Columbia's Children, an Alternate America

[Alt History Buff]

Hello all,

I've created a number of TL's over the past few years (the Quasi-war, How a bunch of fat guys falling off of horses ruined the British Empire, the Odyssey of Fritz, Albion's orphan, etc). Most of these timelines were created with the intent of vetting ideas I'd incorporated in a series of novels I'd written earlier in the decade by soliciting feedback on this forum. These books reflect (if you've read my timelines, you would not be surprised) a POD around the 7 Years War where life took a different turn. Some of my favorite characters like George Washington, Ben Franklin, Aaron Burr, John Wilkes, Robert Clive and Benedict Arnold were incorporated in my TL's as well as my novels.

Thing is, obsessively creating new threads on this site severely pushed off my longtime dream of publishing my own series of novels. I've recently decided to concentrate upon cleaning up my novels and maybe someday privately publishing them.

Looking back, I am a bit taken aback as to how bad some of my spelling, grammer, etc was on these first creative attempts (I'm neither an English major nor a creative writing major) a decade ago. Also, I've noticed a tendency that a reader could browse entire chapters without any hints that these conversations and events were happening hundreds of years ago. Little by little, I've sought to create a period feel in language and descriptions. Still not all the way there but I've come closer from my earliest attempts at creativity to where I want to be.

I've decided the only real way to get these right are to post them.

Most of my TL's on this site are written from a documentary perspective. These books are honest to god novels which I wrote covering a period from the 7 Years War (1755) to the beginning of WWII (in a very different world).

These include 1 novel for my Alternate 7 Years War, 4 novels for an Alternate American Revolutionary War, then more novels covering the War of 1812, American Civil War, WWI and WWII eras.

As this is "Alternate" History with a capital "A" naturally all events were different. I've utilized a combination of historical figures through the years (Washington, Clive, Burr, Lincoln, Davis, Roosevelt, etc) and purposely created characters to represent the "man on the ground" in these novels.

I drew inspiration from Harry Turtledove, Harry Harrison and other Alt History Novelists.

Given that my novels (even with some gaps that I never filled in) combine for thousands of pages, if you want to follow along, it will prove a long process. I'll be updating and correcting my initial documentation as I go along. In some cases, correcting a bad chapter takes longer than just rewriting it. I imagine I'll break my own record of the Quasi-War series as to how long I'll be adding new chapters.

I invite you to make any comments on writing style, grammar/spelling, historical accuracy, etc as I'd like to improve as I go along.

As I write this, I just realized that I never actually came up with a name for these novels. Therefore, I'll call it "Columbia's Children: An alternate America."

 

[Alt History Buff]

May 1755


The young aide-de-camp winced as, yet again, a bundle of documents flew off the side of the cart into the grasping mud. The driver squawked something inarticulate at the suddenly panicked horses as he tried to rein them in. For the third time that morning, the jarring force of the cart striking a pit or root in the road dislodged a wheel. Despite the best efforts of the regimental carpenters, the wagons were collapsing under the strain of travel through this damnable backcountry. Even now he could hear colonial laborers at the fore of the column hacking through the forest in attempt to widen the road enough to make it suitable for anything beyond a savage’s hunting trail.


With regret, the tall, gangly Lieutenant (an honorary commission granted by his commander for the campaign) slid off his horse and knelt in the mud to retrieve the precious documents. This particular bundle contained most of the maps to this portion of the Pennsylvania. As General Braddock’s aide-de-camp, “honorary” Lieutenant George Washington of the colony of Virginia had been delegated the responsibility of maintaining the General’s documents and correspondence. Seeing the generally poor state of the transportation, Washington opted to stay close to the supply column to ensure the safety of the General’s belongings. General Braddock was a somewhat fussy and uncompromising man but had treated Washington fairly. The Virginian was determined that the General not regret the decision to add Washington to his staff.


With a mild grunt of annoyance, Washington found brackish water seeping into the lining, probably despoiling the papers within. Looking up, he saw that the wagon’s driver calming the horses enough to drag the now one-wheeled wagon to a small clearing by the side of the road. The Lieutenant of a passing company of North Carolina infantry was ordering his men to help pack the fallen provisions back onto or near the cart. Glancing toward the rear, the Virginian witnessed ever-greater numbers of wagons struggling along the primitive path as the mules, draft-horses and oxen unenthusiastically plodded forward. Fortunately, the small army was in a relatively sparsely forested portion of the Ohio country. But Washington knew that soon the region’s impenetrable woodlands would close up upon them again.


Motioning to the drivers of several of the oncoming wagons, Washington organized the transfer of the army’s critical documents to several other wagons and got the convoy moving again. Fortunately, the army was deep enough into the campaign that much of the food supplies had already been consumed and some space was still available in the wagons. Less auspiciously, the treacherous terrain had taken an enormous toll on the men, horses, and equipment of Braddock’s army. The horses were dying at an appalling rate under the strain of dragging heavy carts through the forest. As such, Braddock had been forced to order more and more of the provisions to be carried by the men themselves. It was generally a bad idea to allow the common soldiers to carry their own victuals lest they be tempted to consume the rations themselves at an unsustainable rate. Further, the men were called upon to carry the flints, powder, and shot of the force as well. Increasing numbers of men were falling ill under the weight of their heavy packs under the scorching May sun blanketing the Pennsylvania backcountry,


Clambering back upon his horse, Washington determined to discuss with General Braddock how best to transport the army in this terrain. Certainly no one could dispute Washington’s superior knowledge on the subject. Only a year prior, the young colonial had led the campaign to eject the French from this very region. Despite the territory having been ceded by France by treaty at the end of the last French-British war, the French government in Canada had built several strategically located fortifications on King George’s land and continued to incite the natives against the few British settlers slowly trickling inland from the coastal regions of British North America. From New York down to Georgia, the provincial governments proved incapable of expelling the French intruders or bringing the Indian tribes to task via negotiation or force.


