the House of Commons. M.P.’s that had been steadfastly loyal to Newcastle’s government due to his brilliant system of dispensing patronage to his supporters were beginning to balk at Ministry demands. Seeing the direction the wind was blowing, other abruptly transferred allegiance to Pitt and his various allied factions.

The events of 1756 conspired to bring the government to an end. As tensions grew between France and Great Britain over the mounting crisis in India and the undeclared state of war in North America, France built up their military forces across the English Channel to an unprecedented degree. Large sections of the populace were panicked at the thought of fifty thousand French soldiers massing in the channel ports. In addition, France was building up a fleet in the Mediterranean for a possible invasion of Minorca or Gibraltar. Facing the reality of a dual invasion of the British Isles and their vital bases in the Mediterranean, Newcastle reacted with typical vacillation. He hesitated for weeks in deciding what to do about the situation. Finally, he ordered a task force under Admiral John Byng, a favorite of the Duke of Cumberland, to fortify the garrison. However, in another example of the man’s incompetence, Newcastle refused to part with a significant force and Byng was left with ten barely seaworthy vessels. After a difficult voyage, Byng arrived at Minorca to find the Island already under French siege. Despite most of his vessels taking on water, Byng ordered his fleet forward to engage the French. Outnumbered and outclassed, most of Byng’s fleet was wrecked without substantial collateral damage being inflicted upon the opposing navy. After the remnants of Byng’s task force limped back to Gibraltar, Minorca’s courageous garrison fell to the French. Neither local commanders, Richelieu and Blakeley, knew at that point that the two nations had been at war for days.

Predictably, Parliament exploded at the news that the British fleet, the pride of the Isles and symbol of the nation’s power, had been humiliated. Byng took some of the fallout for the disaster. Upon his return to London, he was arrested for incompetence and cowardice and scheduled to stand trial. However, most of the blame fell upon the shoulders of Newcastle. Pitt railed every charge imaginable against the man. In one speech, the charismatic Parliamentarian assailed Newcastle both for risking the safety of the Britain by dispersing the fleet between the Isles and the Mediterranean and later for not sending a large enough force to preserve British supremacy over Minorca. Fox’s feeble attempts to reply fell upon deaf ears. While Fox was well suited for organizing the ranks, inspiring the public with dazzling oratory was not among his gifts.

As if being faced with a war with France that Britain desperately wished to avoid was not enough, Britain’s new ally, Frederick II of Prussia, unilaterally chose to invade Saxony without the slightest input from Great Britain. Austria promptly declared war and entered the formal alliance with France that Britain had long feared. Russia drifted ever closer to allegiance with both France and Austria (in fact, a full treaty had already been signed), a move that dangerously isolated Prussia and Hanover in Central Europe. In a desperate effort to keep Hanover safe, Newcastle proposed ever-higher subsidies to Prussia and the German mercenaries from Hanover and Hesse.

At the worst possible moment, the news of Ft. Oswego’s fall arrived from North America. With French domination of the Great Lakes region now complete, and with it the entire colonial backcountry, the steady stream of criticism from Pitt and his allies became a torrent. The moderate M.P.’s that had previously maintained neutrality shifted to Pitt’s camp. Condemnations over the defeats mixed with outrage over the ever-increasing taxes. Newcastle’s popularity fell to a new low.

Another cheer brought Fox back from his ruminations. He had not even listened to the rest of Pitt’s diatribe. After the endless bickering through the last few weeks, he doubted that anything new remained to be said. Catching Fox’s eye, one of his key supporters gestured to the floor, inquiring if Fox wished to make a reply to Pitt’s speech. Briefly considering it, he shook his head at the man. Having already directed some of his more charismatic loyalists to speak in support of the government’s policies and fulfilling the monetary requirements of war, Fox doubted that he would swing another vote. Surprised, the M.P. nodded to Fox and announced the end to the debate. The requisitions for Newcastle’s new taxes had been discussed in detail and now required passage. Looking across the aisle at Pitt urgently whispering and signaling to his supporters, Fox could not help but notice the smile on the man’s face. As the vote was called, Fox saw his political future fall away before him.

Later:

“The vote wasn’t even close?” The duke of Cumberland inquired quietly. Sitting across from Fox, the commander of British forces stared into the fire blazing in the great fireplace in his comfortably appointed office. Pictures of past British royalty and mementos of the Duke’s military conquests lay displayed throughout the room.

Shaking his head, Fox stated, “No, your lordship. Parliament has decidedly moved against the administration. They will not pass any legislation that Newcastle requests. The ministry is finished. The only matter left unresolved is when Newcastle will turn in his seal of office to the King. He cannot govern but has yet to realize it. However, even he will figure that out eventually.” This last was spoken in some bitterness. The relationship between Newcastle and Fox, never strong, had collapsed over the previous months. Newcastle’s constant accusations and recriminations against Fox’s actions to enrich himself at government expense had irritated the younger man. Did Newcastle seriously believe the Fox, with his humble origins, would return to obscurity and poverty when his time in office was over? Newcastle, of noble birth and massive fortune, need not worry of such things. Fox did.

Fox calmly continued, “I have decided that it is time for me to exit the administration.”

Startled, Cumberland suddenly looked up at Fox. “Exit the administration?”

Unaware of Cumberland’s intent, Fox placidly elaborated, “Of course. The government is finished. I see no reason to be stained by the humiliation of being relieved by the king.” Eyes shifting to the window, almost as if staring at a far away point, he continued, “Besides, letting Newcastle bear the brunt of the government’s fall alone would be divine justice for my ill treatment.”

“Leaving Britain to Pitt authority.” Cumberland finished for him.

Oblivious to the chill that was spreading through the room, Fox blithely went on, almost cheerfully, “Exactly, my lord. Pitt is not nearly as strong as he believes. His position in Parliament is weak and will need aid to govern effectively. Certainly, he will arrange a position of profit for me in exchange for my support. I’m sure that he will do the same for you and include you in his administration.” Only then did Fox notice the cold stare emanating from the Duke. Upon closer inspection in the light of the fire, the flush of the man’s face was clearly visible, as was the trembling upper lip. As the Duke stood, Fox scrambled to his feet and suddenly grasped the nature of his horrific mistake.

Mastering his rage, the Duke of Cumberland looked Fox in the eye and spoke slowly, as if to a particularly dimwitted child, “Mr. Fox, under no circumstances will I ever subject myself to the direction of that detestable commoner. Nor will I, or you, initiate any action that will speed his ascension to office. The merest concept fills me with the utmost revulsion and disgust.”

Paling before the Duke’s fury, Fox desperately looked for a way out of this situation. For years, Pitt’s attacks on the administration were not reserved for Newcastle alone. As the commander of British forces, Cumberland was also subject to Pitt’s barrage of mockery, insults, and derision that fueled a lasting antipathy between the two men. Fox had assumed that Cumberland, like himself, would be willing to sacrifice his integrity to maintain his position and privilege. Withering under the heat of the Duke’s stare, Fox realized the magnitude of his error. The second son of George II would never align himself to a man that took such obvious pleasure in belittling the King and his leadership. As Fox owed his position to Cumberland’s patronage and consistent support, his own options were severely limited.

Bowing to the inevitable, Fox yielded and lamely replied, “Of course, your lordship. I merely meant that there were positions in government that would not necessitate being placed under Pitt’s authority.”

Still frowning in displeasure, the Duke nodded and meaningfully announced his retirement for the evening. Grateful for any opportunity to remove himself for his patron’s gaze, Fox quickly bowed and left Cumberland to his thoughts. Upon reaching the hallway outside the Duke’s office, Fox stopped and let out the breath that he had not realized that he had been holding in. The prosperity that he had enjoyed over the last decade was owed entirely to the faith placed in him by the Duke and, by extension, the King. Fox made a mental note to take careful steps in the future to avoid Cumberland’s wrath.

Continuing out to his carriage, Fox reflected that perhaps his situation was not as dire as he had originally held it to be. Certainly Pitt had the upper hand and the Newcastle government would fall. Pitt was the only parliamentarian holding the stature to take the leadership of Britain. But he did not have the power to hold it alone. The factions that supported him against Newcastle held varying and often contradictory views on the direction of British politics. Pitt would not be able to consistently hold a majority among the M.P.’s without reaching out to new blocs for support. The only men in Britain suitable for that role would be Fox, due with his royal allegiance, and Newcastle himself. Given the viciousness of the attacks that Pitt subjected him to, Fox doubted that Newcastle would ever consider joining Pitt in a coalition. Perhaps Pitt held out hope of Newcastle remaining as Treasury Secretary. Certainly the man was never known to have an interest in finances. However, during the numerous discussions on Parliamentary strategy that Fox had held with Newcastle, Fox was certain Pitt would find no support from that corner.

Pitt’s best chance at extending his power base, and one which Fox had entertained only minutes earlier, was Fox ascending to First Lord while Pitt controlled the State and War departments. Against the Duke of Cumberland’s wishes however, that event could not occur. Without Newcastle or Fox, Pitt would never have his majority or a long-lived ministry. The King would wait until it was obvious to all that the man couldn’t govern and then dismiss him at the first opportunity. Given the dearth of other candidates, Newcastle and Fox would step back in to retake the reins of government.

Yes, Fox agreed with himself, perhaps it was for the best that Cumberland had stopped him from abandoning Newcastle. The men would be forced to cooperate in the future and Fox’s withdrawal from the government now would cause its immediate collapse, guaranteeing Newcastle’s everlasting enmity. It was a pity though, Fox mused as his carriage bounced along the cobblestone streets of London, he had looked forward to publicly undercutting Newcastle in the most humiliating manner possible in retaliation for Newcastle’s recent disagreeable conduct toward him. But if Fox’s lifetime pursuit of power and wealth taught him nothing else, it was that personal feelings must occasionally be brushed aside for more important matters.

 

[Alt History Buff]

October, 1756

London

Drawing the blanket up to his chin, the Duke of Newcastle attempted to maintain any warmth he could as the carriage skidded along the icy road toward Buckingham Palace. Suppressing another shiver, Newcastle accepted that much of the chill racing through his body was not a result of the cold, London winter but the shocking event that had befallen him a few hours earlier. That afternoon, while stepping into of his carriage, a mob of ruffians had accosted him and flung filth and mud upon him. The guards escorting him immediately drove the trash off but the scene firmly entrenched in Newcastle’s mind the fact that the whole of Britain held him personally responsible for the loss of Minorca. The M.P’s in Parliament were calling for his head and refusing to support even the most sensible of his requisitions.

For months, Newcastle had attempted to portray Minorca as a minor setback and that the still unmatched British Navy would soon retake the island from the French. But the support that Newcastle had built through decades of loyal, competent service and careful patronage evaporated overnight. Even the King, longtime an ardent supporter, did not defend his Prime Minister in public. Perhaps, Newcastle thought, this day was overdue. Hoping the situation would blow over had not helped matters. It was time for the country to move on.

As last the carriage pulled up to St. James Palace, longtime “working residence” of the British Monarchy and preferred home of George II. Newcastle wondered if this would be the last time he would walk through the magnificently appointed halls. Taking special note to view his surroundings, Newcastle realized that this could indeed be true. Certainly, he had no interest whatsoever in taking part in any government led by Pitt. While not outwardly rebuffing the offers that Pitt made through back channels, Newcastle had not really considered them either. If anything, he had been annoyed with the possibility raised of continuing to serve as Lord of the Treasury while Pitt controlled policy. It was not as much as he found the idea of serving under Pitt to be distasteful. It was the condescension that the man felt for the office. For years, the “Great Commoner” railed against Newcastle’s handling of taxation and national budgets. Pitt never failed to take the opportunity to express his contempt for the efforts of those who made the larger policy goals practical by supplying the funding. Naturally the mob always received the man’s conduct in avoiding financial questions as an example of his “irreproachably honest character”. Newcastle wondered if parliament’s M.P.’s thought Pitt would ban taxation and fund the war by plucking gold and currency from the myriad of money trees growing throughout England.

Shaking off the thought as irrelevant, Newcastle determined to finish the day’s business and move on. After nearly fifty years of service, he would be without a government position. Beyond his resolve to refuse subjugation to Pitt, Newcastle would also avoid loitering among the government’s social circles longing for a return to power as other out-of-favor government officials seem to do. A private retirement in the country seemed so much more dignified. Stopping before the door to the King’s receiving room, Newcastle paused to compose himself. Sighing, he signaled the doorman to announce him. Waiting shortly for the King to grant permission, the man returned and ushered him in.

Noticing that the rest of the dignitaries were already present, Newcastle winced slightly as he realized his late arrival, caused to the ugly incident with the crowd, had held up proceedings. Mentally shrugging, he went through the normal bowing and honorifics that was mandatory when greeting the King. The old man sat in his large, ornate chair placed upon a platform with it’s back to the wall, his sons the Prince of Wales and Duke of Cumberland next to him. To ensure that all eyes on the room were directed to him, the powerful group of politicians and noblemen stood in lines on either side of the chair, allowing whoever had to the floor to approach the foot of the throne and gain the King’s undivided attention. As the King’s secretary requested that the Prime Minister explain his desire for the audience, Newcastle stepped forward and turned to face him.

“Your Majesty,” Newcastle solemnly intoned, “I regret to inform you that, due to recent events, I no longer have the capacity to lead Your government nor do I have the confidence of Parliament. I request permission to resign my office so that you may select another in my place.” With nothing further to say, Newcastle gently handed his seal of office to the King, bowed again, and stepped back. He could hear murmurs throughout the room at the brevity of his statement. Normally, an event of this magnitude would result in long speeches noting the accomplishments of the ousted leader’s term in office and possibly some excuses for its failure. Feeling the ugly public reaction to his last months in office would say more for his recent tenure than anything else, Newcastle did not care to extend the King’s audience any further.

Taking the seal in his hand and then glancing around as if looking for a place to put it, the King replied by rote, his German accent still thick after decades in Britain, “With regret, I accept your resignation. In gratitude for your years of service, would you accept a pension for the efforts you expended into creating the nation that exists today?” To the King’s credit, George II seemed genuinely sad to see Newcastle retire. Their relationship had never been close but had been mutually respectful. Newcastle believed, though, that it was the prospect of dealing with the only realistic alternative to Newcastle that truly upset the King.

Newcastle thanked the King and turned down the proffered pension. As a scion of a wealthy noble family, he did not require a publicly funded pension. Certainly, Pitt would use it as more ammunition for attacking Newcastle’s actions in office. Newcastle then stood back and allowed his ministers to follow his example and turn in their seals of office. First Henry Fox resigned as Minister of War, then the first lord the Admiralty, and finally, the commander in chief of the army, the Duke of Cumberland. George II did not even bother to hide his dismay as the Duke stepped forward. Newcastle was certain that George II held out hope that his favorite son would reevaluate his refusal to serve under Pitt. Evidently, the King’s efforts had failed. Newcastle looked away to give the misty-eyed King a moment to compose himself. After a reasonable time, Newcastle returned his gaze and noted the King give a sharp look of distaste and recrimination toward his grandson and heir, the Prince of Wales, who had been invited for the occasion. The Prince placidly gazed forward with little expression save a slightly smug look etched across his features at his uncle’s resignation. Newcastle wondered what toxin in the bloodline of the House of Hanover resulted in the disaffection between the King and his heir. George II had been no more loved by his father, George I, than the Prince of Wales’ late father Frederick was thought of fondly by his. Rumors abounded that the King had looked high and low for a proper excuse to disinherit his much-loathed grandson in favor of the Duke of Cumberland, at the very least for the Electorate.

To his son, George II uttered firmly, “Sir, though I accept your resignation, I fear I will require your services for a few more months. I believe the Duke of Newcastle had intended for you to arrange personally for the defense of Hanover as commander of the allied armies. Upon completion of that task, you may resign your British commission, should you still wish.”

Surprised that his father would ambush him with such a command publicly, the Duke of Cumberland gaped for a moment before bowing his acquiescence. Newcastle rather suspected the old man hoped command of the Army of Hanover, temporary or not, would spur Cumberland to retain his office. Given the Duke of Cumberland’s open loathing of one William Pitt, Newcastle rather doubted it.

Upon the King’s acceptance of the resignations, he dismissed his former government and bade them a good evening. One by one, the former ministers walked out of the King’s presence, undoubtedly wondering if it would be the last time for them as well. Only Cumberland remained. Upon entering a waiting room, the men looked uncomfortably at each other without a good idea of what to say. Newcastle, who had done this before in previous governments, spoke a few words thanking the men for their service. Receiving their coats from the servants, the men separated for their carriages and rode off into the night.

 

[Alt History Buff]

October, 1756

Savannah

Despite President James Oglethorpe of the Colony of Georgia (also a member of the Board of Trustees for the Colony) releasing the South Carolina slave-hunters without charge and making several trips to Charleston in hopes of improving relations between the two British colonies, the political ruling class of South Carolina remained adamant for blood.