Two years prior, at the behest of the Virginia House of Burgesses, Washington volunteered to travel to the key French military base in Western Pennsylvania near the Virginia border, Ft. Duquesne, and entreat its commander to abandon the King’s territory….else face the repercussions. While treated politely by the French Colonel, Washington was refused.


The Virginian did, however, make good use of his time in the fort and along adjacent trails by carefully noting the strength of Duquesne’s walls, artillery and defenders. Upon his return to the House of Burgesses, Washington volunteered to lead an expedition of Virginia provincial soldiers to expel the French intruders. Commissioned a Colonel in the Virginia Militia in 1754, Washington led four hundred men along the old Indian game trail leading back to Ft. Duquesne, making improvements all along the way for future westward migration.


For all his efforts, Washington underestimated the travails of committing an entire army to the task. Even if he had been adequately supplied by the Legislature, which he most certainly had not, cutting through the western trail proved brutal. As such, only Washington’s constant encouragement kept the poorly paid and trained army moving forward. Like Washington, many of the officers held a large financial stake in removing the French. Investments in various land speculation schemes through the Ohio Company – usually procuring vast western acreages and then reselling them for a profit to settlers - utterly depended on King George II’s servants actually controlling the region. Indeed, many of the common soldiers enlisted solely on the promise of free land near Ft. Duquesne once the territory fell back into British hands. Certainly, the paltry pay offered by the colony provided little enticement to volunteer. Even by colonial standards, Virginia’s House of Burgesses was notoriously parsimonious.


That expedition, however, turned into a disaster. Before even reaching the intended destination, Washington encountered a much larger force of French regulars, Canadian militia and assorted Indian allies, obligating him into a swift retreat to Ft. Necessity, the shabby, poorly positioned British strongpoint in the west. After a siege of less than twenty-four hours and heavy casualties, Washington admitted defeat and grudgingly surrendered to the French. Most of his Virginian compatriots in the trenches could not return fire due to wet powder amid the day’s heavy rainfall. From their tree-covered vantage points in the hills above the fort, the French and their allies kept up a constant bombardment. While the French commander graciously offered Washington honors and allowed his expedition a safe return to Virginia after the surrender the Fort Necessity, Washington still took the defeat as an affront to his pride and a personal humiliation.


When the new supreme commander of British military forces in North America arrived with two European regiments to deal with the matter, Washington swiftly tendered his services to the General as a “Gentleman Volunteer”, an offer which was quickly accepted. While Washington received no pay or carried an official rank beyond the courtesy title of “Lieutenant”, he continued to work diligently in hopes that General Braddock would reward his service with a commission in the British Army, something Washington sought his entire adult life. A noted anglophile, the Virginia planter expended vast amounts of coin purchasing his clothes from London tailors to ensure he donned the latest British fashions. Even the crimson uniform he now donned had been tailored in London to replicate the breathtaking image of the regular army uniform. With a successful conclusion to this campaign, Washington confidently expected his desire for a commission to be fulfilled.


At last reasonably confident that the baggage was secure, Washington galloped his magnificent Virginia charger forward, dodging the occasional low-hanging branch threatening to decapitate him, until he approached his commanding officer to report the status of the supply train. He found General Braddock supervising the disposition of the flanking columns in the forest adjacent the trail. While still some twenty miles from Ft. Duquesne, Braddock was taking no chances. Noticing his young aide approach, Braddock called him over, “Lieutenant, good, I’ve been wanting to speak with you.”


Braddock was a stout, fussy-looking Scot with a sharp chin and long nose. Unlike Washington, whom merely powdered his brown hair, the General preferred to wear a full wig even on campaign. The Virginian imagined it must be rather hot in the unforgiving heat of summer. As the man no doubt spent much of his life in London, he did not speak with the heavy Scottish brogue of the many North Britons whom had settled in Virginia over the decades. He carried himself with typical English self-assurance which some may refer to as arrogance.


Washington sidled up to the officer and replied evenly, attempting to quell his palpable excitement, “What can I do for you, sir?”


With a wave of his hand which the General presumed said it all, Braddock complained, “It’s this damnably dense canopy! Marching the army through it has taken far longer than expected. If we are forced to siege Ft. Duquesne, I am not certain that our supplies will hold out long enough. Will there be a suitable clearing at which we can attempt to entice the enemy out of their fortress?”


Patiently, Washington reminded the General, “No sir, this entire region remains virtually uninhabited by settlers. Many of the Indian tribes prefer hunting to farming and thus few fields have been cleared. Also, I’m not entirely certain that the French would be willing to engage our forces in drawn lines even if given the opportunity. Previously, their preferred method of warfare has been to have their Indian allies attack and massacre isolated settlements, thus driving off His Majesty’s subjects providing critical provisions to passing British forces. Therefore, all Virginian…er…British colonial campaigns have been forced to carry vast amounts of victuals great distances through this dastardly primeval forest prior to any assault commencing. With the Indian mastery of ambush warfare, they have been quite successful in cutting off these supply lines. Distance and our inability to resupply have always been the greatest allies of the French.”


Braddock considered this for a moment while gazing through the trees in hopes of spotting his flanking parties. “Well, our flankers seem to be dealing with the raiding problem. We’ve scarcely seen a native throughout our march. Perhaps they find the courage to attack isolated backwoods squatters but European professionals are plainly beyond them. I don’t expect any problems with the savages. Why, according to our rangers, they don’t even believe the Indians will remain in Ft. Duquesne if we besiege it!” This last was uttered with obvious disgust at the native’s lack of valor.


Washington nodded, readily agreeing with his commander’s assessment, “Yes, sir. Upon my own marches, I was appalled at the lack of disciple of my own Indians.” With a shiver, he recalled the death of the French emissary dispatched to negotiate a halt to Washington’s campaign to retake Ft. Duquesne in 1754. Washington had been politely receiving the man’s petition that the Virginians return to their colony when some of the savages whom Washington secured as guides opened fire and cut the Frenchman down. In the time it took then-Colonel Washington of the Virginia Militia to gather his wits, most of the French party were slaughtered…and scalped. While the House of Burgesses had not censured him for failing to control his “subordinates”, Washington considered the incident an ugly stain upon his honor for failing to protect a man under the flag of truce. He would never trust an Indian again.


Washington withdrew from his memories to hear Braddock continue, “Perhaps it’s for the best that so few chose to join the expedition. I have no stomach for men who will not obey orders and only fight when and where they choose. Moreover, it is most galling they expect gifts simply for arriving! We certainly don’t need them given our obvious numerically superiority. Provided we can maintain the siege, the fort will be our prize.”


Glancing at the rows of men in the lead column trudging through the muddy trail carved from the wilderness, Braddock added self-confidently, obvious proud of his regulars, “Even better, we have superior quality. The 44th and 48th Irish regiments consist entirely of professionals. They won’t fold under pressure like the mere colonials the French will be forced to rely on.”


As Braddock’s attention focused on the trudging ranks, he missed seeing the younger man stiffen at the direct belittlement of colonial troops, such as the ones Washington had commanded the previous year. A favorite of the powerful Duke of Cumberland, second son of the King and Commanding General of British Forces, Braddock possessed little field experience but proved politically loyal to his sponsor over the years and energetically followed through upon his orders. However, throughout the campaign, the General continued to act as if he were in command of an army marching upon the well-established roads of sedate southern England. Braddock, and more importantly, Braddock’s superiors in London, planned the campaign by gazing upon maps, not expending a moment to consider that travelling well-organized roads in Europe will do little to prepare you for the riggers of a North American march.


However, Washington had to grant the point that the European regiments maintained a decided quality advantage over the colonials that went beyond finer uniforms. In contrast to the fierce discipline and training by which the British Army honed their troops into the best soldiers on Earth, the ragtag mob of colonials from the New York, Pennsylvania, Virginia and North Carolina companies could not possibly be compared favorably. Surely Braddock considered that when he chose the 44th and 48th regiments to lead the advance while the colonials toiled to drag forward the ponderous supply train and labored to widen and improve the trail. Washington would likely have elected to do the same in his place.


Either way, the Virginia aristocrat was certain that the campaign would prove successful. With the Ohio Country firmly in British hands, Virginia could pacify or eject the natives and settle the fertile area with British pioneers. Great Britain would undoubtedly require the land to be fortified with troops under local command. Both Washington’s martial and economic ambitions may be accomplished by this expedition.


Riding along the side of the column now, Braddock stopped now and then to encourage and make inquiries of various officers along the line. Washington noticed that Braddock rarely even acknowledged the Irish solders bearing their heavy burdens with such admirable stoicism. Washington’s painful experience in the militia required him spending a disproportionate amount of his time attempting to keep the poorly paid drunks and vagrants the Burgesses impressed into the 1st Virginia Regiment from deserting at their leisure. Fortunately, with the renowned British discipline, this wasn’t a problem with regulars. Once again, Washington silently regretted his failure to obtain a British commission.


Upon reaching the front of the column, Braddock turned to the young man and inquired, “At our rate of advance, when can we expect to reach Ft. Duquesne?”

“Two days, sir. Perhaps three as we will need to move through denser forest once we cross the Monongahela River.” Washington replied.


Braddock simply nodded and said, “Very well, Lieutenant. In two days, the French will be but a memory in this part of the world.”

 

[Alt History Buff]

May, 1755


Boston


John Wilkes, not for the first time, cursed himself for his own lack of restraint. The scion of Israel Wilkes, a prosperous whisky-distiller, the remarkably ugly, cross-eyed John had the good fortune of a fine education at Hertford and Leiden, one which nearly bankrupted his beloved father. Brilliant, engaging and humorous, the younger Wilkes delighted in engaging English society. In 1747, Wilkes' natural charm managed to catch the eye of an heiress, Mary Meade. With her dowry, Wilkes could envision entering Parliament, his lifelong dream.

Unfortunately, a week prior to the wedding, Mary returned home to find Wilkes thrusting himself into one of her scullery maids. The Englishman attempted to blame the maid for seducing him but Ms. Meade (and her family) vowed a gruesome murder should Wilkes ever darken their door again. Outraged that his son had blown his best chance at joining the gentry, Israel Wilkes commanded the then twenty-two year old to sail for America as his agent in the colonies. Not particularly expecting his father's anger to sustain itself for long, Wilkes actually looked forward to the voyage and swiftly settled in as his father's factor in the colonies. Boston was a pleasant little town, full of pretty women and boisterous politics.