1. They wanted Oglethorpe banished from Georgia.

2. They wanted Georgia to legalize slavery.

3. And, most of all, they DEMANDED that the Negroes serving in the Georgia Regiment, many if not most escaped slaves from South Carolina, to be immediately disarmed and marched in chains northward.

Oglethorpe politely declined. The result was a virtual embargo upon trade with South Carolina. He wondered if his northern neighbors would be shocked to find out this only solidified the disdain Georgians had for South Carolina and ensured virtually no public support for anything their obnoxious neighbors wanted.

However, as Oglethorpe would learn in September, the long-expected march to war between Britain and France had finally been formalized. In October, word then arrived that the King of Prussia invaded the German Electorate of Saxony…..for some reason somehow related to Britain and France being at war (Oglethorpe was savvy enough to know this for the Prussian opportunism that it was).

Soon, Austria would enter the war (in fact, the Archduchess already had though Oglethorpe wouldn't know until Christmas) while Russia was rumored to be next. Exactly how the British and German allies would do battle against the three most powerful nations on the Continent was left open to discussion. However, for Oglethorpe’s purposes, that did not matter. What DID matter was that he must protect Georgia from external forces. While the reach of France so far south as Georgia was modest to say the least (there was thought that maybe Louis XV’s forces may seek to further antagonize the Indian tribes so assiduously courted by Oglethorpe over the years), the President feared that the unrest would bring Spain into the war and that DID threaten Georgia.

What was more, this meant Oglethorpe would someday be in a position to....once again....seek to conquer St. Augustine from the Spanish....as he failed to do in the previous war.

Indeed, Oglethorpe even conceived a plan to use Savannah as a base to assault the French port of New Orleans.

Thus, the President would commence a letter writing campaign to anyone in Newcastle’s government (and later, Pitt’s, when Oglethorpe learned of the change in government) asking for funds and, if possible, British regulars to protect the colony. To his surprise, Pitt was willing and dispatched materials to Georgia over the winter to fully outfit the militia and expand the “Georgia Regiment” to 500 men.

While still technically in the Army, Oglethorpe had been blacklisted from command. Over the years, the Englishman had slowly crept up the seniority list on the army and was now technically a Major General. With Cumberland (who still blamed Oglethorpe for a minor setback in the Jacobite Rebellion) now serving in Germany, Pitt saw no reason not to place Oglethorpe in command of southern forces in the Americas. Pitt requested additional details regarding this proposal to seize New Orleans.

 

[Alt History Buff]

November, 1756

London

William Pitt settled himself into his new offices as Secretary of State for the Southern department. Through that office, he would control all policy decisions for southern Great Britain as well as the North American colonies as well as relations with Europe. Though virtually every citizen in the realm was aware of Pitt as the de facto leader of Great Britain, he chose not to take the title of First Lord of the Treasury that the powerbrokers usually took when running the government. The concept of organizing the Treasury on a day-to-day basis bored Pitt and he willingly ceded the thankless role to the Duke of Devonshire. Given the man’s colorless personality and mediocre mind, the Duke would serve merely as an acceptable figurehead for Pitt. Unfortunately, the man would require much more supervision than a more experienced and creative administrator would. The same fate awaited Pitt in controlling his Northern Secretary who was tasked to control Northern England, Scotland, and Ireland. Robert Darcy, 4th Earl of Holderness had been a weak minister under Newcastle. He would remain so under Pitt.

It was a pity that Newcastle refused to take the Treasury office. Pitt had gone to great lengths to reach out to the man but Newcastle would have no part of working with him. Granted, Pitt had no overwhelming desire to have his rival partake in his new government. But, given his lack of options, Pitt would have allowed Newcastle to return to a position of power provided it occurred under Pitt’s terms. Instead, rumor had it that Newcastle was still walking around referring to Pitt as “my enemy”. Even Pitt’s request that the King intervene on his behalf by exhorting Newcastle to join the government had failed. Ever the optimist, Pitt still found positive out of the matter. The King had been displeased when Newcastle refused this request out of hand. Perhaps the wedge between George II and Newcastle would become a permanent break.

As is, that did not make Pitt’s immediate task of forming the government any easier. George II didn’t even bother to conceal his distaste when Pitt bowed to kiss his King’s hand in order to receive the seal of office. The Duke of Devonshire was accepted without reservation, but Pitt had been certain that the King would refuse to accept the nomination of Richard Grenville, Lord Temple, as the new first lord of the Admiralty. Grenville, Pitt’s brother-in-law, was also a close ally of the so-called Leicester faction, the allies of the Queen’s family and the hated Prince of Wales. George II positively loathed every person associated with that alliance and, most of all, Richard Grenville himself. Surprisingly, the King accepted Grenville without comment, though it was clear to all that the King could not bear the man’s presence. Pitt had no interest in alienating the George II further but could not be expected to leave his powerful brother-in-law out of the government. Pitt had few enough true allies as it were.

Grimacing slightly, Pitt put such thoughts aside and returned to his speech. Given its content, a request for additional subsidies to the German allies of Great Britain, he did not expect to be received well by Parliament. Due to Prussia’s inopportune decision to invade Saxony, Frederick II was now fighting for his life as Austria and her allies declared war on his small nation. As the defeat of Prussia would undoubtedly have terrible repercussions on Great Britain’s standing in Europe, Pitt had no other choice but to offer Frederick additional funds to guarantee the safety of Hanover, and necessarily, to Prussia. Without the Prussian, Hessian, and Hanoverian mercenaries defending the small Duchy, Pitt would be forced to garrison Hanover with British soldiers. The man could think of nothing more disastrous politically than British soldiers dying on foreign soil to preserve the King’s German homeland. Far better to expend some British money in order to ensure only German blood was shed to defend Germany.

 

[Alt History Buff]

February 1757

Albany

As General Loudoun read the report from Ft. Stanwix, he leaned back in his chair in satisfaction. Pleased for once at the progress of the war in North America, Loudoun reflected upon the report’s meaning. Perched in his Albany headquarters for the past several months, Loudoun had worked tirelessly to improve the procurement and inventory control problems that had plagued the British army since it’s arrival in these shores. By utilizing the skills of his diligent and honest commissars, Loudoun had amassed a considerable quantity of arms, powder, food, clothing, and all the other requirements for war at his advance fortifications at Ft. Stanwix to the northeast and Ft. Edward to the northwest of Albany. By selecting his own commissars for procurement instead of relying on the greedy, local peddlers that infest New York, Loudoun had avoided most of the war profiteering, graft, and outright theft that his predecessor, William Shirley, accepted as a fact of life in dealing with the colonials.

Just as important, Loudoun vastly improved the transportation routes toward his military objectives for the coming year. Given the ruinous costs of transporting goods in past years, usually up to sixpence a mile to move a two hundred weight load, he had devised a supply system that would reduce cost and insure far speedier delivery of provisions to the front. As his soldiers rotted throughout the winter of 1856/57 in their filthy quarters, colonial regulars were busily widening the roads and trails in order to reduce transportation time. Large numbers of wagons and horses were being assembled at various locations near Albany in order to ensure a prompt expedition as opposed to past campaigns that had been held up due to lack of supply wagons. Just as importantly, Loudoun had retained the services of John Bradstreet, a formal British officer of North American birth. The man’s familiarity with the geography of North America and his ready supply of armed bateaumen to eliminate delays at portages overshadowed his past close ties to William Shirley. With Bradstreet’s aid, the cost of move a two hundred weight load dropped from sixpence to twopence.

The issue of quartering remained a minor problem, of course, which still required entirely too much of Loudoun’s time. Upon presentation of his requisition to the local governor or mayor, Loudoun was still required to threaten the locals with quartering by force. Though the governors continued their shrill warnings about loss of colonial affection, Loudoun simply stated that George II did not send him to North America to achieve popularity. Further warnings about lack of cooperation fell upon deaf ears.

Perhaps Loudoun’s only disappointment over the winter was the lack of New England volunteers for his new battalions. Frustrated by the absurd contracts that the colonials held to be more important than their duty to their crown, Loudoun attempted to circumvent these difficulties in the future by forming new battalions of volunteers under normal redcoat enlistment conditions, each with a single colonial officer. Previously, each colony had responded to his requisitions by sending the equivalent of a full army in miniature including a hierarchy of officers. By organizing the new battalions in piece-mail fashion of single company drawn from throughout the colonies, he could then attach them to redcoat units, thus eliminating the idea that they were a separate entity from Loudoun’s British forces. Since all officers and soldiers would enlist under his terms, he would no longer have to deal with whining provincial officers claiming that they did not have to obey his orders. Unfortunately, most of the New Englander volunteers continued to choose to enlist in the colonial regulars that were still being formed than by Loudoun’s preferred method. Loudoun’s creativity resulted in a lone, under-strength battalion that suffered appalling desertion rates throughout the winter. His requests to the colonial governors that the deserters be captured and returned for trial had not elicited any form of response.

While attempting to determine a better solution for his manpower needs in the future, a knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Granting permission to enter, General Abercromby lumbered into Loudoun’s spartan office. Returning his second-in-command’s salute, he gestured Abercromby into a chair next to his desk and waited for the man to stop panting and report. Never pleased with his superior’s assignment of Abercromby to North America, Loudoun continued to find the man lacking any redeemable military attribute. Prone to laziness and dithering, Abercromby made no significant contribution to the North American war effort. Desperate to find the man something useful to do, he ordered Abercromby to investigate rumors of various merchants in New York City and Boston carrying on a continued trade with the enemy despite the state of war between the two empires. Unable at first to believe that even the provincials would be capable of such perfidious behavior, Loudoun received confirmation by several prominent citizens.

After waiting for his fat subordinate to catch his breath, Loudoun asked impatiently, “Well, General, what have you learned? Have the colonials actually been trading with enemy?”

Skipping any preface, Abercromby launched right in, “Yes, your Lordship, the practice appears to be far more commonplace than either of us expected.” As Loudoun did not interrupt, Abercromby continued, “I certainly believed that an occasional unpatriotic ship’s captain would, of course, stop in unfriendly harbors to gain some additional business, but the true extent of the problem was shocking. Per my discussions with various loyalists in Boston and New York, large numbers of colonials have been flagrantly importing smuggled goods from the French West Indies, and I could simply not believe this, some are actually supplying New France with food and other goods.”

Unable to articulate his emotions at such treachery, Loudoun inquired evenly, “How have the constables and customs officials failed to notice and report these……actions to their superiors?”

Pausing to intake a breath, Abercromby answered, “Apparently, there is no way that they haven’t. The traders have somehow logically deduced that since there is no official trade with France and her dominions, that they cannot be taxed on goods from those regions. As bribery is rampant on the docks, the smugglers are never assessed for taxes. Worse, many of the wealthiest smugglers are actually in the colonial assemblies. They ensure that no action is taken against their illicit trade.

“One of the loyalists in Boston described an attempt he made to bring the matter to the attention a commissioned customs official recently arrived from Britain. The official and one of his assistants made their way to the docks to investigate a ship suspected of smuggling and trade with the enemy. His demand for entry to the ship to search for contraband simply elicited laughter from the ship’s crew. The customs official then sent for the magistrate to take the ship by force. Upon arrival, the man took one look at the ship and announced that there were no French goods on board and left. Several days later, the customs official was dismissed by order of the city council.”

Of all the revolting actions taken by the North Americans in his tenure as commander-in-chief, Loudoun had never expected such treasonous conduct such as this. Amid his careful plans to retake King George’s sovereign territories, the people he had come to protect were aiding the enemy’s ability to oppose him. Once and for all, his disgust for these people was firmly cemented in his mind. With a flash, he realized a far more dangerous element to this news.

“General Abercromby,” he began gravely, “this leads us to another problem. With colonials apparently trading with the French with impunity, we face a dangerous threat of the enemy realizing our intentions in the coming campaign.”

At once Abernathy understood, “If the French became aware of the details and target of our coming expedition, they would have time to prepare a far better defense.”

Nodding absently, Loudoun’s mind raced to find a solution. Beyond his Herculean effort to improve the logistical situation in the North American backcountry to the point where actual warfare was a viable possibility, Loudoun planned a daring seaborne invasion of Cape Breton Island’s primary settlement of Louisbourg. Ideally located off the coast of Nova Scotia, the fortified city allowed the French to threaten British shipping all along the North American coast. In British hands, Louisbourg would serve as the naval base that would allow Loudoun to choke off all re-supply from France to her colony. Once taken, the war would effectively be decided as New France could not hope to hold. Cut off from the materials of war, New France could no longer defend her territory, nor could they arm the Indians in their continued attacks on British domains.

Loudoun sensed the danger to his campaign, one which could make or break his own reputation as a superior soldier.

Requesting additional warships from the Navy beyond those regularly allocated to North American waters, the fleet should more than overcome any French ships in Louisbourg’s harbor at the time. Then the massive number of the warship’s guns would bombard the walls and fortifications from the harbor south of the city while the land forces disembarked and invested Louisbourg from the east. Determined to avoid the use of provincial soldiers, Loudoun had selected only redcoat regiments for the campaign. The colonials could maintain the frontiers while the British regulars dealt the fatal blow to the French. In the meantime, General Webb would launch an attack from Ft. William Henry, north of Albany, into the heart of New France’s defenses along Lake Champlain. Montreal and Quebec would soon find themselves caught in a vice between the British army marching north and the British navy dominating the entrance to the St. Lawrence River.

Now, his buildup would undoubtedly be leaked ahead of time to the French defenders of Louisburg. Either way, his British regulars would almost certainly pay a steep price in blood to conquer the island. Losing the element of surprise would only make the invasion more perilous. As his mind whirled, Loudoun remembered several temporary stoppages of commerce that had been enacted by the Board of Trade for various reasons in previous years.

“Embargo.” Loudoun blurted without realizing he was speaking out loud.

“Sir?” Abercromby questioned hesitantly, unsure of his commander’s intention.

Loudoun stood and began pacing around the room, “Of course, if we issue a full embargo of all non-military outgoing vessels from North American ports, there would be little chance of the French getting wind of our armada’s intent. No merchant vessels, not fishing boats, nothing. Our coast will be completely cut off. Secrecy will be assured.”

Mouth agape, Abercromby repeated, “Full embargo? With the vital importance of trade to the colonies? Sir, the provincial assemblies will be furious!”

Waving that aside, Loudoun countered, “General, we have done so before in times of war and shall undoubtedly do so again. Issue the order. I will not risk the expedition to Louisburg.”

With that, Loudoun explained the other priority objective for the year as Abercromby’s mind continued to return to the colonial reaction to Loudoun’s embargo.

 

[Alt History Buff]

June 1757

Fort Carillon

After receiving permission to sit, Captain Bougainville slumped heavily into the chair. Given the man’s typically noble and upright bearing, Montcalm realized that the report he had received from his aide-de-camp contained no exaggeration. As the Captain abruptly realized his posture was inappropriate before his commanding officer, he quickly sat up and began to exhibit his usual, professional demeanor. The fact that the dignified man had allowed himself to show his emotions so outwardly underlined his aide’s disgust and horror at what had occurred at the sawmill surrounding Ft. Carillon.

For the past several months, Montcalm and his officers had supervised the buildup of the largest French army that North America had ever seen. In response to the intelligence reports that spring of a similar British buildup in northern New York, Montcalm came to the conclusion that the only viable target for the British would be Ft. Carillon on the northern end of Lake George. Ft. Carillon and it’s sister fort, Ft. St. Frederic, were the gateways to Lake Champlain, accessible from Lake George through a shallow river between the two bodies of water. Once the British had access to Lake Champlain, they could easily threaten Quebec and Montreal. Montcalm did not require a council of war to determine that the French forts must be preserved. After considering the reinforcement of Carillon, he discarded the idea in favor of going the offensive.

At the southern end of Lake George, the British had constructed the stronghold of Ft. William Henry, which defended Albany from French invasion. Any expedition the enemy would undertake north against New France would, by necessity, launch from Ft. William Henry. Determined not to cede the British the advantage, Montcalm choose this fortification as his target. It’s destruction with preserve New France from attack for at least another year and, quite possibly, force the enemy to the bargaining table. Montcalm knew that, in the long run, the British would eventually take the upper hand in North America. The relative population of the British colonies to the French gave the enemy a monumental advantage. In addition, the superiority of the British navy may someday result in New France being cut off from the mother country. It was in the French interest that this war end as quickly as possible. Montcalm was always willing to offer generous terms provided that His Most Christian Majesty’s domains were held intact.