Though Wilkes knew he'd deeply offended his father, the first years of his exile were actually quite enjoyable. Unfortunately, the youth's gambling and spendthrift ways would place Wilkes deep into debt, forcing him to...alter...some of the company ledgers. An audit in 1750 revealed the extent of this and Israel Wilkes promptly severed ties with the boy whom had embezzled from his family firm. Left to his own devices, Wilkes was forced to....work...for a living as a barrister whom had never been called to the Bar, a tax-collector whom rarely actually collected taxes and, on a single notable occasion, a pastor whose sole sermon included a surprisingly high quantity of obscenities.


Good lord, Wilkes thought sullenly, having been dismissed from his most recent occupation as a clerk in a ropery, when will anything of interest happen in this dismal continent?


May 1755

The Monongahela


Lieutenant Washington desperately attempted to maintain control of the shrieking brown steed as the beast gave its level best to buck him off its back. Given the great quantities of blood spurting forth from the veins along the beautiful charger’s neck, Washington realized that his mount would soon breathe his last. Clenching the brindle for dear life, the young officer guided the sagging animal to the ground, narrowing avoiding being rolled under the massive weight. Gingerly, he pulled his feet out of the stirrups and released the distressed animal, quickly crawled away to avoid injury by its thrashing. For the second time that morning, a horse had been shot from beneath him. Washington looked up to view the dreadful conflagration around him.


The bulk of the 44th and 48th regiments were caught in the middle of the road in a terrible crossfire. Enemy fire cut through them from all directions. The British soldiers raced back and forth along the road desperately attempting to form ranks and strike back at their foes. However, there were no targets upon which to return fire as no opposing army presented itself for retaliation. The Indian and French forces lay along the hills surrounded the road, covered by the nearby trees enveloping the thick woods. Firing from cover into the ever-shrinking mass of redcoats and ducking back afterwards to safely reload, few of the enemy remained visible for any significant period. The British troops were virtually helpless as one after another succumbed to enemy shot. More disheartening were the terrible, shrill yells of the savages. Already feared by soldier and settler alike for their vicious lack of mercy for prisoners, the screams the Indians produced evoked in comparison only those that must arise from the gates of hell. As British soldier and beast fell side by side along the road, their cries combined with the savages to form a hideous symphony of death.


Stumbling to his feet, Washington realized that the dreams of martial glory held so dearly to his heart that very morning were turning to ash before his eyes. After summons to attend Braddock’s Council of War that morning with the senior officers, Washington had been discussing the best location to camp the expedition that evening when a breathless Corporal rode up the command tent with news that the lead elements of the 44th had stumbled upon a French force of undetermined size along the road. Braddock swiftly ordered his provincial officers to prepare their respective commands to reinforce and then galloped forward with Washington and the remainder of his staff in quick pursuit. Arriving at the front of the column, Braddock was satisfied to see that the lead company had formed ranks opposite a hundred or so French regulars or militia at a distance of one hundred and twenty yards. The modest clearing at this particular segment of road did not allow any superior numbers. The following columns had lined up in ranks three men deep in support of their comrades in arms. Neither side marched forward as of yet nor opened fire, save a few errant shots being fired in the background by the skirmishers. Taking his place at the side of the lead column, Braddock prepared to march his men toward the enemy. Washington, forced to remain near the rear for lack of a command, watched intently with more than a little surprise at the French order of battle. He had not expected the French to oppose the British in standard formation. Seeing Braddock raise his sword, obviously to order the assault, Washington leaned forward witness his words. Whether Braddock succeeded in saying anything the young man could not testify given that, immediately thereafter, a withering volley of musket fire leapt forth from the surrounding woods. One ball even shattered General Braddock’s blade as he drew it forward. Stunned, Washington watched Braddock twist his body backward in time to witness virtually the entire outer rank of redcoats on both sides of the road fall in tandem.


Braddock ordered the lead column on the road to hold their ground and raced back to organize the defense of his army’s main body. Just as Washington began to nudge his beautiful white stallion forward to support his commander, a sickening splash of blood splattered across his face. With a trio of convulsions, the horse collapsed to its knees and then fell heavily onto its side, shot directly through the eye into the brain. Striking his head on the ground, Washington lay senseless for an indeterminate amount of time. Finally recovering his faculties, the Virginian managed to slide his throbbing leg from beneath the carcass. Cautiously testing his leg and determining that it was not broken, the tall man stood and looked across the field of battle. Along the narrow road, the soldiers of the 44th and 48th regiments huddled together in hopes of safety. However, the brightly outfitted soldiers simply made easier targets for the gleeful enemy sharpshooters.


Noticing a passing brown horse lacking a rider, Washington grasped the reins and dragged it to a stuttering halt. Climbing painfully into the blood-drenched saddle, the Lieutenant drove the horse forward toward the last location he recollected seeing his commanding officer. Fiercely attempting to control the frightened animal, Washington witnessed a sight that would haunt the Virginian to the end of his days. Much of the magnificent 44th and 48th regiments lay dead and wounded along the road. Even more shocking, Washington couldn’t glimpse a single surviving officer attempting to organize the men. Given the volume of shot whipping past his ears and tearing through his clothes, the primary targets of the enemy sharpshooters were evident. Even Sergeants and Corporals were in short supply. Many of the privates, lacking direction, abandoned their useless formations to flee eastwards to the dubious safety of the column’s rear. Not bothering with an attempt to halt them, Washington shouted encouragement to the remaining regulars and militia to hold fast as galloped toward the front. By minor miracle, Washington found the General organizing the shredded remains to the lead battalions to retaliate against the handful of French regulars still visible along the road. Most of the enemy apparently moved into safer firing positions in the woods.