Montcalm worked tirelessly to buildup and supply a force of six thousand French regulars, troop de marine, and Canadian militia. Better still, Governor Vaudreuil had recruited an unprecedented number of Indians to join in the attack. Numbering more than two thousand, they hailed from thirty-three identified nations. While still holding grave reservations about using the savages, Governor Vaudreuil and General Rigaud had convinced him that the speed and scouting ability of the natives were indispensable in the thick woods of North America. After witnessing the military capabilities of the Indians on several occasions, Montcalm was forced to agree. However, that did not make the almost impossible task of organizing and supplying the natives any easier. The tribesmen still demanded enormous quantities of brandy, food, and powder at which point, upon receiving them, the Indians often disappeared leaving the Montcalm wondering when or if they shall return.

Upon reaching Ft. Carillon with the advance portion of his force, Montcalm immediately began to strengthen the fortifications while waiting for the following supply trains to arrive before going on the offensive. While writing another tedious requisition to be sent back to Governor Vaudreuil, his concentration was interrupted by the sound of gunfire in the distance. Standing up to investigate the matter, a messenger strode into the room. Opening the letter, Montcalm noted that his aide-de-camp, Captain Bougainville had hurriedly scribbled,

“General Montcalm, our Indian scouts have spied an assemblage of whaleboats containing some hundreds of British soldiers approaching our sawmills at the foot of Lake. Preparing an ambush.”

Surprised by the brevity of the note, he dispatched a rider for more information and saw to the preparation of the Fort for assault. Hours passed before another rider flew between the gates shouting of victory over the English. Scattered cheers resonated throughout the compound. Impatiently, Montcalm silenced the man with a glare and accepted the report. In Montcalm’s experience, such rumors and gossip only served to confuse the common soldiers. It was always best for officers to disseminate this sort of information in order to avoid panic or overconfidence. As he scanned the note, Montcalm could not believe his eyes. Mere minutes later, Captain Bougainville himself had swept into the fort and arrived at Montcalm’s office.

Now, watching the exhausted man’s haunted look, Montcalm forced himself to read Bougainville’s report once more.

“At daybreak three of the English barges fell into our ambush without a shot fired. Three others that followed at a little distance met the same fate. The remaining sixteen advanced in order. The Indians along the shoreline fired at them and made them fall back. When they saw them do this they jumped into their canoes, pursued the enemy, his them, and sank or captured all but two which escaped. They brought back nearly two hundred prisoners. The rest were drowned. The Indians jumped into the water and speared them like fish….We had only one man slightly wounded. The English, terrified by the shooting, the sight, the cries, and the agility of these monsters, surrendered almost without firing a shot. The rum which was in the barges and which the Indians immediately drank caused them to commit great cruelties. They put in the pot and ate three prisoners, and perhaps others were so treated. All have become slaves unless they are ransomed. A horrible spectacle to European eyes.”

Thoroughly shaken, Montcalm inquired, “There was no way to halt these, these…. barbaric actions?”

Shaking his head, Bougainville tonelessly replied, “No, General. I, along with several of the French officers, attempted to intervene. The Indians grew so aggressive that the Canadians begged us not to press the matter.” Pausing as if attempting to forget a bad dream that would not vanish the following morning, he continued, “It was singly the most horrific sight I have ever laid eyes upon.”

Closing his eyes, Montcalm stated with forced calm, “What of the other captives?”

“The Canadians believe that there will be no more…….cannibalism.” Bougainville winced as he said the last word. “Provided that suitable ransom is provided, the Indians will turn the prisoners over to us or the British.”

Nodding, Montcalm directed, “Good. See if we can purchase the soldier’s release ourselves. We can decide later whether to send them to Quebec or back to the British.” Not bothering to wait for Bougainville’s acknowledgement, he continued, “The actions taken this day reflect entirely on me. This murder of prisoners will stain my honor for the rest of my career. It will certainly make a lasting peace with the British far harder to achieve. Now, a decisive victory over the British beyond a mere ambush of a few hundred men is more vital than ever.”

Silently agreeing, Bougainville moved on to the next subject, “General, while the actions taken after the battle are certainly regrettable, the British loss of manpower will weaken Ft. William Henry, where I can only assume the attack originated. The nature of the attack may give us a clue to the current strategy of the enemy.”

Not entirely understanding his subordinate’s meaning, Montcalm allowed him to explain. While not an experienced soldier and administrator, Bougainville had a quick mind. Before joining Montcalm in Quebec, he held a reputation for brilliance in the field of mathematics. Thus, Montcalm held his opinion in high regard. Noting Montcalm’s silent permission to continue, Bougainville explained, “Had the British even the slightest inkling of our increasing numbers here at Carillon, I very much doubt that the enemy commander would have sent such a small party to attack the sawmill, assuming he would have ordered such a raid at all. Given that the attack was indeed ordered, I believe that we have the advantage in terms of intelligence.”

Now understanding Bougainville’s point, Montcalm finished, “As our Indian….. allies have wiped out any virtually every scouting expedition that the commander of Ft. William Henry has issued, they don’t have the slightest idea of the size of our force. Nor will they likely be prepared when our army arrives at their walls.”

Nodding, Bougainville replied, “Yes, sir. Indian raiders have the garrison virtually imprisoned within Ft. William Henry. The British scouts have proven to be far inferior to our own. Only a large wagon train may get through to relieve the enemy and even those are harried the entire journey by our sharpshooters. Our own supply chains have encountered no such problems. Perhaps now is the right time to attack.”

Considering this, Montcalm made the decision and turned to Bougainville, “Have my staff and the necessary troop de marine and militia officers in the conference room in two hours. We will begin preparation of our rafts and bateau now and launch by within three days, whether or not our reinforcements have arrived.”

As Bougainville stood to salute, Montcalm noted some of the color had returned to the man’s face. Marching out to fulfill his orders, Bougainville left his commanding officer facing the burden of how he would explain today’s events to his superiors. Never would such a massacre have occurred in Europe. Even the staunchest of enemies knew that to commit such atrocities would invariably result in a general breakdown of discipline for each side. The common soldiers would continue to take revenge in an ever-escalating spiral of reprisal. Seating himself behind his desk to prepare for his council of war, Montcalm wondered if the actions taken by men under his command would condemn him before the eyes of the civilized world. Realizing that he could do nothing to improve the situation at the moment, Montcalm began to review the logistical concerns of his march.

August 1757 –

Fort William Henry

Montcalm admitted a slight smile of satisfaction as a large section of Ft. William Henry’s western wall collapsed under the cannonade. Noting that a large enough section was left for the defenders to occupy, he disqualified any thought of a massed infantry assault. Given the pounding that the besieged British had taken, he held no doubt that they must soon request terms of surrender.

Following the uneventful voyage down Lake George in hundreds of bateaux and dozen of rafts carrying the heavy siege equipment, Montcalm had been pleased that the fort had not received significant reinforcement from Albany, though reports clearly showed that such manpower was available to the British. Ordering the first men to reach the southern bank of the large lake to cut off the sole road south to Albany, Montcalm took his time in unloading his heavy cannon and mortars. As Montcalm carefully choose his positions around the fort, the British defenders made no move to attack the French before they could dig the trenches from which Montcalm would invest the fort. Considering this to be a sign of British numerical weakness, Montcalm felt a sense of growing optimism which was heightened by reports from the Indian scouts that no sizable British force was marching up the road to relieve the British garrison.

Noting the fort’s shocking state of disrepair, on August 3rd, Montcalm sent a messenger to the British commander under a flag of truce. He wrote, “Humanity obliges me to warn you that once the batteries were in place the cannon fired, perhaps there would not be time, nor would it be in my power to restrain the cruelties of a mob of Indians of so many nations.” The British commander, whom identified himself as Monro, refused to surrender the fort without battle. After the unseemly surrender of Ft. Oswego the previous year, Montcalm was gratified that at least someone else on this continent understood the demands of honor.

An hour after Monro’s refusal to abandon Ft. William Henry, Montcalm ordered the bombardment to begin. For five long days, a constant barrage of cannon and mortar fell upon the walls and the embattled defenders. For the first few days, the British attempted to return fire with a handful of cannon and swivel guns but this halting response soon tapered off. Montcalm idly wondered if this was due to lack of ammunition or the destruction of the enemy’s guns. Reports indicated that spotters witnessed at least two of the British guns exploding, a common result of continued use without replacing the barrels. Fortunately, Montcalm’s force had not yet encountered that problem.

As he watched the western wall come down, his eyes turned to his Canadian militia frantically digging their trench slowly forward under a hail of gunfire from the battlements. For the first few days, the siege guns did little actual harm beyond stunning the British with constant fire. As close range, the French gunners could not fire their cannon at the fort from open positions without risking certain death from the sharpshooters within. As the trench snaked closer and closer to the walls, it protected the heavy mortars and their loaders from the hail of British gunfire. Now well within range of every segment of the fort, the large cannonballs and shells were pulverizing everything they encountered. British resistance dwindled to a few ineffective shots toward any French soldier with the lack of sense to show their head above the trenches.

Noticing someone at his elbow, Montcalm turned and acknowledged General Rigaud, the commander of the Canadian troop de marine. As the Canadians held a long, preexisting relationship with the Indians, Montcalm deferred to his judgement in matters pertaining to the savages as well. Hours before, Montcalm had requested a full report any enemy movements outside the fort. Given Montcalm’s preference of using French regulars whenever possible for actual combat, such as the ones conducting the siege, Montcalm chose to use Rigaud’s less dependable Canadians for scouting.

Forgetting the siege for a moment, Montcalm quietly requested, “Your report, sir?”

Rigaud saluted with minimal military efficiency and somewhat lackadaisically replied, “We’ve intercepted three runners attempting to escape the fort in the last two days. All were killed by the Indians. If Monro succeeds in getting a message out, he will have to find a way of sneaking the messenger through our Indian pickets. Personally, I find this occurrence doubtful.”

Disliking Rigaud’s cavalier attitude, Montcalm nevertheless continued, “And what of your scouts along the road to Albany? Surely the redcoats notified their commander in Albany of our presence. Given the resources available, the British are undoubtedly sending reinforcements.”

Surprising Montcalm with his certainty, Rigaud replied with a smile, “There is no movement whatsoever along the road to Albany. Nor will there be. Our scouts intercepted this note from Colonel Monro’s superior, General Webb.” Rigaud handed over a bundled parchment. Positioning the document toward the fading August twilight, Montcalm began to read:

Colonel Monro,

Due to the failures of the militia to reinforce our garrison in an appropriate manner, I regrettably must inform you that it is not prudent to attempt a junction or to assist you in your brave defense of Fort William Henry. If escape and retreat be not possible, I must direct you to make all attempts to negotiate on the best terms.

General Webb, Fort Edward.

Taking a few moments to digest this astonishing but welcome development, Montcalm realized that fate of the British garrison was sealed. In planning for his campaign, he had always assumed that a British relief force of some size would immediately come to the aid of the enemy fort. Had he known that no such event would occur, he might not have squandered so many supplies on the Canadians and Indians. Pushing that thought aside, Montcalm chose to concentrate his attention on completing the capture of Fort William Henry.

Turning back to Rigaud, whom thought that the General had forgotten he was there, Montcalm stated, “I’ll order my artillery to double their bombardment tonight. I want the British reeling tomorrow when I request a ceasefire and offer terms. See to it that the sentries are doubled as well. I don’t want any attempts at breaking out.”

Nodding to his superior, Rigaud hesitated and then stated, “General, despite our best efforts at conservation, the supplies are fast running out. Perhaps, we should consider including in our terms that all British supply within the fort should not be destroyed. Certainly with an additional thousand or so mouths to feed on the march back to Quebec, we shall require all foodstuffs that are available.”

Montcalm frowned at the man and replied, “Additional mouths? That won’t be necessary, General Rigaud. I intend allow full honors of war to the enemy.” Gesturing to the enemy soldiers frantically attempting to return fire against the approaching French trenches, he continued, “They have held out for a full week against an obviously superior force, much as the British garrison did against our fleet in Minorca. Certainly, this defense was no less noble. I have every intention of allowing the British to abandon the fort if they agree to the usual terms. If Colonel Monro agrees that no man in his garrison will take up arms against France on this continent for a period of one year, they are free to retreat back to British territory complete with arms, supply, and colors.”

Wondering if his commander had gone mad, the shocked Rigaud implored, “Sir, I simply cannot believe that the enemy commander in Albany would even consider shipping the fort’s garrison away from the North American shores just because Monro agreed to it! These are primarily British regulars that were transferred to North America at great expense to fight us. The British will simply attach the force to their gathering army and we’ll have to deal with them again in another campaign. Let us take them back to New France as prisoners. At the very least, we may be able to ransom them for some of our own men in return.” His mind racing, Rigaud added insistently before Montcalm could reply, “General Montcalm, have you considered the impact of this decision on the Indians? Thousands have journeyed from all points in America to do battle with the British. Most have had no opportunity to fight and gain honor in their tribes. All expect to be rewarded by whatever they can carry from the fort’s stores. If we were to allow the British to retreat with all arms, supply, and personal effects, we may completely lose their trust and affection. Recruitment on future campaigns will suffer tremendously.”

His anger mounting, Montcalm forced himself to speak in a calm voice, “General Rigaud, I have no intention of allowing the disappointment of a few Indians in not obtaining as much powder, scalps, and bottles of brandy as they had hoped to influence my command decisions. If they are unhappy, let them take solace in fact that they have lived off the fat of the army for weeks.” Shifting to another point, Montcalm said, “Tell me, General, just how do you expect me to feed thousands of British mouths? You know as well as I that the harvest was not good last year and unlikely to improve this fall. The times will be lean enough without having to deal with prisoners.”

Montcalm did not mention the confidential letters that his allies in the War Ministry in Paris have been sending him about future French monetary and troop priorities. It seemed that the King and his ministers considered conquest in India and strengthening the garrisons in the West Indies to be a priority over New France. Initial reports already indicated that a lower cash allocation to Montcalm was expected. Montcalm nervously hoped that this did not mean that the promised supply convoy set to arrive this fall in Quebec would not arrive. Montcalm already did not have enough manpower to defend the frontier. Without the money to pay for the Canadian regulars and militia and the arms to equip them, New France’s powerful defense parameter would slowly contract as her forts are abandoned one by one due to lack of manpower.

Again focusing on the moment, Montcalm stated, “At dawn we will offer generous terms to the British. Upon seeing this letter from General Webb, I do believe Monro will see the reality of his position.” Seeing Rigaud about to make one final objection, Montcalm said, “As for our Indian allies, I will inform them of my decision. Certainly, they will be pleased that so few of their men were lost and their trade routes to New France will no longer be threatened. Carry out your orders.”

With this dismissal, Montcalm once again turned toward the battered wall of Ft. William Henry. Saluting at his commander’s back, Rigaud walked down the hill toward his command tent. Cutting off a possible British breakout would not be hard, especially since Montcalm was determined to allow the enemy to walk out the front door. But Rigaud had no idea how the Indian’s would react to Montcalm’s pronouncement that the British could retreat upon the surrender of the fort. Even if the chiefs were to agree, Rigaud doubted they could control the young braves intent upon capturing prisoners, brandy, weapons, and scalps to prove their bravery upon their return home. Considering what the Indians were capable off, Rigaud feared their response.

Retreating to his tent against the sweltering heat of the August day, Montcalm had every reason to be pleased. That morning, upon presentation of Webb’s note to Colonel Monro at the meeting to discuss terms, the short, almost elderly Scottish commander of Ft. William Henry read it with obvious disgust. At first, Montcalm thought that the Scotsman’s ire was directed at him but soon realized that the man was angry at his superior for failing to send a relief force. Certainly, Montcalm could not blame Monro for that. After short consideration, Monro agreed to negotiate the surrender of the fort. Though humiliated at his situation, the man retained his dignity when Montcalm offered him his generous terms. Pleased that his men would be able to march south to Ft. Edward with arms and colors intact instead of north to Quebec in chains, Monro quickly agreed to surrender all cannon and supply to the French. The speed of Monro’s acceptance led Montcalm to the conclusion that Ft. William Henry had few of either left for the French to capture.

By the afternoon, the British forces were already marching through the gates on the road south. Some looked bitter at having to surrender the fortress they had labored so hard to build and fought so hard to defend, but most seemed genuinely relieved to avoid losing their lives in this backcountry fort. Monro led his army out of Ft. William Henry at 3PM. Ordering the elite French regulars to stand at attention and salute the embattled British soldiers, Montcalm made every attempt to honor his enemy as they passed. Seeing Monro pass, Montcalm gave a delicate and sincere bow, which the British Colonel returned with a respectful nod. First passed the British regulars in their elegant red uniforms marching in step. Next, the more motley colonials trudged by without any recognizable cohesion. Finally, the inevitable camp followers staggered after the army. These were typically a varied collection of prostitutes, laundresses, cooks, servants of officers, families of soldiers, and other assorted personnel that all military forces throughout time had attracted.

Seeing no reason to watch the entire column walk by, Montcalm retreated to his tent to begin the mundane tasks necessary in commanding an army. The most difficult decision to make was also the most obvious. Despite his desire to capitalize on his victory and march south to capture Ft. Edward, Montcalm knew that he could not even occupy Ft. William Henry. Rigaud had already stated that the Indians would soon desert in force. More importantly, the Canadians under his command were desperately needed at home to bring in the wheat harvest. Without consistent supply from France, Montcalm was utterly dependent on the Canadian farmer. Given the terrible crop failure of 1756, he could not risk another such disaster in 1757.

Lacking enough provisions to hold Ft. William Henry through the winter and enough French regulars to attack Ft. Edward, Montcalm’s only choice was to burn Ft. William Henry to the ground and retreat to Ft. Carillon. He wondered if his tactical victory over the British today would have any significant dividends in the overall war. Annoyed at the circumstances that lead to this situation, Montcalm put his feeling aside as he convened a meeting of his senior officers. He issued orders to his officers detailing the confiscation of the British supply, the destruction of the fort, and plans for the march back to Carillon. While all were unhappy at the thought of abandoning the fort, which just that morning they were risking their lived to capture, all understood that there was no realistic choice.

Montcalm left his officers to their orders and called for his horse. Wishing to witness the last of the British retreat from William Henry, Montcalm rode the final few hundred yards toward the fort. With the enemy forces no longer in sight and spying French regulars already inside the gates Montcalm relaxed momentarily. Suddenly, a general cry arose from the interior of Ft. William Henry. Yelling behind him toward his officers, Montcalm spurred his horse forward and raced toward the gates, passing by several sprinting French regulars whom had the same idea. With visions of hidden British saboteurs left behind by Monro to ensure destruction of the meager British supplies that remained, Montcalm was astonished by the sight that awaited him within the walls.

Somehow, dozens of Indians had penetrated the fort and began a rapacious plunder of the provisions. Apparently not satisfied with what they found, the Indians were turning their attentions toward the seventy British wounded Monro deemed unable to survive the retreat and had negotiated French medical treatment and protection until the time of which they were capable of transport. Due to the heavy bombardment, most of the interior buildings were no longer structurally sound so Monro ordered the wounded moved outside so the men would no longer be endangered by a collapsing building. Shrieking hideously, the Indians pounced upon the wounded and began a merciless slaughter. Screaming for them to stop, Montcalm rushed forward, gesturing frantically for the few French soldiers within the fort to aid him. Sighting one Indian bent over a wounded colonial soldier, Montcalm tore the savage off of the unfortunate man and heaved him to the ground. Looking down, Montcalm saw, to his horror, that the man’s throat had been slit and his scalp cut from his skull. Spinning around to face the Indian, Montcalm was horrified at the sight of the half naked savage squeezing the blood from the scalp and drinking it.

Drawing his sword, Montcalm took a step forward toward the man, without a clear idea of what he was planning to do. Hearing his name shouted from behind, Montcalm turned to find Rigaud racing forward with a detachment of Canadian regulars and priests. By the enraged faces of the Indians, Montcalm was certain that the Indians would extend their brutal attack to the French at any moment. However, in tones that varied from threatening to begging, Rigaud swiftly halted the massacre. Other French soldiers went to the aid of the few remaining British, many still screaming in agony from the loss of their scalps. Despite a lifetime of service in the French army, Montcalm forced himself to keep from retching in front of his men. Seeing that there were few British soldiers left to kill, the Indian contented themselves with attaching the scalps to their belts, gathering up the stolen supplies, and glaring at the French commander that had interrupted their butchery.

Noting the approach of horses, Montcalm turned to see a pale Bougainville ride up to him. Shocked at the scene before him, Montcalm’s aide-de-camp muttered, “My god, not here too.”

Feeling a cold pit develop in his stomach, Montcalm demanded, “This is occurring elsewhere as well?”

His superior’s sharp tone bringing him back to reality, Bougainville hurriedly replied, “General, a large force of the Indians ambushed the British along the trail. They waited for the British regulars to pass by and attacked the colonial soldiers and the unarmed civilians at the rear of the column.”

As the full impact of the news sank in, Montcalm realized that his superiors would place full responsibility on him. Under a flag of truce, Montcalm had accepted the British surrender and promised them safe passage back to Ft. Edward. Therefore every drop of blood spilled in violation of the surrender terms would be a stain upon his honor. Realizing that he would be too late, Montcalm nevertheless climbed back upon his horse and rode south along the trail to Ft. Edward and Albany.

Long after the sun had set, Montcalm finally sat down on a stump along the side of the trail to rest. As his aides hastily prepared a tent and a table along the side of the road for his war council, Montcalm reflected upon the day. Though the French force had taken some casualties in capturing Ft. William Henry, the result could not be construed as anything but a victory for France. With Monro’s surrender, Montcalm claimed one of his greatest victories for His Most Christian King.

However, the rejoicing had not even begun when news of the slaughter along the trail erased any glory he may have earned this day. If anything, Bougainville had understated the carnage the Indians inflicted. As Monro led his regulars south near the head of the column, the poorly armed and trained colonial’s following were ambushed from both sides. With little ammunition and no visible leadership, the colonials and the unarmed civilians that accompanied them were massacred. Many threw down their weapons and fled back to the fort in hopes of French protection, others raced into the woods or down the road toward the better-armed British regulars. Within the space of a few minutes, less time than it took for Bougainville to ride back to Ft. William Henry and report to Montcalm, more than two hundred of the enemy had been killed. Hundreds others were captured by the Indians and marched off for ransom.

Arriving at the scene, Rigaud tried valiantly to halt the slaughter. Promising to pay the ransoms from French coffers, he and the Canadian traders that he used as translators succeeded in retrieving some of the captured British but most were simply bound by the hands and dragged into the forest. Demanding that they be returned, Montcalm ordered Rigaud to follow the Indians and secure the prisoner’s release. Regaud frantically tried to explain that the captives were in little danger as the Indians merely wanted them as trophies proving their bravery to their respective tribes, as possible sources of ransom, and possibly, to replace family members lost to battle. Enraged, Montcalm ordered French regulars to enter the woods and seize the prisoners by force from the Indians if necessary. This decision proved disastrous for the British as the Indians preferred to kill and scalp their prisoners rather than simply give them up without compensation. By dusk, virtually the entirety of the Indians nominally under Montcalm’s command had departed with their captives and plunder.

Noting his secretary’s approach, Montcalm stood and anticipated the man’s message, “My council has gathered?”

Seeing the man nod, Montcalm walked steadily toward the tent and entered. Montcalm looked toward Rigaud and calmly inquired, “General, how many of the British do you believe were captured under the flag of truce?”

Knowing this was an attack toward him due to his support of the Indians, Rigaud paused to take in a shallow breath and replied, “We have no way of knowing, sir. Certainly in the hundreds. I have many of my traders tracking the Indians down to secure their release. It may take some time to find them all.”

Closing his eyes in thought, Montcalm stated, “Extend all efforts. As they were captured while under my protection, we cannot expect the British to pay for their ransom. We will have to do so from our own funds. Pay well enough that we ensure the safe return of all those prisoners that still live.”

Finally moving on to the next subject, he looked to Rigaud and asked, “What of the British regulars? Have they made any move back toward Ft. William Henry to seek revenge?”

Shaking his head, Rigaud replied vigorously, “No, sir. None at all. Even the British regulars began stumbling forward in a panic during the attack.” Anticipating his commander’s next question, he continued, “We have also received another report verifying no activity in Ft. Edward. It appears that there really will be no relief force marching north.”

One of the other officers muttered under his breath, “Not with Monro’s army telling their tale of the massacre of Ft. William Henry.”

Seeing no point in disciplining the man for an obviously truthful statement, Montcalm mentally put the horrors of the day behind him and decided to move ahead. Pulling himself to his accustomed upright posture, he ordered in a newly confident voice, “As there is little we can do about that at the moment, let us put the incident behind us. Over the next two days, I want Ft. William Henry to be but a memory. Not an inch of wall is to remain standing. No two stones together. This place must never be used as a base of operations against New France again. Then, let us return to Ft. Carillon and prepare for next year’s campaigns.”

 

[Alt History Buff]

Late July 1757

Halifax

A sneer etched across his rough, scarred features, Lord Charles Hay propped his feet up upon the windowsill and gazed out upon the mock sieges the British battalions waged upon each other and announced caustically, “Say what you wish, my dear Lord Loudoun, these little children’s games you’ve set our men playing will be the only assault they’ll carry out this year!”

Virtually apoplectic with rage, the trembling commander-in-chief fixed a furious gaze upon his unwelcome subordinate, a gesture the battle-scarred veteran of innumerable European battles returned with an impassive glower dripping with visceral contempt. The junior officers at this council of war, George Augustus Howe, James Wolfe, John Forbes, Colonels all, whom had been gathered to offer advice as to the feasibility of an assault on Louisburg given the latest rumors of French reinforcements and an augmented naval squadron, looked on in avid embarrassment to witness the open disrespect accorded to Lord Loudoun by his nominal number three.

For the past four weeks, the eight thousand British regulars painstakingly gathered from his expansive North American command had camped along the tiny town of Halifax, population two thousand, in an expanding tent city awaiting Loudoun’s order to disembark for the French fortress city of Louisburg. Long a thorn in the British colonist’s paw, Loudoun’s targeting of the prime staging ground of French privateers provided a rare outpouring of support among the New England Legislatures, his requisitions finally be properly filled (at least in part in hopes that the abrasive Scot might actually accomplish something of use for his efforts).

Theoretically landed in Halifax to “regroup” and “organize” for the crusade, the duration of the British Army’s stay stretched inexorably from days to weeks, Loudoun’s junior officers baffled as their commander ordered a parade ground leveled and mock sieges conducted by his Regiments for “training” purposes. With each passing day, the officers grew increasingly frustrated by the lack of action, their grumbling leading to open complaints in his council of war.

Loudoun’s explanation for his inaction? Rumors of French reinforcements received via unofficial channels in London. “I shall not risk the preponderant number of His Majesty’s forces in North America on a single roll of the dice!” He declared derisively.

As the junior officers kept the measure of their disapproval suitably hidden in order to avoid offending one of the Duke of Cumberland’s favorites (it did not do to incur the ire of the King’s beloved son and commander of British forces), the defensive Lord Loudoun could not brush off his senior officers as easily. The Duke, whom was the true authority on matters of war, determined to send the loyal Lord Loudoun assistance in the form of two experienced Major Generals, the aged Peregrine Hopson, and Lord Charles Hay. On the surface, both appointments made sense.

Hopson had commanded the Louisburg garrison after a Massachusetts’ militia campaign captured the town in 1745. Eventually, King George saw fit to return the territory to the French in exchange for the French-captured British city of Madras, India (thus enraging the New Englanders whom had suffered innumerable assaults from French privateers and shed so much blood to seize the city). Though well past seventy, Hopson knew the fortifications as well as any man alive and would be instrumental in directing the siege.

Lord Charles Hay, a hardened veteran of Dettinton and Fontenoy during the war of Austrian succession, was a seasoned officer in the European mold and a former aide-de-camp to George II. A survivor of vicious firefights, the warrior would not shirk from a potentially daunting assault upon the thick walls of Louisburg.

Unfortunately, neither officer provided the intended buttressing Loudoun expected. Hopson, weakened by age and hardship, took to his bed most days and general pled to be released from his obligation. The commander sincerely doubted the man would survive the rigors of a serious campaign.

Far worse was the open contempt which Lord Hay heaped upon his commander for his “dithering in the face of the enemy”. With each Council of War, the increasingly erratic Lord Hay regularly reiterated his demands for evidence of these “French reinforcements” and none-to-subtly implied cowardice guided his commander’s actions rather than justified caution. A veteran of war and politics, the disdainful Lord Hay refused to be bullied by his superior’s vain attempts at intimidation, usually recoursing to biting sarcastic rejoinders and mocking taunts. Eventually, Loudoun became so enraged by the deliberate disrespect that he banned his fellow Scot from the Councils of War, often holding them on board a man-of-war, lest the insubordinate officer attempt to pursue his beleaguered superior wherever he might hide.

Finally, Loudoun set his course and elected to invite the ostracized officer back into the fold for one final Council of War, one the Scot looked forward to not one iota. Gazing upon the Regimental Colonels, many young and ambitious as he had been two decades past during the Jacobite Uprising, Loudoun had been forced to announce the cancellation of the campaign for fear of the invasion fleet being caught upon the high seas by the French forces rumored to be anchored in Louisburg’s protected harbor.

Naturally, Lord Hay celebrated the somber occasion with his usual witty repartee and inquired, “Why, My Lord Loudoun! Now that we have stripped North America of the King’s Men for this expedition, will we be sailing back to England or just surrendering to the enemy now? After all, it possible that yet another imaginary French fleet might intercept us on our return to New York!

“In fact, why bother sailing at all? There are a few hundred Frenchmen among the residents of this dismal town, we can simply hand over our colors and sit out the rest of the war in captivity!”

Loudoun seethed in rage as the aghast junior officers desperately looked away, embarrassed at their superiors’ mutual loathing. The commander knew full well calling off the assault based on unproven intelligence would be unpopular, the season already far too advanced for the British forces to return to the main colonies, march up the Hudson Valley and strike another French target. In truth, Loudoun’s frenetic activity throughout the winter of 1756/57, had accomplished very little beyond putting a few recalcitrant colonial assemblies in their place. Even the New Englanders’ proposed assault on Fort XXXX might not occur. The King demanded results for the massive expenditures incurred by the Treasury and would not take kindly to a commanding General’s refusal to fight. But facing the prospect of losing his entire army to the whims of the sea gods…

Naturally, Lord Hay couldn’t shut up. After impugning his superior officer’s courage and lampooning Loudoun’s incompetence before the assembled officers, he continued, “I have a suggestion, General! Mayhap we send the fleet into some isolated cove and perform a mock melee, just like our Regiments are doing outside this window. That way we can report to London that we’ve pretended to fight at sea as well as on land!”

“Sir, you forget yourself!” Loudoun seethed. “If a court-martial is what you desire, I shall be sure you receive one upon your return to London!”

“Just see to it that it is scheduled after your execution, you simpering coward. I doubt even your ties to the Duke will stave off the firing squad. I would think that idiot Byng’s spinelessness before Minorca would be adequate incentive for a British soldier to do his duty, but it seems the rest of us shall receive another object lesson.”

As one, the junior officers inhaled a collective gasp. Hays growing and open disdain for his superior for the past several weeks had appalled the British regulars for its vocal vulgarity. But the wounds of the late Admiral Byng’s execution left on the collective psyche had not healed in the slightest, every soldier and sailor fully cognicent of the perils of failing to exert every effort in achieving victory. Loudoun’s pronouncement of the campaign’s premature termination was unpopular to be sure, but to accuse the commander-in-chief of that level of cowardice…

“Sir,” Loudoun choked out through gritted teeth, “You shall answer to a court-martial for that.”

Hay simply snorted and gazed back out the window towards the simulated siege exercises undertaken by the professional soldiers in Loudoun’s command. They were an exceptional group and Hay felt a severe sorrow that such magnificent warriors might be wasted under such an officious oaf as Lord Loudoun.

Determinedly looking away from Hay, Loudoun announced, “I am departing today for New York and shall make arrangements for billeting the Regiments on Long Island. Unlike last year, I can assure you that proper lodgings will be provided. The New York Assembly…”

“You still have a frigate due back from Louisburg, Lord Loudoun,” Hay interrupted suddenly, a slight mocking taunt inserted upon the inflection of Loudoun’s name, “which, I believe, was to verify if these…rumors…of enemy reinforcements are accurate or merely figments of certain persons’ rampant imaginations.

“Should that frigate have returned from its scouting expedition with verification that no such French fleet exists…”

“Why, I would order our invasion to sail without delay,” Loudoun snapped, irritated at Hay’s snide tone. Most of the assembly officers were baffled at why Loudoun hadn’t ordered Hay put in irons long ago.

Colonel Lord George Augustus Howe, a highly thought young officer who had recently arrived from Europe, inquired, “Lord Loudoun, might it be prudent to at least wait upon that ship’s return? Your Lordship has expended such efforts, at such expense, in organizing this expedition. Surely, a few more days might be…”

“Colonel, our King has seen fit to place the entirety of North America in my care. I have other campaigns under way, by colonials it pains me to say, but campaigns none the less. I cannot be waylaid indefinitely.”

“But…” Howe attempted again, “surely this must be our primary objective this year. With so many of our regulars…”

“Colonel! I shall receive no more insubordination. I shall sail upon the next tide and that is the end of the matter.”