As Washington trotted up to him, Braddock was screaming, “That’s it, boys! Hold position and continue to fire at will! They’ll break and run!” Noticing his aide approach, Braddock exclaimed in shock. “Lieutenant, I witnessed you lying along the road. I would have sworn you were dead!”


Only then did Washington notice the hot, wet sensation along the side of his scalp where he’d struck the ground. Feeling the painful cut for a moment, Washington determined that he was not endangered by the wound and calmly continued, “No, Sir. Just stunned as it were. I am fully capable of executing my duties.” Motioning back to the rear, Washington stated, “The lines are collapsing. I can’t find a single officer beyond yourself still breathing.”


Raising his brows at the news, Braddock replied, “I have ordered Captain Gates of the New York provincial company to move up and support us. I recall a good hill a quarter mile back that the French cannot hope to take. If need be, we can retreat there should we fail drive them back.”


Shocked at his commander’s somewhat unrealistic take upon the situation, Washington desperately pleaded, “Sir, I don’t believe that it would be wise to continue the battle under these terms. Let us regroup and….”


“Lieutenant,” Braddock angrily interrupted as he turned to the younger man, “The army of Great Britain will never yield ground to a mongrel mix of Frenchmen and savag…..” With a thud and grunt of pain, the General was lifted off his horse and thrown down onto the ground. Washington leapt from his own saddle to assist his commanding officer. A bloody wound marked the General’s chest.


Looking up to call for aide from the nearby soldiers, Washington stopped short at the shocked look in their eyes. Only the courage and gallantry of Braddock kept them in order to this point. Ignoring the Lieutenant’s entreaty for assistance, the entirety of the King’s Men stood as one and fled, some toward the rear, other to the dubious safety of the forest. Within moments, the unit disintegrated leaving the two officers effectively defenseless. Grabbing a burly Corporal by the arm as the non-commissioned officer attempted to sprint past, Washington ordered him to assist the wounded and unconscious General onto Washington’s horse. The tug between duty and survival played across the young man’s face for a long moment before the Corporal stooped to help hoist the supine form of the General across Washington’s horse. Washington quickly mounted behind him and grasped the reins.


Turning to order the Corporal to retreat, Washington witnessed dozens of painted Indians charge out of the forest with knives and hatchets in hand, shouting and screaming in inarticulate fury. The young Corporal ran without pausing to request leave. Judging prudence to be the best option, Washington spurred his horse to follow. Before managing ten strides, the Corporal fell with a scream, blood spurting from his calf. Knowing nothing could be done for the man without endangering the General, Washington rode past, pausing only a moment to look back. The sight sickened him. As the young man lay in the grasping muck, thrusting his hand forward to beg Washington to stop, a savage almost casually sauntered forward from behind and grasped the Corporal by the hair. With one swift motion, he used the knife in the other hand to remove the scalp of the screaming soldier. Washington shuddered, urging his steed eastward through the almost endless cracks of musket-fire to discover, to his horror, the news of General Braddock’s fall had plainly demoralized the remnant of the British regiments. As the soldiers in the fore of the column fled past, the parallel flanking lines defending the road collapsed and turned the retreat into a stampede of terrified soldiers onrushing towards the rear, most throwing away their weapons and provisions to expedite their flight.


Seeing resistance waver, the Indians leapt from their places of concealment in gulleys and trees to capture soldiers in hopes of gaining prisoners, supplies, and most gruesomely, scalps to prove their valor. As one Indian in blood-red paint raised his hatchet to hack Washington from his mount, the Virginian volunteer swiftly turned the beast to the side and, with a sickening crunch, rammed the savage and trampled him beneath the whinnying horse’s hooves. Determining this time not to look back, Washington leaned forward and raced toward the rear, the broken body of Edward Braddock still sprawled face-first across the horse.


300 yards east


Shocked at the visage before him, Captain Horatio Gates halted the forward progress of his independent New York Company. Witnessing the flight of hundreds of redcoats fleeing past was as unnerving for the officer as his provincial volunteers. What event possibly could have occurred that had resulted in a route of the world’s finest soldiers? And how would his unseasoned volunteers react? Fortunately, a handful of Braddock’s staff officers were managing to halt the redcoat’s unseemly retreat and bring about some semblance of order.


Dismounting from his horse and handing the reins to a nearby private, Gates grasped one passing redcoat by the lapels and shook him firmly. “Pull yourself together, you pathetic coward! Where are your officers?” Specks of saliva would spatter the poor soldier’s face as Gates’ grim countenance demanded an explanation. Of average height and somewhat portly bearing, the thirtyish English-born colonial officer remained an imposing figure. He’d once purchased a British commission in his youth but sold it many years prior upon emigration to America. Gates still recalled the iron discipline of the British regulars and was appalled at the apparent rout.


The terrified man calmed down enough to stutter in an Irish brogue, “Dead, sir! All dead! General Braddock, Lieutenant Colonel Gage, Lieutenant Brooke, our Sergeants and Corporals! All dead! We trie’ to hold formation but dinna know where to fire. We couldna even see the enemy. All my butties dead…..the bloody hellhounds screamin’ from everywhere!”