Defeated, George Howe settled back in his chair, exchanging a commiserating glance with Lord Hay. An entire campaign season, wasted.

Clearly fatigued with the discussion, Loudoun announced, “I shall depart at once and will alert General Hopson when proper quarters are arranged by the New York Assembly. Mind your duty in my absence.”

With a final glare at the insolent Major General Lord Charles Hay, one which promised retribution for the humiliations suffered at his subordinate’s hands, Lord Loudoun swept out of the Council of War and prepared to abandon his army in the decrepid harbor town of Halifax.

A week later:

Colonel George Augustus Howe hastily buttoned his jacket, cursing at the early summons from Lord Hay. What on earth could possibly demand attention at this time of night? Howe had only an hour before bade his comrades good night to seek the comfort of his bed, sadly empty for lack of a proper mistress in this dank little town. There was barely enough housing for the officers in Halifax, certainly not enough for the eight thousand men camped throughout the expansive tent city surrounding the harbor.

I pray that imbecile Loudoun recalls the army before September, else half the men will freeze, Howe thought unkindly and promptly chastised himself for even thinking such viperous thoughts towards his commanding officer. Loudoun had been appointed by the King and deserved a modicum of respect on that account. Though it would be helpful if the obnoxious bastard attempted to mitigate his disgrace by ordering at least some of these men to accompany him to New York. The provisions are already running low, even after squeezing the poor inhabitant dry of every morsel of food.

As Howe raced through the twilight-lit streets of Halifax, a hazy luminescence continued to radiate across the darkening sky even at this late hour. Summer nights were short at this latitude, but the frigid grip of a North America fall would soon approach. An odd sense of foreboding struck the officer. Though Loudoun had announced “sailing upon the next tide”, the procrastinating Lieutenant General took three days to gather up his mistress, servants and assorted belongs before finally setting sail that morning. In that time, poor General Hopson’s health deteriorated alarmingly. Without question, the old man was in dire straights.

Reaching the fine townhouse that served as Loudoun’s headquarters until that very morning, Howe was disconcerted to find his fellow Regimental colonels also roused from their slumber (or, more likely, their carousals with the limited supply of local ladies) as well. He noted John Forbes, an experienced officer of some fifty years, already in attendance in the closed confines of Loudoun’s conference room.

“John, you were summoned as well?” He whispered, nodding towards the other officers as he caught their eyes. A pair of drowsy servants lit several lamps, allowing a gentle illumination. Shocked, Howe recognized Admiral Holburne, the commander of the Royal Navy squadron assigned to escort the now-defunct conquest of Louisburg.

“Yes, George, Lord Hay seems to be in a state of some sort. Claims to have received rather remarkable intelligence.”

As if by command, Lord Charles Hay entered the room, lacking a jacket over his waistcoat. He sat in Lord Loudoun’s accustomed seat at the head of the table. The remaining officers bowed slightly and took their seats, rank determining proximity to the senior officer.

Without preamble, Hay announced with previously undisplayed humor, “Gentlemen, I have received providential news. Admiral Holburne’s frigate has returned from its scouting expedition of Louisburg. Admiral?”

Holburne, looking oddly disconcerted, nodded and explained, “The HMS Venture, the frigate assigned to scouting the entrance to Louisburg, has verified that the…rumored…French fleet is very much not in residence in Louisburg Harbor. Captain Longfellow has assured me personally that no more than two ships-of-the-line and one frigate anchor in the harbor, far fewer than even our most optimistic estimates.”

“Better,” clearly warming to the topic, “Captain Longfellow took the initiative to seize two French vessels, a victualer and a message packet, exiting the harbor. Interrogation of both crews led to verification that Louisburg is guarded by only a bare thousand French regulars, augmented by militia. Better, there is no expectation of significant reinforcements in the next month.”

The Admiral continued over the excited grumbling of the army officers, “Also, the Venture captured a third prize, a small Frigate bound for Quebec which happened to be blown off course. After a slight battle, the French ship struck her colors and surrendered. An English sailor, impressed into the crew, was grateful for the rescue an announced that a French relief fleet was ordered to sail next in August to the aid of Louisburg.”

“My god,” Howe murmured audibly, “Had we only sailed, we could have taken the city with ease. Only a thousand regulars…”

“Even with a fair wind, the French wouldn’t arrive until November,” Holburne commented, clearly dismayed at the lost opportunity for a comfortable victory. “Two ships-of-the-line and one frigate could not hold the harbor from the guns of my squadron.”

“Gentlemen,” Lord Hay leaned forward, his eyes gleaming in the dim light, “Surely, you realize that the moment has not passed.”

A long moment elapsed before Howe inquired, “Not passed, sir? Surely, without Lord Loudoun…”

“As you recall, Colonel,” Lord Hay replied evenly, a slight grin crossing his features, “Lord Loudoun did state that he would set sail at the next tide should his intelligence prove incorrect.”

“I find it unlikely the General would approve of virtually his entire force of Regulars in North America attacking an enemy target without his knowledge,” Forbes inserted. Forbes was a deeply secure officer who rarely wilted before Loudoun’s bullying, but the prospect of such an unprecedented action daunted even him. “Perhaps we can dispatch a swift messenger ship to catch his transport?”

Hay shook his head, “It is unlikely the General’s transport would be found after a two day lead. And if we send the packet to New York, we’d lose two weeks in either direction plus whatever time it takes for Loudoun to make up his damned mind. No, sirs, I fear we move now or miss our narrow window of opportunity. Should we delay, the French might reinforce Louisburg so heavily we’d never dig them out.”

“What does General Hopson think of this…proposal?” Howe almost used the word “plot”.

“Hopson has taken to his bed and has ceded command to me.”

The assembled officers knew quite well that Lord Hay would effectively be in command in Lord Loudoun’s absence but had really expected Hay to be brought upon on charges of insubordination, if not outright mutiny on accord of his erratic behavior. No one, evidently not even Loudoun, expected such an opportunity to arise. Now, the fates had seen fit to offer the tantalizing prospect of inflicting a crushing defeat on the French. All it would take was the will to carry out their duty at the cost of their commander’s pride.

Lord Hay took the debate out of their hands, “Gentlemen, as the effective officer in command, I will order the entirety of our army onto the ships tomorrow, with the intension of sailing upon the evening tide. Admiral Holburne has agreed to support our expedition as well.”

Howe was shocked that such a respected sailor would so readily support a venture teetering on the edge of mutiny. One simply does not overturn a senior commander’s will on a whim. Of course, what is the option? Electing not to take the town despite reliable intelligence that it was the King’s for the plucking? Allow the French to use the magnificent harbor in perpetuity to plague the colonies’ shipping?

Howe gazed at his colleagues, all of whom glanced back and forth uncertainly. At once, he realized that Hay had won this round against his arbitrary superior. His orders clear, the Regimental Colonels could lodge a protest for failing to notify Loudoun but could not validate an excuse countenancing mutiny.

Louisburg would be assaulted, regardless of the 4th Earl of Loudoun’s final commands. A reckoning would take place eventually, but the painstakingly assembled and provisioned British Army of North America would sail at the next opportunity to wage war upon the King’s chosen enemies.

And George Augustus Howe could not be more pleased.

 

[Alt History Buff]

August 1757

North Atlantic

Admiral Conflans’ feet sullenly stomped up and down the deck as he muttered inaudibly to himself. Oblivious to the sight he must present to the seaman whom he had passed over again and again, his mind continued to focus on the last few days. Whenever he entered this state, his surroundings seem to dissipate into the background. The officers and the crew of the Glorious had by now grown accustomed to his occasional dark moods and none would disturb him unless necessary. The knowledge that he had no say in how he reached his current situation was of no comfort.

As a sailor of several decades service to the French Navy, the thought of leaving Louisburg, the most vital port in New France, bereft of significant naval protection was anathema. Conflans knew that the situation he had just left would likely never occur again. True, the reinforcements and supplies that Conflans’ squadrons carried across the ocean had been delivered safely. Without them, Louisburg could not hope to hold against a determined attack. Now, with the additional men, supplies, and cannon, it just might. Conflans was even impressed by the amount of labor that had been expended in the construction of the defensive batteries. Their placement utilized the local topography well. There were few areas of the bay that would be safe from bombardment. In conjunction with the reduced French squadron Conflans left behind, any attacking fleet would pay a heavy price before they could land a single soldier on French territory.

After accomplishing his primary mission of relieving the distressed colony, Conflans had secondary orders to raid at his discretion along the North American coast. While Britain’s navy may be numerically superior in the west, they almost certainly were not as concentrated and, therefore, no target Conflans chose to attack would survive. The prime ports of Boston, New York, and Charleston could be attacked and burned before any counterstrike was made. Even the West Indies trade could be threatened.

However, the orders delivered by the damnably swift courier ship sent after Conflans removed that opportunity. Had his original orders not been rescinded, he would have hunted down the British fleet that had been skulking about out of visual range around Louisburg last month. Several quick frigates bearing the Union Jack had swept in on an obvious intelligence mission and turned tail immediately upon sighting the enormous French fleet at anchor. Conflans was certain that a British battle fleet was not far off, possibly with an invasion fleet behind it. However, poor weather and concern about the disposition of the recently unloaded supplies and men held him back from challenging the fleet to battle. Either way, no British ships had been sighted recently and he did not expect any.

Now, he would have no chance to deal the British bastards a painful payback for all the raids that they had committed up and down the coast of France. Whole towns had been burned without significant French retaliation against Great Britain herself! Abruptly, Conflans retreated from his revelry and planted his feet in the middle of the deck. No, the was no reason to dwell on it any farther. His orders were clear. All raiding missions in North America were cancelled, before they had begun. Conflans was to leave two ships of the line and two frigates to help with Louisburg harbor defense and return to France immediately. Despite his constant grumbling, his immediate superior usually had a good reason for doing what he did. Perhaps, the fleet was massing to attack Gibraltar or, god willing, finally an invasion of Britain herself. Having no significant professional army to defend the home islands, Great Britain wouldn’t stand a chance if the full might of the French army landed on shore.

Conflans shook his head to clear the frustrations of the last few weeks and returned to the duties he should have been seeing to. He did not notice some of his men sigh in relief to his obvious change of mood while a few old hands even smiled knowingly. Surveying the fleet following his flagship, he was pleased that all seemed to be in good order. None were straying too close to the shoreline of Cape Breton Island. The wind was blowing calmly into the ships sails without a trace of the hurricane that had swept through the North Atlantic only a day before. The crew were in good spirits even though they were actually required to do some work after weeks of idleness. Conflans always found the first day of a voyage to be as invigorating as the crew did.

The Admiral resolved not to bother his junior officers as they were obviously doing their jobs, so he decided to return to his cabin to complete his report. Despite his best efforts, Conflans had turned from a sailor to a bureaucrat years ago. His hand was turning the knob to his office when one of the junior lieutenants burst down the hall shouting, “Admiral! Admiral! Several British ships sighted at port!”

Though his heart was racing, Conflans made an effort to be calm as he acknowledged the boy. The young man whose name Conflans had momentarily forgotten immediately ran back the way he came. Only then did Conflans realize how tightly his hand was still gripping the doorknob. He took a moment to relax and stride purposely back toward the deck. Perhaps he would have his chance to strike back at the British today after all.

“I can only assume that they were waiting for us to leave the safety of the bay and planned on ambushing us here,” Commander Moreau stated incredulously. “Unfortunately for them, they waited too long and were blown against the rocks during the hurricane.” Conflans internally echoed the commander’s amazement. The sight before them through the spyglass was shocking. Several British ships appeared to be at anchor opposite a sheer cliff face. He believed that he could see several trying unsuccessfully to raise sail. A crewman rushed up to Moreau and handed him a slip of paper. Moreau read it quickly. “Sir, the report from the crow’s nest.”

Conflans grunted inarticulately in reply but his mind was racing. Any French ships leaving Louisburg for France would almost certainly pass by the Northeastern face of the island on their way back. It was as good a place as any for an ambush. He counted at least eight ships that did not even have their mainsails up. Anchored against the seawall they were helpless against twelve huge French ships of the line and their supporting frigates.

At first sight, Conflans had directed the signalers to raise the battle flags, ordering the entire fleet to lineup behind the Glorious. His orders were avoid an engagement with the British but Conflans had no problem disregarding them in this instance. In virtually no time at all, a formidable French battle line was racing toward the defenseless British fleet a few miles away.

Moreau handed the sheet over to Conflans with almost shaking hands. “Sir, our spotters report twelve ships in sight. Six are demasted. Two others appear to be beached. The spotters also claim to see an abundance of wreckage along the shore. Perhaps nature has already done much of the work for us.”

While silently thanking providence, Conflans inquired as to the state of the guns. Immediately, his gunnery chief rose to report that all port guns and crews were prepared. Conflans took a moment to smile at both of them. With one last glance behind to verify that all ships were in line, he took his place next to the mainmast where he could control this deckhands throughout the battle. In truth, once the direction of the fleet was established, there was little that an admiral or even a ship’s Captain to do in a battle. The gunnery crews would do the heavy work. He did take pride, however, in the fleet’s state of preparedness. The typical French warship’s gun crews took nearly twice as long to reload, aim, and fire than a comparative British ship. Conflans had drilled his men remorselessly during the two-month anchorage in Louisburg. That training would pay off today.

The French fleet was now nearly two hundred and fifty yards away from the first English ship. Due to the heavy damage from the hurricane, most of the British had not even been able to get up sail. They were simply attempting to maneuver their ships in line as best they could to present their guns toward the enemy. Conflans took some uncharitable amusement in the fact that one especially beat up British ship appeared to be facing the wrong direction. The rush of guilt of the unfortunate British captain’s embarrassing situation was quickly suppressed as Conflans mentally condemned the opposing admiral of allowing a storm to cripple his entire fleet.

An explosion of mist thirty yards starboard of the Glorious signaled the beginning of the battle. The shot had not come from the first British ship in line but rather from a small frigate further down that had broken out of the British line and was presenting it’s broadside toward the Glorious.

Moreau frowned and nervously turned to the Admiral. “Do you think this is some maneuver? Perhaps they are attempting to enfilade?”

Conflans considered this for a moment and shook his head. “ No, that one is merely trying to escape and wanted to take a couple of shots first. Look, its already turning east, running for London. It may very well be the only one that would survive the trip in its current condition.”

“Should we send some of our ships after it, Admiral?”

Conflans immediately replied, “No, let’s not upset our battle lines in order to chase down the smallest ship in the British fleet. Let’s concentrate on the heavier ships and let that one live to tell the tale of the destruction of an entire British squadron.”

Moreau nodded and moved off to give some last minute encouragement to the deckhands and marines that were preparing for battle. Conflans knew he could not have been more fortunate. The wind was blowing perfectly in the backs of the French. Even if the British ships had a full set of sails, they would have been at a distinct disadvantage in maneuverability.

Conflans took one last moment to pray for the souls of his men. He then straitened and walked around the deck offering his own words of encouragement to any young officer or able sailor in need of confidence. Many appeared reassured at his words but Conflans was, in truth, barely listening to himself. He was simply reciting the same meaningless phrases that all commanders offer their crews before a battle.

Once he had done all he could do, Conflans dramatically drew his sword and shouted at the top of his lungs, “For France!!!!” The rousing cheer given in response heartened him. He then turned toward the port side and glared at the oncoming British fleet. The lead ship was only fifty yards forward. He could seem the crew scampering around desperately. In a blink of an eye, the British warship was nearly even with the Glorious. They were separated by a scant thirty yards. Conflans could swear that he could see a British gun crew pull the lanyard of a large cannon. The deck of the Glorious lurched spasmodically. Conflans honestly did not know if it was the shock of the Glorious’s twenty-two guns firing almost simultaneously or due to the impact of an enemy strike. Through the screams and the smoke, Conflans could not tell. He also did not care. The battle had been joined.

 

[Alt History Buff]

August 1757

New York

Harsh gasps heaved through Lord Loudoun's as he read the dispatch from the unrepentant traitor who absconded with the majority of His Majesty's regulars in North America. With the simplest of prose, the Earl witnessed the final humiliation capping a career chock-full of mortifying incidents tracing back to his somewhat lackluster performance during the Jacobite Rebellion. As a young officer, virtually the entirety of his Regiment had been wiped out by Bonnie Prince Charlie's catholic supporters in 1745, hardly an auspicious start to what Loudoun projected to be a distinguished career. Fortunately, Loudoun's deep sense of loyalty to the King's Prerogative caught the Duke of Cumberland's eye and his steady rise through the ranks continued unabated from its humble origins.

But…this! Charles Hay, damn that name, elected to purloin his carefully assembled force and assault Louisburg with the full knowledge that Loudoun had cancelled the campaign. Oh, sure, Lord cursed Hay gleefully restated in his correspondence the very words that sprang from Loudoun's tongue during his last Council of War, ones which twisted his orders to imply that only a lack of intelligence kept his assault force in Halifax. But nothing could conceal the man's unmitigated amusement soaked into the ostensibly bland justification for mutiny and insubordination. How on earth could Hay know for sure that the rumored French Fleet might not indeed be en route from Toulon, ready to massacre the helpless transports laden with British soldiers, the finest Loudoun had ever the priveledge of commanding?

Safely ensconced in his comfortable New York City office from which he plucked the strings of the colonial Royal Governors, Loudoun suddenly felt at outraged as a cuckolded husband discovering another man had run off with his beloved wife and pilfered the family silver for good measure.

By god, I'll see Hay hanged for this, damn his glorious war record. The Duke will support me, I am sure.

This final thought tread closer to a prayer, Loudoun's lack of conviction resounding even in his own mind. Should Hay's conquest fail or worse, the irreplaceable British regulars be wiped out on the high seas, Loudoun could hardly avoid the repercussions, even with Hay's treachery documented. Should he succeed, a dangerous precedent would be set for undermining the chain of command.

Debased by the need, Loudoun promptly set to penning a letter to London, demanding an immediate court-martial of Major General Lord Charles Hay and completely disavowing the man’s actions.

 

[Alt History Buff]

October 1757

Boston

His mount nearly ridden into the ground, Lord Loudoun, his aides in tow, grunted as he dismounted before the stable commonly used by British officers residing in the city of Boston. A stableboy raced out under the twilight sky, darkening in anticipation of a late fall squall, and grabbed His Lordship's reins.

"Feed and water her," Loudoun growled menacingly, his mood dreadful at the turn of weather and the frustration of being forced to voyage to this dismal town, yet again, to whip the recalcitrant local assembly into obedience. Loudoun stomped his feet to regain some measure of circulation and gathered his white travelling cloak about his body to brace against a sudden chill wafted across the bay.

Impatiently, the commander-in-chief waited upon his aides whom hurriedly issued instructions to the stableboy and his master and arrange for payment. The King's Men should not have to pay for shelter and feed for their mounts! He thought discontentedly. Yet another item to add to the long list of requisitions for these colonial backsliders!

Cold and sore from his arduous journey from New York, Loudoun's senses only dimly took in an unusual note of jubilation on the part of passersby, whom only occasionally glanced at the older man wrapped in his cloak, obviously not recognizing the King's appointed commander-in-chief else surely they would bow, doff their caps or offer some measure of respect to the officer. In the distance, church bells from assorted houses of worship rung in unison. At first, Loudoun suspected an inferno had triggered somewhere within the city's boundaries but no trace of anxiety blighted the euphoric faces of the citizenry.

One middle-aged fellow in somewhat raggedy garb danced by, obviously sloshing drunk, spotted the officers congregating outside the stable and groggily inquired, "You officers?"

"Sir," Loudoun countered with a sneer, "I am Lord…"

"Well, you damn English bastards 'ave finally done somethin' useful!" the inebriated commoner interrupted happily, wrapping his arm around Loudoun's shoulder. With disgust, the officer shunted it aside. Before he could respond with a threat, the man announced, "Yes, you bastards finally ran them Frenchies out of Louisburg! Course' we Massachusetts men did that back in forty-five under good General Pepperell but you Englishmen made us give it back!"

Reaching into his pocket the man plucked out a flask and slurred, "God bless Genera' Charles Hay. 'bout time the King sent a real fight'n man to America!"

Oblivious to Loudoun's mask of horror, the Bostonian stumbled off, singing what appeared to be a song alternatively praising Charles Hay's valor and conjecturing on Loudoun's parentage.

"Sir…" his adjutant muttered, "is it possible that…well.."

"Boy!" Loudoun shouted, spotting what appeared to be a newspaper stand. Loudoun stomped over and discovered to his dismay, the paper to be one of the seditious Boston rags (is there any other kind?) and demanded, "What is this of Louisburg?"

"Greetings, sir!" the lad announced cheerfully, "Lord Hay, sir, he took the city, against orders, they say! The bells been tooling for hours!"

Loudoun snapped up the newspaper and stalked off, unaware that one of his aides pulling out a coin for the outraged newspaper boy.

Scottish Hero Regains Papist Snakepit for His Majesty!

Major General Lord Charles Hay, hero of Fontenoy and Dettinton,

assaults enemy fortress, previously decried as "untakeable" by Lord Loudoun.

Contrary to his commander's orders, the

intrepid officer ordered forth the attack as Lord Loudoun returned to

the safety of Long Island, far distant from the enemy guns. Lord Hay condemned

his superior's "shameful retreat in the face of the enemy" as

blatant cowardice. The Massachusetts Assembly formally offered

three cheers for Lord Hay and vowed to commission a bust of the

General and his courageous soldiers. Lord Loudoun, whom at the

time of the battle was taking his ease in New York City while his

subordinates braved enemy fire…


Unable to restrain himself, Loudoun roared like a wounded wolf and cast the offending document to the ground.

 

[Alt History Buff]

December 1757

London

Richard Grenville, first lord of the Admiralty, had never been intimidated by his brother-in-law. Grenville’s wealthy family provided the political connections that William Pitt used to such success in his ascent to power. While he respected his sister’s husband, Grenville had always felt secure in the fact that he was not dispensable to Pitt. But now, for the first time, the first lord of the Admiralty no longer felt assured of his place in Pitt’s government. Seated next to Pitt in a conference room adjacent to the Southern Secretary’s office, the key Privy Council members had assembled in their daily meeting to discuss the war. Unfortunately, the horrific news from America dominated the proceedings.

Staring back at Grenville, the Southern Secretary and leader of his Majesty’s government repeated his question, “Damn it man, how can you not know whether or not your armada continues to exist?”

Forcing a neutral tone, Grenville replied coolly, “As of yet, only one ship has returned to with the news. Being a smaller ship, the Eagle was able to survive the buffeting winds of the storm better than some of the larger ships. Most were reported as having been demasted and taking on water.” Pausing to search for the proper words but finding they would not come, he continued, “At least seven ships were simply crushed along the rocks.”

“To what extent was the damage? How many were repairable? Given our war encompasses many fronts, we will need every available sailor and gun.” Pitt demanded. Not stopping to hear Grenville’s response, he added, “When will the rest of the fleet return to London?”

Wondering if his brother-in-law was being deliberately obtuse or simply did not comprehend the enormity of what occurred in the frozen seas of the North Atlantic, Grenville clarified, “William, the storm shattered the ships. Even if they had been damaged a mile away from the Liverpool shipyards, the Eagle’s captain stated the ships would not have been salvageable. As for the rest….” Grenville stopped again to ensure his previous statement sank in, “As for the rest, the report states that few of our ships were capable of either battle or retreat. Most were demasted or had their sails shredded. Virtually all were taking on water. Many did not even have to maneuverability to turn their guns in the general direction of the French fleet. The French also had nearly perfect positioning on Holburne’s force. Even if our force were fully intact, it would have been a poor decision to attack under those conditions.” Pausing one more time, Grenville stated simply, “We are forced to accept the possibility that the Eagle is the only survivor of Holburne’s battle fleet.”

A stunned silence descended upon the conference room. Several members of the Privy Council looked at the maps adorning the walls with colorful X’s marking the French and British forces throughout the globe. The effect of Grenville’s words made each reconsider the viability of the war effort. It was the Duke of Devonshire that spoke first.

“An entire fleet? Lost without comparable damage to the enemy?” The statement was laced with obvious disbelief as he attempted to come to terms with the reality. “Such a thing hasn’t occurred to the British Navy in over a century.”

The War Minister, William Barrington chimed in darkly, “Without those ships, our own coastline could be vulnerable to invasion. It was a risk to send a force that large to support Loudoun in the first place. We had every intention that it would be back in place in Europe by late fall. Now, it will be a struggle to maintain a sizable enough fleet to defend the home waters not to mention support Hanover, North America, the Caribbean, and India.” Reflecting on his recent orders for trip movements, he turned to Pitt and added, “Your honor, I recommend canceling the convoy that is currently being readied to sail to India. We cannot part with the six warships assigned to guard the supply and troops ships nor could we ask the convoy to sail without protection.”

Despite his agreement with the Minister of War, Grenville was annoyed at the man’s interjection upon his territory. Grenville angrily reminded the man, “The French have been shipping convoy after convoy full of soldiers, guns, and supply to India for two years. If were fail to support our own factories, the East India Company may fall before the French allied forces.”

Returning from his silence, Pitt decided to end the debate, “Enough, gentlemen. Until we have additional information of the battle’s outcome, more discussion is a waste of time.” Stopping to consider, he added, “Let us postpone the India convoy for the moment, though. A few more days delay in departure will not matter.”

Grenville questioned that remark internally but held his tongue. The tides and winds of the Atlantic and Indian Oceans only allowed a limited window for safe voyage. It may be too late already for the fleet to sail. However, Grenville knew that if an entire British squadron had been destroyed in the North Atlantic, he would need every ship in the fleet to support Hanover and defend Britain.

It was already obvious to everyone except Pitt that North America and India would suffer the losses before the homeland was laid open to invasion. What wasn’t certain, though, was whether or not his own position was in jeopardy. The previous government fell at the news of a much lesser defeat than the one developing here. However, Byng’s humiliation at Minorca resulted in the fall of the island. Given that no territory had been lost and it was the elements of nature that did most of the damage to Holburne’s fleet, perhaps Grenville’s career could be spared.

Sitting back quietly, Pitt once again allowed his Ministers to discuss the issue. Usually, Pitt would exert far more control over the Privy Council by dominating them by force of personality. However, with his gout acting up, his health for the moment was fragile. In addition to the physical pain, this latest setback seriously fractured his confidence. Pitt lived his life under the belief that Great Britain would eventually take its place in the pantheon of history as one of the world’s great empires, akin to Alexander’s Macedonian empire or ancient Rome. More specifically, he was certain that only he had the skill and vision to lead his nation to that moment. For the first time, Pitt began to question those assumptions.

Beyond the loss of Ft. Oswego and the burgeoning disaster near Louisburg, France was entrenching itself in India with each convoy that sailed toward the subcontinent. The perfidious French were skillfully allying themselves with many of the local rulers, isolating the British factories and traders. Ever confidant that Britain’s Navy would eventually dominate the seas, Pitt expected those far-flung colonies would soon fall under the British flag one by one. Now, he was not so sure.

Pitt allowed his thoughts to turn to the mounting crisis in Europe. The sheer extent of Frederick’s disastrous decision to invade Saxony the previous year was now fully apparent. After initial success against the Austrians in 1756, the Prussian King’s army had been devastated outside Kolin in the previous May. Seeing no choice, Frederick II was forced to withdraw from Saxony with the Austrian nipping at his heels. Sweden then promptly invaded the Prussian territory of Pomerania and Russia was massing soldiers along Prussia’s eastern border. Meanwhile, Austria’s ally France marched their armies east toward Prussia’s western territories. Frederick’s cries for assistance were growing more desperate each day. Pitt’s ire continued to deepen as Great Britain was forced to support the egotistical conqueror’s love of war in order to maintain their alliance.

Worse, Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick-Wolfenbuttel, Pitt’s own choice as commander of the German forces in Hanover and protégé of Frederick II, had allowed himself to be baited into maneuvers with the French army along the Hanover border. Ferdinand had been appointed after the Duke of Cumberland was wounded in the first major battle of his campaign over the summer. Cumberland was carried back to Britain to recover, leaving Pitt to ensure a “proper soldier” in Ferdinand was appointed to command the German armies (though only with the King’s approval).

After several inconclusive battles with the numerically superior French, Ferdinand was now trapped between the Aller and Elbe Rivers, with no hope of retreat to the coast where the British Navy could support him. Surrounded by a French army twice his own forces’ size, Ferdinand also repeatedly begged for British reinforcement and assistance to keep his army intact.

Ignoring Pitt’s advice that Ferdinand would put Prussia’s interests before Great Britain’s, the King had instructed the man to make a separate peace if he could for Hanover, even if it meant abandoning Prussia. Unwilling to betray his brother-in-law, Frederick II, Ferdinand nevertheless negotiated with the French commander, the duc de Richelieu. Given terms that may have saved Hanover and much of his army but would have left Prussia dangerously exposed to French attack, Ferdinand declined and attempted to break out of his position. The valiant effort failed and only resulted in thousands of German casualties and the loss of much vitally needed supply.

The calls for help now grew ever shriller as Ferdinand demanded that Britain rush any available men, German or British, to his support. The King immediately passed on the request to Pitt expecting him to salvage the situation. Pitt could only reply that he had no ability to send significant reinforcements to Prussia. His plan to garrison Britain with militia was still in development and the only trained soldiers available were a few thousand British redcoats stationed throughout the Isles, not nearly enough to make a difference in the situation even if it were politically feasible to send them. Pitt was certain that his fragile control over Parliament would collapse the moment a single British soldier disembarked for Germany.

Seeing nothing more to be gained by dwelling on these concerns, Pitt interrupted the debate and directed the cabinet toward more immediate concerns such as the issue of taxation. Disdaining the ugly work of finance, Pitt deferred to his first lord of the Treasury, the Duke of Devonshire, and the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Henry Legge. He had instructed them already as to how much additional funding they must borrow. It was only a matter of which of the London banking houses would provide the loans. Just as the Chancellor was about to explain the mundane details to Pitt, a secretary rushed into the room with an envelope for Pitt. Annoyed, Pitt took it and dismissed the man. While he was certain that his aides would not interrupt a cabinet meeting without reason, he was in no mood for anything that extended this particular session. For once, the Council gave him a few quiet moments. Upon reading the first few pages of the letter, Pitt forgot about everything else but the terrible sinking feeling spreading throughout his innards.

 

[Alt History Buff]

December – 1757

New York

Lord Loudoun doubled over in his plush office, momentarily fearful that some terrible attack was seizing his innards, so fearful was the pain. The cheerless New York sun offered precious little warmth through the frost-streaked windows. Belatedly, the irate Scot recognized that his bitter and humiliated state of mind for the past few days had finally taken action against his body. Praying that a permanent ulcer hadn't taken residence in his viscera, the stout Scot regained his posture by sheer force of will. The churning, boiling sensation of his innards gradually subsided to a grumbling simmer. The commander-in-chief silently thanked god for the solitude granted by a momentary reprieve from his whining subordinates.

It had been a disastrous campaign. First, his invasion of the fortress of Louisburg had been regrettably postponed due to reports that French reinforcements set sail from Toulon. With the preponderance of His Majesty's regulars in North America gathered in Halifax (and, in the Lord's opinion, the only worthwhile soldiers on the continent) preparing for an invasion of Cape Breton Island, the General simply couldn't condone risking total defeat should a French fleet happen upon the British invasion force on the high seas. Loudoun canceled the campaign until the following year and requested Admiral Holburne attempt to intercept the ponderous French transports at sea (assuming these reinforcements actually existed, which was subject of some debate).

Upon learning of the cowardly and treasonous colonial assemblies and militia continued attempts to undercut the King's prerogative by counter venting his orders for raising funds and drafting militia directly into the British Army, Loudoun departed Halifax and left the British regulars in the care of his insolent subordinate, determined to arrange a court-martial for the snide Major General Charles Hay upon his return. Though the commander's final orders did not specifically prohibit any further action on the part of his subordinates, the arrogant bastard tarried just long enough to see the back of Loudoun's sails drift southward before ordering the bulk of the British Army in Halifax, previously relegated to mock battles and siege training, to board their ships in order to assault Louisburg anyway!

The intelligence of his own subordinate's actions was only brought to Loudoun's attention weeks later just as he was dressing down the equally treacherous Massachusetts Legislature for balking at his demands for provisions and approving John Winslow's expedition in northern New York without consultation with their commander-in-chief. Outraged beyond description, Loudoun immediately wrote a pointed letter informing the ministry of this treason and demanded a formal court-martial both Hay and Winslow on the charges of insubordination and treason, recommending both received the firing squad. Unfortunately, to his intense mortification, a week hence, Loudoun received initial reports of success on each unapproved expedition! Hay seized Louisburg (distinctly non-reinforced despite his own explanation to London for failure to achieve, or even attempt, to seize his objective) with contemptuous ease as Winslow successfully ejected a minor French garrison at Ticonderoga and gained control of Lake Champlain.

Unaccountably, Loudoun's rightful protests at the subordination of his appointed authority, and the unexpected success his impertinent underlings had achieved, had made his own lack of success more galling. Worse, his public reprimands, phrased as such to shield himself from all culpability of Winslow and Hay's treason, would undoubtedly be used against him by his enemies in Parliament. Surely, the odious William Pitt, recently removed from power and returned to his duplicitous sedition in Parliament, would not suffer the slightest impulse to check his mocking condemnation of His Majesty's commander-in-chief of the North American station for demanding court-martials for subordinates who succeeded in the field whilst their unfortunate commander could not (or would not). A seasoned politician himself Loudoun imagined the mocking opposition gaily deriding his proven courage and loyalty for their own faithless ends. He would be accused of cowardice in the face of the enemy, impotance of command over his own junior officers and outright incompetence.