The enlisted man tore himself from Gates’ grip to continue his headlong flight down the road. Gates made no further attempt to waylay him. Instead, the New Yorker stood frozen for a long moment, unsure of what to do. Certainly, he could not continue west toward the same enemy force which so humiliated two British regiments in as many hours. Gates could also see that his own men glancing down the easterly path towards which the redcoats were fleeing, obviously calculating whether or not to join them. Knowing he must do something to keep the volunteers under control, he ordered his Lieutenants to turn the company around and return to the main supply column. There, he could consult with the other provincial commanders and what was left of the redcoat officers. Having issued the order, Gates began to remount when he saw the General’s aide-de-camp ride up. With a glance, the English-born New Yorker realized the figure slung along the horse’s back must be Braddock. Swiftly ordering a nearby supply wagon to be emptied, the teamster hastening to obey, Gates assisted a tall Virginian volunteer whose name he’d forgotten in loading the moaning General into the bed. Upon cursory inspection, Gates dreaded that the ball shattering the General’s collar would drain the man’s lifeblood. However, the wound may not yet prove fatal, Gates thought hopefully as he inspected further. Broken bone, no doubt but the worst of the blood-flow had already been staunched. A doctor may save his life as long as infection did not set in!


Ordering his aide to find a doctor, Gates turned to the Virginian. Gates had spent little time conversing with Washington during the campaign and only now belatedly recalled the man’s name. As arguably the leading expert on the Ohio country, Washington’s place in the expedition was logical. However, Gates was stunned to discover Washington had turned down the command of Virginia’s provincial forces, which were now at the rear of the column under the command of Captain Stephens, in favor of serving as an unpaid “gentlemen officer” on Braddock’s staff with the honorary title of Lieutenant. This Gates could not comprehend unless the rumors were true of Washington’s ambition for a commission in the British Army. Given the British attitude of superiority toward colonials, Gates doubted that Washington would realize his wish short of sailing to Britain and purchasing one himself. Even rich provincials had trouble gaining commissions, even more rarely handed them for free. Given that Washington apparently intended to remain in Virginia, that meant any commission he’d purchase would likely be on “Half-pay”, effectively in reserve.

Probably wants to wear a pretty red uniform for parties, Gates thought harshly, dismissing the Virginian as a dilatant.


As the regimental doctor donning British scarlet rushed forward to treat the General’s wounds, Gates snapped, “What happened to the regulars?”


Washington shook his head wearily. For the first time, Gates noted the streak of dried blood along the man’s head and the pronounced limp. “Murderous ambush from the forest. Braddock kept the regiments together on the road as best he could but, lacking visible targets, our men were just firing randomly into the forest. The enemy issued volleys again and again into our lines until all the officers were dead and the common ranks panicked.” Shaking his head again to clear it, Washington looked up at Gates and said, “There are still a number of men fighting from various positions. They must be relieved. Would you order your men forward to aid in the escape from their entrapment?”


The amazed Gates replied, “March forward!? Are you mad? We must retreat to an advantageous position. Reinforced by the North Carolinans and Virginians, we may prevent the French from wiping us out.”


Washington was about to heatedly remind Gates of his duty when several shots rang out, bullets buzzing past. The startled officers knelt at once behind the wagon, vigorously attempting to spot their attackers through a patch of dense underbrush. Taking a step forward to help organize the defense, Washington promptly halted as a full volley of musket fire erupted from the forest. A full dozen New York militia fell before the frightened survivors beheld, for the first time, the hideous shrieks of King Louis’ native allies. Washington twisted towards Gates in time to witness the man quietly slide down the side of the wagon, blood dripping from a gaping hole between the eyes, dead before he touched the ground.


Washington immediately ordered the driver to evacuate the General and doctor to the rear. The frightened civilian teamster glanced once at Washington, then another at the woods from which such fearsome cries were emerging, and immediately dropped off the wagon to commence sprinting toward the rear. Muttering an out-of-character curse beneath his breath, Washington dragged the doctor away from his patient, hand him the reins, and commanded, “Retire to safety with the General. The New Yorkers will provide cover.” The man bobbed his head in acquiescence and climbed into the seat, already calling out to the panicked horses.


Looking over at the now leaderless New York Company, Washington resolved to prevent a repeat of the disgrace that he’d witnessed earlier in the day when the redcoats broke and ran. Still kneeling over Braddock’s still form, the wagon jolted as the Doctor desperately attempted to gain control over the draft-horses, Washington shouted encouragingly to the stunned and obviously disheartened New Yorkers.


“As one of General Braddock’s staff officers, I am taking command of this comp…” Washington overheard what sounded like like a double thunderclap, his body spasming by an unknown impact, then fell limply across the General’s body. Unsure of why he could not move or feel anything beyond a coldness spreading rapidly throughout his body, Washington sensed the doctor furiously lashing the reins, hysterically urging the sturdy draft-horses on. Shortly thereafter, the Lieutenant drifted off into a numbing blackness.