Loudoun bile rose once again as he pictured the "Hero of Louisburg", Charles Hay, alighting from a pilot boat in the Thames, his hands bound in chains (as Loudoun rashly ordered the fellow arrested by his subordinates and dispatched immediately for London), all the while the adoring public raised the man on their shoulders to hasten him to his court martial. The mortified Scot imagined Hay snidely justifying his contravention of orders (success notwithstanding) directly to the King as a necessary step to serve His Interests in the face of the craven cowardice and incompetence of his commanding officer.

To make his failure complete were the rumors of the incomprehensible destruction of Holburne's fleet along the shores of Nova Scotia. At Loudoun's request (who fervently anticipated the Navy might achieve some sort of victory to ameliorate the wasted labors of the dismal campaign), the Admiral had sailed east in hopes of intercepting the French relief fleet prior to its arrival in Louisburg and inflict a smashing defeat upon the helpless French transports and victual ships, the fear of such a circumstance reversed on his own invasion fleet had stayed Loudoun's hand at his own attempt at conquest. His record for 1757? Two glorious victories decried by their own commander and the sea god's wrath upon an unlucky sailor. Within hours of receiving the news from the Captain of a battered Royal Navy man-of-war which witnessed so many of her sister ships’ demises along the wind-wracked shoals of Acadia, Loudoun promptly issued a hasty condemnation of the Holburne's stupidity, highlighting that such endeavors were hardly the purview of the commander-in-chief of the British Army.

As the embattled Scotsman threw back his ire at the cruel fates which inflicted such dismal fortune upon his person, Loudoun rationalized that his position might not be as thoroughly undermined as he might fear. True, Loudoun faced a certain amount of embarrassment at the subordination of his authority (subordination being a mild term for treason) by his inferiors, but he remained in the Duke of Cumberland's good graces, and it was the King's son whom held the real power in the Army, regardless of what the Secretary of War and the Colonial Secretary might think. In the end, two daggers had pierced the heart of New France and Loudoun retained his command. A few more pushes in New York, and then perhaps Quebec, and Loudoun would enter history as one of His Majesty's finest servants.

Yes, he considered through his web of manic self-denial. Hay is on his way to Europe, out of my hair forever. And Winslow, yes, Winslow and his Massachusetts' men will be brought to heel. They will give up their noxious contrariness or face the British Army's lash.

As the cool winter sun set below the western horizon, Loudoun set to summoning the colonial militia to Albany to set them to right.

 

[Alt History Buff]

March 1758

Boston

"Damn them to hell," Lord Loudoun muttered as his horse gingerly picked its way through yet another stretch of grasping mire masquerading as a road. "Damn all these useless colonials to hell!"

For the past three days, Loudoun had threatened, commanded, cajoled, berated and, in a weak moment, even attempted to bribe the Massachusetts Assembly into complying with his demands for military provisions. Beyond all comprehension, the bastards dug in their heels and bluntly refused to fulfill their rightful

obligations to their King. The very fact that Loudoun had been forced to express his requirements in person was humiliating enough, but to openly refuse?! For twenty minutes, Loudoun harranged the General Court with threats, ranging from dissolution of their Charter to summary confiscation of the Assemblymen's homes for the use of his officers, but nothing worked. Governor Pownell, the spineless weakling, urged Loudoun to see reason, that Massachusetts had paid dearly for their prominent part in the war, especially the provisioning of the British Army occupying Louisburg and could simply not raise sufficient funds to raise the two thousand, four hundred colonial soldiers Loudoun demanded in order to safeguard the frontier.

The Royal Governor claimed that the provincials merely wished to uphold their ridiculous claims of autonomy from Parliament and the King's appointed Commander-in-chief. In response, Loudoun vowed to seek Pownell's recall, quite audibly before the General Court. He also announced that the hundreds of Massachusetts soldiers guarding the northern frontier along Lake Champlain were hereto ordered to remain in their garrisons until dismissed, despite their "contracts" expiring. Any officer and soldier who abandoned their posts would be summarily shot as deserters.

With astonishing composure, the obviously horrified Speaker of the assembly announced that no further requisitions shall be fulfilled until Massachusetts' "rights" were acknowledged by the man sent to defend their precious freedoms. At Loudoun's threat to hang the Assembly as traitors, one jocular representative snidely intoned something to the effect of "Go find some fellow cowards to blindly do your bidding, Your Lordship, you will find only men here. Will we be joining General Hay on trial in England?"

Discomfited by the lack of fear in the eyes of the General Court (which astonishingly failed to buckle under before the weight of his fury), Loudoun determined to run one final errand in New England before returning to Albany to furiously pen his report to the Duke of Cumberland. The New Hampshire militia had proven as intractable as the Massachusetts men. It is best they be brought to heel before the treasonous coven in Boston spread their insurrection against the King's Prerogative any further.

 

[Alt History Buff]

June 1758

London

"Express in the most straightforward terms, sir, that the colonials WILL provide every requirement General Loudoun puts forth. The colonies are British possessions, and they will…"

With that, the now-familiar fetid tasted filled the back of the Duke of Cumberland’s gorge. Irritated, he continued, "Let me think upon a proper response, gentlemen. Perhaps you can retreat to the sitting room and warm yourselves with a cup of tea or a brandy."

As Newcastle and the other ministers filed out respectfully, the Duke of Cumberland managed to maintain his regal bearing long enough for the heavy oak door to wedge shut before hastily leaning the arm of his plush office chair and grasping desperately for the basket strategically placed upon the floor and pulled it desperately to his face. For the third time that day, Cumberland emptied the contents of his stomach. Simultaneously gasping for air and gagging on the foul smell of regurgitated eggs and milk, the Duke leaned back from his exertions and wallowed in misery.

Fortunately, over the past months since Cumberland's ascension to defacto head of government, his ministers had swiftly learned that a quick exit was prudent when the Duke suddenly requested a short recess from the inexorable meetings of state. By now, most even managed to offer a benign smile as they filtered out of Cumberland's meeting room in St. James. The Duke of Newcastle, the always reliable and loyal servant (if exceedingly dull) to the House of Hanover, maintained strict orders that Cumberland's episodes were not to be commented upon by some of the more odious ministers whom Cumberland still resented being forced to invite into the government. After ably serving two kings over the last fifty years, Newcastle had earned the grudgingly respect Cumberland gave him and the King's son sought the Treasury Secretary's advice beyond most others.

Still, Cumberland felt humiliation at his weakness and remained grateful at his ally's courtesy. Eight months removed from his grievous belly wound in Hanover, the Duke's constitution remained perilously weak. For months, the doctors labored mightily to restore Cumberland to health despite conventional doctrine that the resulting infection from such wounded almost always resulted in a painful death. Endless hours of leeches, bleeding and every conceivable home remedy the healers could imagine tortured the King's favorite son during those crucial first months. Against the odds, Cumberland managed to slap away the cold, grasping hands of death and recovered some of his former vigor. So grateful at his son's recovery, George II ordered every church bell in England rung in gratitude and rewarded the doctors lavishly. Privately, Cumberland wondered if the butchers hadn't done him more harm than good.

As Cumberland recovered from his injuries in the comfort of his London residence, his father often appeared at his bedside to bemoan the state of the war.

"My son," the aging King would complain as he held Cumberland's hand, "some days I cannot bear the endless news of failure in Europe or the Americas. Minorca has fallen, Gibraltar and Hanover are threatened, that damn Prussian's every victory is countered by a defeat along some other front, I can barely sleep at night."

Dutifully nodding and commiserating with his father, all the while wishing the old man would just leave him be, Cumberland managed to remain up to date on the status of the war. On the whole, it was not good. Massive quantities of British gold continued to be drained from the Treasury to sustain the mad Prussian King's lust for conquest. Not content with regaining Silesia from Austria, Frederick had managed to find himself at war with France, Russia and Sweden as well. Though Cumberland respected the German's martial abilities, even the Duke had been outraged when their ally effectively declared war on the whole of Europe without consulting his erstwhile allies and then demanded the British taxpayer support his bloodlust. Britain's German alliance, created by Newcastle to ensure the protection of Hanover, now put the Duchy in its greatest danger ever. Only massive British subsidies to Hanover, Hesse and a few other German principalities kept the House of Saxe-Coburg's ancestral home out of French hands (and kept the French generally off of Frederick's back as he battled Austria and Russia).

At least….partially….out of French hands. Word that Ferdinand of Brunswick had finally managed to escape to the coast of Germany with barely half his army…leaving most of Hanover as well as most of Brunswick, Lippe and Hesse occupied by the French….had been enough for the King to finally demand Pitt’s resignation.

The King demanded that his “recovering son” assume a leadership role “without portfolio” in the new government comprised of Newcastle, Fox and others. Pitt decried that it was not Britain’s populace or Parliament that ended his Ministry but the King himself. Not that that mattered.

Newcastle returned to the Treasury and Fox to the Commons where they acceded to the King’s demands to reinforce Ferdinand with dozens of British regiments, several earmarked to India or America. Loans were raised to alarming levels to maintain the fight.

As the rapidly spiraling expense of the continental European war threatened to bankrupt the country, the King nearly wept at the setbacks and stalemates Britain suffered throughout the rest of the world. The colonial armies in North America were humiliated time and again by the French and their savage allies. Trade with India had ground to a halt as native uprising coordinated with French encroachment in traditional British areas of control. Even the attempt to retake Minorca failed miserably, stalled before Gibraltar.

For months, Cumberland's recovery was interrupted by the King's litany of complaints. Finally, Cumberland's father broached the subject he'd been leading up to since the Duke's recovery was confirmed by his doctors.

"My son," the King began, "I fear my country is in dire peril. Pitt," he spoke the name venomously, "has managed to drive this nation to the edge of ruin. Newcastle assures me that, should I wish it, Pitt can be removed. However, I must have a suitable recommendation to take his place. I believe you are the man to take the reins."

Surprised, and more than a little repulsed as the Duke found common politics distasteful, Cumberland stuttered, "Father! That would…certainly be an honor but certainly a more experienced minister would be a superior selection. Why not Newcastle.."

Waiving the thought aside, the King replied, "Newcastle does not believe he can govern alone anymore. The opposition is too strong. He requires a strong leader to set policy though he will, of course, retain Treasury if a suitable candidate were offered for the Southern Secretary position."

Knowing the powerful politician was probably correct, Cumberland tried another tact, "Though I would dearly love to meet your every wish, father, I fear that my health.."

"Is recovering nicely, my son," interrupted the old King. "Why, your doctors informed me this morning that your color had nearly returned. And I've not seen you so fit in years."

Outwardly, this was true. Faithful to the Hanoverian King's bloodline, the Duke had once been as fat and indolent as his father. However, his wounds had taken Cumberland off his food and the skin that once housed a corpulent frame drooped down from the Duke's arms in rolls. With the constitutional his doctors prescribed every morning, the Duke's energy had risen substantially with the exception of those times that his miserly meals didn't manage to stay down. Even his gout had retreated to a minor irritant.

All this led the King to speculate that his favorite son had recovered sufficiently to take command of the government in late 1757. Naturally, the Duke was shrewd enough to understand why. Upon Newcastle's resignation, the Government fell to the much-loathed William Pitt. Always an irritant that skirted the bounds of sedition in his speeches condemning Newcastle (& King preferred) government, George II found the man absolutely intolerable while in power. A great thinker and speechmaker, even Cumberland found items to admire in Pitt's policies, the "Great Commoner" was nearly useless in the actual daily process of government. Finding the day-to-day requirements of managing the Treasury and distributing patronage beneath him, Pitt had allowed his Ministry to devolve into chaos. Despite his popularity with the masses, Pitt refused to accept that he should make even the basest attempt to collaborate with those that held the mechanisms of power in Parliament. His majority non-existent, the Great Commoner's ministry was too weak to survive without the King's support. Most damning, Pitt was a favorite of the Prince of Wales, nephew to Cumberland and utterly reviled by his grandfather, George II.

The King demanded a change and the Duke of Cumberland knew his duty. Despite preferring the military to the morally questionable realm of politics, Cumberland roused himself from his bed to kiss the King's ring while Pitt retreated to the backbenches.

Now, a half-year later, Cumberland wished the bastard still governed as the strain of Government weighed heavy upon the King's favorite son. His frail constitution continued to weaken to the point that even the mildest of victuals inevitably failed to digest. On more than one occasion, the Duke vomited his breakfast as his embarrassed subordinates looked on. Once recovering so well, the Hero of Culloden weakened measurably during the past ten months. He feared that, barring a sudden and unexpected recovery, the strains of government would finish what that French sharpshooter began.

Not that the Duke's task had been Herculean. In fact, government proceeded relatively smoothly by the standards of a nation at war. With Newcastle, Fox and a few other favorites by his side, the Ministry was strong enough to control parliament (despite the ever-present opposition of William Pitt, Grenville, Temple and, of course, the Prince of Wales’ Leicaster faction). The war could go on according to the King's preference.

Hanover, and by extension Prussia, would continue to be subsidized in the face of Pitt's criticism. Having repudiated Prince Ferdinand’s surrender of so much of Hanover, much of the losses were reversed in stunning fashion. Rather than concentrate on expelling the remaining half of the Army of Hanover from the continent (Cumberland had been pleased to find that the extent of the army’s losses under Ferdinand were slightly exaggerated), the French instead marched east against Frederick who promptly defeated them in a brilliant encounter. It appeared that Prussian’s luck still held.

The fortune of war in North America turned for the better as well. The humiliating defeat at Fort William Henry was overturned as Loudoun ordered the stronghold swiftly rebuilt without the slightest French opposition. The expedition which General Loudoun had so painstakingly prepared proved the most important campaign in that theater’s war – the invasion of Louisburg. Shortly after Pitt’s fall from grace, the news of the tremendous victory reached London. Naturally, Cumberland’s administration took full credit despite his own lack of input in its preparation. The fact that the city had actually fallen to Charles Hay, who initiated the invasion without approval from his commander, meant little to Cumberland. A victory was a victory. When the stalwart Hay arrived in London in chains, the Duke had him quietly released and issued a discreet memo to Lord Loudoun informing him that no court martial would be required. With that vital city taken, the remainder of New France could be strangled at will. Sadly, he’d been forced to inform Loudoun of the reduction of his subsidy shortly thereafter. A poor commendation, to Cumberland’s mind, to a soldier who had performed…if not ably…then at least loyally. Cumberland also informed the Earl that he need not fear recall.

Best of all, France reacted (or failed to react) with bizarre indifference as the Army of Hanover steadily rebuilt itself into a capable military force. With the bulk of the French army out of position in Prussia, the Army of Hanover burst out of their containing shell and regained some of Hanover’s original territory during late 1857 and early 1858. Lord George Sackville, Cumberland’s handpicked successor to himself (Cumberland didn’t bother to acknowledge the failed Ferdinand command), performed wonders as the superior French force under Richelieu retreated in confusion. Frederick commenced the year battling on only three fronts instead of four. The only drawback from that miracle was the increased resistance in parliament regarding the ten thousand redcoats Cumberland had been forced to dispatch to support the Germans.

Naturally Pitt led the opposition. Cumberland privately wondered if the arrogant parliamentarian truly believed that his constant and public scorn of the administration would endear him to the King he’d failed so miserably. Never popular at court for the constant agitating and endless mocking of the King's policies, Pitt's derision towards the King's favorite son truly ensured the man's permanent exclusion from power.

However, Cumberland's illusion of control vanished as more ill-tidings arrived from the continent. Despite the victories against the French, the King of Prussia remained in dire straits as he dueled with Austria, Sweden and Russia. Frederick’s potential fall before 1758’s winter put a distinct damper on the recent flood of good news. Without Prussia, Hanover may again find itself in mortal danger.

Even India remained a quagmire as neither France nor Great Britain could part with enough resources to make inroads against the other. If anything, both lost ground to increasingly intransigent and independent Indian kingdoms whom were swiftly reconsidering their alliances with the European empires. Between piracy and privateering, the valuable trade with the subcontinent continued to diminish.

Perhaps worst of all, the Duke of Newcastle's urgent warnings regarding the escalating cost of the war snapped the London credit market to the breaking point. For the first time in memory, the British government failed to raise enough funds to meet the annual budget that Newcastle forced through Parliament. The previous year, only days after ascending to office, Cumberland overturned Pitt's previous vow to reimburse the provincials for any expenses they incurred during the war. From his sickbed, Cumberland had been appalled and vowed to make rectifying that mistake his first order of business.

The colonial resistance needed to end. As the property of Great Britain, they would pay whatever taxes they are told to pay and the Duke declined to entertain dissenting opinions on the subject (not that there were overly many in Britain). Listening to Parliament whine about every pence was bad enough, he certainly had no intention of taking it from provincials. Fortunately, Pitt had, for once, selected a superior soldier to a position of command. Lord Loudoun, the Duke was certain, would bring the colonials into line if given the proper authority. Without delay, Cumberland promised Loudoun nearly Viceroy-like powers over both military and political matters in the colonies. Since Loudoun could now tax what he pleased, Cumberland reasoned, the soldier no longer needed such massive subsidies. The Duke, much to the Treasury Secretary's eternal gratitude, cut North America's subsidy to the bone. In fact, that nearly brought the monstrous British budget to the point that sufficient funds could be borrowed in order to meet expenditures.

Cumberland naturally thought he'd heard the end of the North American problem. Unfortunately, the latest reports from Loudoun shocked the Southern Secretary to the core. Rather than submit to their superiors, the colonials were actually resisting the demands of the lawfully appointed Supreme Commander along the entire length of the continent's eastern seaboard. Simple demands for raising soldiers were ignored or, on occasion, violently opposed. For a time, Cumberland wondered if Loudoun, despite the man’s successes on the battlefield, wasn't up to the task of driving the French from North America once and for all. Hoping to gain a deeper grasp on the situation, Cumberland requested council from colonial experts and learned that such obstructionist behavior was rife throughout the history of the colonies.

Well, the Duke thought, we shall put this straight. I will not have Britain's war effort hampered by such nonsense. British citizens will comply or face the consequences.

Cumberland toyed with the idea of calling his ministers back early from their tea. Instead, he pulled out a parchment proceeded to pen a note to Loudoun. He would make expressly clear that the reduction in the subsidy would be permanent. Britain could not spare further funds or troops for the North American backwater (regardless of what Pitt thought of the land). The General would be left to his own devices but granted even greater power to tax and impress to whatever extent the Supreme Commander deems necessary.

Carefully rereading his orders, Cumberland wondered if he should consult with Parliament before issuing such a grand statement. Technically, no tax could be levied upon British citizens without Parliament's consent. In the end, however, the Duke declined to bother.

Why would parliament object to taxing colonials? He mused. After all, they aren’t Englishmen!

 

[Alt History Buff]

1758 – August

Savannah

Against every expectation, the Crown had actually sent a full battalion of regulars, 800 men, to reinforce the 600 Colonial Regulars of the Georgia Regiment, all to be placed under Oglethorpe’s command. Given the cries of poverty emerging from London these days, President Oglethorpe would swiftly write the Duke of Cumberland a word of thanks.

Perhaps the man has finally forgiven me?

Shortly thereafter, the President would receive word that his “expedition to New Orleans” had been approved and that he should utilize all resources in Georgia for that goal. A small squadron of Royal Navy warships and transports would swiftly arrive.

Initially, Oglethorpe was elated…until he realized that this would denude Georgia of virtually ALL her defenders. Should native Indians, Spanish Floridians and even South Carolinians invade….the Colony would be helpless.

However, Oglethorpe clung to his hopes of political rebirth and hastily prepared for the invasion of New Orleans….a place he had never been nor knew anything about.

1758 – September

Minden

After months of recovery and stability in London, the Duke of Cumberland would be beseeched by the King to resume command of the Army of Han over. Tired of acting as political head of the dithering ninnies of his government, Cumberland agreed to his father’s demands.

Lord George Sackville, commander of the King’s cavalry and of the overall Army as it broke out from the coast, would gracefully concede command back to Cumberland. Perhaps overconfident after his army of 35,000 British and German troops had pressed against the weakened French army in the Rhineland, would approach the small local town of Minden in hopes of retaking much of Hanover as well as Hesse, Brunswick and Lippe.

However, the French, following their defeat to Frederick earlier that summer, had once again consolidated their forces. Cumberland would blunder directly into them at Minden.

Within hours, the Duke was realize his army’s distress and called for Germain’s cavalry to cover his retreat. However, as the French cavalry had engaged much of Germain’s forces, the soldier could not respond immediately. There had also been a miscommunication as several sets of orders had been dispatched with contradictory commands.

At Minden, the Anglo-German forces were crushed, suffering 5000 casualties and nearly 7000 captured. Germain’s cavalry were barely engaged.

Almost as badly, two-thirds of the Army of Hanover’s supply train and three-quarters its artillery were captured. The Duke himself only barely escaped, the bulk of the army fleeing back northwards for the Elbe….Germain’s cavalry at the fore. Another 6000 British and Germans would suffer capture (or desertion) on the flight north.

Upon crossing the river, the Duke ordered Germain arrested and sent home to Britain in chains for court martial. He had just written a scathing letter condemning the man’s incompetence and cowardice when Cumberland collapsed completely.

By October, only the slightest sliver of Hanover remained in King George’s possession, only protected by the Royal Navy. Hesse, Brunswick, Lippe and the scattered western Duchies of the King of Prussia (Cleves, etc) were under French occupation.

 

[Alt History Buff]

1758 – August

New York

The extended journey from Hartford did little to ease the Earl of Loudoun's sulfurous mood. Absurdly, the treasonous "delegates" meeting in the pathetic colonial capital had stared directly into the eyes of their better, the King's chosen commander on these shores, and summarily rejected his rightful demands out of hand. Several of the more insolent assemblymen actually dared to lecture a Scottish peer upon the their rights as Britons, as if any justification excused the subversion of the King's rightful authority.

The provincial scum would pay. Oh, dear god, how they would pay! Loudoun determined to spend the his first morning in the comfortable confines of New York writing to his superiors, expressly recounting the seditious nonsense spouted by the self-proclaimed patriots in the name of "natural English rights". With fortune, the charters of these subversive colonial legislatures whom undermined the King's prerogative might be wholly withdrawn, forever more governed by Royally appointed governors, military men who new how to deal with recalcitrant children.

The bastards of Britain would remember whom they existed to serve.

The final few miles of his travels, largely silent as his aides cowered before His Lordship's anger, perked up the Scot's morale considerably as he envisioned his revenge. The ferryman's crossing of the East River was indeed nearly pleasant. Even the weather seemed to relent against the beleaguered General as the frigid March breeze dropped swiftly, allowing the aging soldier to free his top few buttons of his heavy winter coat. The hour of was late, his haggard mount clearly exhausted from its journey, when the prosperous farms slowly melted into town, then into the "city" of New York. Dodging the carriage ruts and accumulated filth the local residents cast into the streets, Loudoun dismissed his staff to seek their own lodgings (with an express command to arrive early on the morning) and turned towards a line of fine townhomes surrounding his rented mansion.

As the Commander in Chief, resplendent in his costly garb, rode past the dozens of passersby yet to seek their own hearths, the local residents failed to tip their caps or offer any expression of respect to the man detailed to safeguard their livers. Oddly, a few even pointed and laughed at the soldier. Loudoun nearly spurred his mount back to demand an explanation. However, the journey had been extended and putting a few impertinent lowborns in their place seemed of secondary importance. The narrow lane opened momentarily into a small square, forcing a complaining rumble from the Scot's stomach. His servant knew well enough their master's schedule and would undoubtedly have supper on the table within the hour.

So intent upon his supper that Loudoun had nearly traversed the square before noticing a recent addition, a life-sized statue adorning a two-foot pedestal in the direct center. Pulling up the reins, the General ignored his horse's complaints at the postponement of its own long-delayed evening meal and turned back past the few remainder vender's stalls and carts placed haphazardly about. Cursing his failing eyesight, Loudoun approached the monument, baffled not only at its existence but its placement. Most statues tended to gaze northward or southward, or sometimes towards the finest structure the square offered. This one appeared deliberately askew, ignoring the cardinal directions and directly facing Loudoun's rented lodgings at the corner of the little plaza . The aging Scot suspected he could spy the effigy from his bedroom window.

Approaching the marble icon, Loudoun critically noted the apparent lack of skill on the part of the artisan, a local, no doubt, given the poor quality of artistry. Even the most common British sculptor could have done immeasurably better than the clumsy attempt to capture human features. Intent on his condemnation of the work, Loudoun's eyes almost absentmindedly perused the legend:

Dedication to Lord Charles Hay

Hero of the Colonies and Conqueror of Louisburg.

Courageous in Battle where Lesser Men Fled in Cowardice.​

 

[Kloka]

1758 – August

New York

The extended journey from Hartford did little to ease the Earl of Loudoun's sulfurous mood. Absurdly, the treasonous "delegates" meeting in the pathetic colonial capital had stared directly into the eyes of their better, the King's chosen commander on these shores, and summarily rejected his rightful demands out of hand. Several of the more insolent assemblymen actually dared to lecture a Scottish peer upon the their rights as Britons, as if any justification excused the subversion of the King's rightful authority.

The provincial scum would pay. Oh, dear god, how they would pay! Loudoun determined to spend the his first morning in the comfortable confines of New York writing to his superiors, expressly recounting the seditious nonsense spouted by the self-proclaimed patriots in the name of "natural English rights". With fortune, the charters of these subversive colonial legislatures whom undermined the King's prerogative might be wholly withdrawn, forever more governed by Royally appointed governors, military men who new how to deal with recalcitrant children.

The bastards of Britain would remember whom they existed to serve.

The final few miles of his travels, largely silent as his aides cowered before His Lordship's anger, perked up the Scot's morale considerably as he envisioned his revenge. The ferryman's crossing of the East River was indeed nearly pleasant. Even the weather seemed to relent against the beleaguered General as the frigid March breeze dropped swiftly, allowing the aging soldier to free his top few buttons of his heavy winter coat. The hour of was late, his haggard mount clearly exhausted from its journey, when the prosperous farms slowly melted into town, then into the "city" of New York. Dodging the carriage ruts and accumulated filth the local residents cast into the streets, Loudoun dismissed his staff to seek their own lodgings (with an express command to arrive early on the morning) and turned towards a line of fine townhomes surrounding his rented mansion.

As the Commander in Chief, resplendent in his costly garb, rode past the dozens of passersby yet to seek their own hearths, the local residents failed to tip their caps or offer any expression of respect to the man detailed to safeguard their livers. Oddly, a few even pointed and laughed at the soldier. Loudoun nearly spurred his mount back to demand an explanation. However, the journey had been extended and putting a few impertinent lowborns in their place seemed of secondary importance. The narrow lane opened momentarily into a small square, forcing a complaining rumble from the Scot's stomach. His servant knew well enough their master's schedule and would undoubtedly have supper on the table within the hour.

So intent upon his supper that Loudoun had nearly traversed the square before noticing a recent addition, a life-sized statue adorning a two-foot pedestal in the direct center. Pulling up the reins, the General ignored his horse's complaints at the postponement of its own long-delayed evening meal and turned back past the few remainder vender's stalls and carts placed haphazardly about. Cursing his failing eyesight, Loudoun approached the monument, baffled not only at its existence but its placement. Most statues tended to gaze northward or southward, or sometimes towards the finest structure the square offered. This one appeared deliberately askew, ignoring the cardinal directions and directly facing Loudoun's rented lodgings at the corner of the little plaza . The aging Scot suspected he could spy the effigy from his bedroom window.

Approaching the marble icon, Loudoun critically noted the apparent lack of skill on the part of the artisan, a local, no doubt, given the poor quality of artistry. Even the most common British sculptor could have done immeasurably better than the clumsy attempt to capture human features. Intent on his condemnation of the work, Loudoun's eyes almost absentmindedly perused the legend:

Dedication to Lord Charles Hay

Hero of the Colonies and Conqueror of Louisburg.

Courageous in Battle where Lesser Men Fled in Cowardice.​

Eh,screw Loudoun. Hay will be singing in heaven while he lies howling in hell 😀

 

[Alt History Buff]

November 1758

Boston

Irate beyond description, General Loudoun shuddered with rage as the assemblyman formally read the Massachusetts Legislature's official reply to his extensive list of demands. In the dull monotone the Scot had come to expect from colonials, the speaker had dedicated about thirty seconds to politely say no to even the most benign of Loudoun's requirements (always in the most respectful of terms, if treason could ever truly be respectful) and the ensuing ten minutes offering an endless list of perceived grievances towards Loudoun himself and Great Britain in general. In the background of the modest Boston townhall, the speaker's (whose name Loudoun couldn't recall or perhaps never bothered to learn) allies sat or stood in false ease while the verbal harangue of His Majesty's Supreme Commander in North America continued apace.

Since Loudoun's privileged boyhood, the aristocrat's peerage was guaranteed both by bloodline and aptitude. Loudoun took great pains to delve the mysteries of the political process despite the nature aversion to such matters common to trained soldiers. His ability to navigate the murky waters of Parliament was a prime reason for his commission in North America. However, the vain and petty powerbrokers in Westminster held nothing on the byzantine workings of the mind of the most pliable colonial hack. For reasons beyond the General's comprehension, the North Americans at the elite (relatively speaking, of course) of the power pyramid were every bit as intransigent and obstructive as those at the bottom. In Britain, at least the ruling class could be counted upon to close ranks when their own interests were at heart. Here…..

Pledging inwardly to end the absurd notion that his requisitions were negotiable, Loudoun interrupted the colonial spokesman's dry monologue in his most commanding voice, "Gentlemen, I fear that I've heard enough. For over a year, I've appealed to your patriotism, you sense of duty and your loyalty to the King. At each turn, you've thwarted my own efforts to enact our common sovereign’s will. Even now my army sits at the gates of New France, only awaiting the modest provisions I've requested. But I see that such exhortations mean nothing to the….honor….of this assembly."

It was impossible not to notice the nervous glances being exchanged by the Massachusetts legislators. A few of the loyalists, selected to the assembly by the governor, nodded in agreement but Loudoun was disturbed that even most of the handpicked representatives of the court party seemed disturbed by his accusations. For his part, Governor Pownell, such a terrible disappointment to Loudoun, closed his eyes in the anticipation of what he knew must be forthcoming from the Supreme Commander.

Though the lack of support concerned Loudoun slightly, he was confident in his cause as the General concluded, "As the Colony of Massachusetts does not seem inclined to offer the slightest succor for the brave British soldiers whom toil and bleed for your freedom, I have been granted special dispensation to formally close this institution and govern this colony directly with the aid selected representatives."

In the pandemonium that ensued, Loudoun didn't bother looking at Pownell as the man's endless concessions and conciliary policy of pandering to a few narrow-minded interest groups in Boston had destroyed the spineless coward's future prospects in colonial government. Fortunately, a few members of the court party could govern in Loudoun's place while he campaigned in New France. Thomas Hutchinson had proven somewhat reliable although even he paled at the Scot's words. Throughout the hall, sporadic applause clashed with cries of indignation and outrage.

Strangely, only one individual in the assembly refrained from shouting or gesticulating wildly. For that reason alone, Loudoun concentrated his full attention on the fellow. Young relative to his peers and a bit stout, the assemblyman had been among a group that Hutchinson and Pownell pointed out as recently elected country party members. A queer smile seemed to threaten the corner of his unprepossessing (well, truly ugly, really) face as the young man matched Loudoun's inquisitive gaze without flinching.

Presently, Pownell managed to quiet the din of outrage and colonial pretentiousness that emanated through the building's rafters. Were Loudoun to be honest with himself, slapping down the upstart colonials was among the most fulfilling actions he'd initiated since accepting the North American commission. To any query, he'd simply state that wrestling in the mud with inferiors to be beneath his station. In fact, the Scot struggled to hide his glee at putting the provincials in their place and deeply felt an abiding sense of satisfaction.

Waving aside the protests as well as Pownell's whispered urgings to negotiate, Loudoun simply turned on his heel and stalked out of the assembly hall. The General was certain that in a few days, perhaps hours, the colonials would come hat in hand prepared to yield to any demand the General could think of. That was the way of politicians. Bereft of positions of power, their hard-won social status crumbled shortly thereafter. Stripped of the power of patronage, the relatives and friends of influential assemblymen could no longer hope to receive lucrative posts as tax collectors and the like. Now, Loudoun would use those resources to secure loyal servants to the crown, ones obedient to the needs of the King.

Yes, Loudoun thought, as he stomped back to his quarters. Let the provincials come begging if they like. But this time, this time, he would not allow the backsliding assemblymen back to their posts. Taxes will be determined by the Supreme Commander himself and the collectors will deposit them directly into the royal army coffers. There will be no more opposition to British Army (the only real Army in North America, the Scot sniffed) recruitment in the colonies.

Through the act of Parliament and Loudoun's iron determination, order will be reestablished in short order to British North America. And once his forces were properly provisioned, British North America would be the only North America.

Loudoun fervently concluded, God save the King.