Fort Cumberland, three days later


Colonel Dunbar accepted his orderly’s written report with a short glance indicating where to leave the document. Placing it upon the desk laboriously carried along with the rest of General Braddock’s baggage, the young man turned and departed without another word. Ever since the initial remnants of Braddock’s expedition had fled into his camp, more and more stragglers had been trickling in. The first few regulars had been jeered as cowards by those garrisoning Fort Cumberland. Surprisingly, those British regulars and provincial militia which had retreated in good order generally declined to join in on the gibes. Dunbar suspected there was not a man partaking in the dismal battle of the Monongahela whom hadn’t considered an expeditious flight to safety. Hesitantly, Dunbar picked up the report on the morning muster. Over eight hundred men from the expedition had yet to return. Most were undoubtedly dead, although some must have been captured. Dunbar offered a silent prayer for those captured by the savages. A reputation for cannibalism, real or imagined, preceded several of the northwestern tribes aligned with France.


Reading further, the officer noted with no surprise that most of the casualties were redcoats of the 44th and 48th, both of these regiments in the vanguard, skirmishers and flying column at the head of the march. Over half of the fourteen hundred soldiers of the under-strength Irish regiments were now listed as killed, wounded or missing (presumably captured). The officers, both regular and militia, sustained an even higher casualty rate. Sixty-three out of the eighty-six officers whom marched from Fort Cumberland were listed as dead or missing. Dunbar was the only survivor among Braddock’s Colonels. Few Captains remained, even among the colonial companies. Disheartened Dunbar could read no further and pushed the offending reports away. Gazing unconsolably from his window, the British Colonel noted the quantity of Virginia and Maryland provincials had expanded again since the morning, not that it mattered. After the monumental defeat along the Monongahela, no further military offensives would or could occur this year. Even now, the inexperienced colonials were being told of the massacre, no doubt causing many to consider merely walking home. Dunbar entertain no serious thoughts of exacting vengeance against the enemy. Holding Fort Cumberland must be the most he could hope for.


Dunbar returned to Braddock’s desk (now HIS desk for the moment) and begrudgingly returned to his duty. The formal report of the unmitigated disaster must be written and forwarded to General Shirley in Boston, the latter responsible for informing London. Dunbar had hesitated for days in hopes that General Braddock would recover sufficiently to resume command. While the Commanding Officer had surprisingly not succumbed to his chest wound so far, the man, wracked with delirium from infection, pain and repeated doses of laudanum, proved incapable of issuing orders or even dictating his own report. The last time Dunbar had visited the infirmary, Braddock still babbled incoherently. The Colonel doubted his superior would serve again or, at least, anytime soon. Dunbar had been pleased, though, that the General’s aide-de-camp appeared to be surviving the dual wounds he’d received. While attempted to save the General’s life, Washington sustained two musket shots. One, a shot across the temple, tore a deep gash that the young man would likely carry for the rest of his life. The other, far more serious, smashed through the Lieutenant’s upper left arm. Once the regimental physician guided the fallen warriors to safety, he took the necessary step of removing the younger man’s arm. Fortunately, infection had yet to set in to the extent of most men sustaining similar injuries. Should this continue for the next few days, the colonial volunteer stood a very good chance of survival, though his military career had likely reached an end.


Reluctantly, Dunbar commenced writing a report not likely to be well received by London. Given the nature of Braddock injuries, combined with his failure in the field, Dunbar was certain that His Majesty’s forces in North America would soon have a new commander.

 

[Guisarme]

Is it a spoiler to ask for the POD?

 

[Alt History Buff]

Is it a spoiler to ask for the POD?

Well, so far Washington has lost his arm, Gates is dead, Braddock is alive and Wilkes is living in Boston. That's a start.

 

[G-6]

Hopefully Washington get his British promotion or knighthood

 

[SavoyTruffle]

Considering Washington is literally disarmed here, I doubt a commission is in the books for him.

Good stuff so far.

 

[Alt History Buff]

Hopefully Washington get his British promotion or knighthood

I think he is too low level for a Knighthood. In a war, junior officers saved their commander's lives all the time and they didn't receive a Knighthood from the King (there were usually reserved for high nobles and high-ranking officers whom won campaigns, not keeping alive a senior officer whom failed).

Had Washington escaped the battle unharmed, then he may actually receive a free commission. It was standard practice to "buy" commissions in peacetime. When the soldier retired, he could sell it. Commissions were often seen as a form of retirement fund as the soldiers may go on the Half-Pay list (effectively the reserves who may be called up when necessary) or just sell the commission outright.

The British Commission system was partially designed to ensure that officers had a stake in the political status quo. Should they revolt or act with cowardice, the valuable commissions could be withdrawn to great financial harm to the officer.

There was a very rigorous procedure demanding that the officers with greater seniority were offered the opportunity to buy the next level of commission.

For example, when one of the ten active duty Captains on a Regiment's roster were to decide to sell his commission, the Lieutenant with the most seniority was offered first shot at purchasing the upgrade. A Lieutenant's commission may cost 200 lbs sterling. The Captain's commission may be 500 lbs sterling. The senior Lieutenant would have to pay the 300 lb difference. However, this was a lot of money and those officers without means would often find themselves stuck in the same rank indefinitely as they could not afford the upgrade. This meant that the wealthy officers would eventually rise higher. This system went up to the highest purchased commission rank, usually Lieutenant Colonel. Colonelcy's were usually given by the King to political favorites whom typically didn't actually serve. Generalships were usually reserved for the high nobility or those of less esteemed birth whom happened to REALLY distinguish himself.

But this system changed in wartime. In war, when a soldier fell (as many fell at Monongahela), I believe that the commander may offer the open commissions to "Gentlemen Volunteers" like Washington to fill the ranks. However, this meant that these men would receive the lowest rank of Ensign (junior lieutenant in today's parlance). Effectively the surviving officers would all move up in rank or seniority and the Gentlemen Volunteers would be at the low end of the spectrum.

I doubt Washington really understood how the system worked as I'm not sure if he would equate a Half-Pay British Ensign commission as being superior to a Major's or Colonel's commission in the Virginia Militia.

If Washington's hope that he may receive an equivalent high rank in the British Army as he had in the militia, he would be gravely disappointed. The best he could hope for is that he may spend money over the years to "buy" his way up as higher positions were made available (again on seniority).

However, as Washington had just lost his left arm in an age where infection usually claimed men suffering such injuries, it was unlikely that he would have been granted a commission as he could not expect to actively serve in the near future. And the man whose life he saved, Braddock, may be returning to Britain and was unlikely to sponsor his savior from across the Ocean.

 

[Alt History Buff]

October 1755



Royal Governor William Shirley of Massachusetts awaited with feigned patience for his guests to vent over a diverse range petty conerns. While his outer demeanor was politely attentive, internally his irritation and anger threatened to spill out. As usual when discussing matters of colonial taxation, virtually every representative in the Massachusetts legislature felt obligated to express their views on the subject. Nodding thoughtfully at the statement from the man opposite him, Shirley calmly replied, “Now Mr. Hutchinson, the crown certainly understands and supports your view. However, in order to ensure victory over our French adversaries on this continent, we must maintain a steady stream of capital and supply to sustain our military forces. Given the geographic location of the colony of Massachusetts and our proximity to the main French strongholds in the North, this colony would of course be called upon to make sacrifices to the war effort.”



Representative Thomas Hutchinson of the Massachusetts Assembly waved the comment aside, equally vexed, “Your honor, I do not question the Crown Authority nor do I expect our colony to fail to do our duty. I simply state that, once again, the bulk of the Crown’s manpower, supply, and financial requirement have fallen almost entirely upon Massachusetts.” Calming himself, Hutchinson continued, “Governor Shirley, you know full well that none has worked more diligently than I to garner support for you in these shores. However, the mood in the Assembly can quickly shift if no further funds can be expropriated from the mother country to pay for these campaigns. This colony’s taxpayers could not hope to sustain the cost of a long-term conflict for long! Why have none of the other colonies been called upon to make significant contributions?”



Biting back a heated reply, Shirley only nodded again. Lecturing Hutchinson on the responsibilities of British citizens on these shores would do little good. In truth, there had been none more helpful than Hutchinson in obtaining cooperation in Massachusetts. Claiming control over the colony’s purse-strings, Massachusetts’s General Court, like those in the other colonies, had proven to be virtually impossible to dictate terms to. Not a single pence could be extracted for any reason without their consent. Each colony jealously guarded these so-called “rights”. The fact that most of these “rights” did not even exist in England herself did little to shift the provincial’s position. Unlike many Royal Governors appointed by the crown, Shirley grasped that fact early. At every opportunity, Shirley attempted to engage the colonials in logical and even-headed dialogue to win support. While this had certainly resulted in a great deal of frustration on Shirley’s part, he had accomplished more in his position by compromise that any previous Governor in British North America.



When General Braddock arrived to take command of his Majesty’s forces in North America, the General brought with him the unexpected news that Shirley had also been granted an army commission as Braddock’s second in command in addition to being governor of Massachusetts. While certainly surprised, Shirley determined to meet his new duties with enthusiasm and vigor. However, the relationship of the two men soon soured. Braddock had been contemptuous of the many concessions Shirley made to the colonial legislatures. Typical of European officers, he did not grasp the political situation in North America. However, the General DID bring with him a certain level of coin from Britain to assist in funding the 1755 campaigns. This mitigated much of the resistance from the colony’s assembly. Unfortunately, the source of finance for the 1756 campaigns remained undecided. If no further capital arrived from London, then Shirley would be forced to request an even greater contribution from the colony.



Hutchinson, noting the pause, continued, “Governor Shirley, what of the efforts to obtain additional supply such as those Mr. Franklin arranged to be delivered from Pennsylvania for the unfortunate General’s spring campaign? Surely the other colonies can support our efforts at least minimally as their own backcountries remain as open to French aggression as our own.”



Shirley nodded again as he could hardly disagree. But Hutchinson had simplified the situation to a great degree. Only the efforts of the renowned, and politically ambitious, Benjamin Franklin in conjunction with Braddock’s threat to arbitrarily quarter troops in Philadelphia caused that colony’s assembly to move. While quartering in any country was naturally unpopular, colonials seemed overly incensed by having soldiers stationed in their midst. In one of his first compromises upon taking command after Braddock’s defeat and infirmity, Shirley agreed that the remnants of Braddock’s army would pay market rate for lodging throughout the colonies. This undoubtedly prevented riots yet came at the price of rapidly depleting the army’s coffers. Shirley breathed a loud sigh of relief when Braddock, recovering from his wounds but still nominally in command, departed for England without countermanding Shirley’s orders.



Determining that no further conversation would be productive, Shirley spoke politely, but with finality, “Mr. Hutchinson, I am certain that Pennsylvania’s legislature will meet his Majesty’s call to duty, as will Massachusetts. Know that, for my part, I will expend every energy to request additional financial support from Great Britain.” Not satisfied, but recognizing the interview was over, Hutchinson expressed his gratitude for the Governor’s time and left.



In relief, Shirley leaned back and closed his eyes. Nothing involving the provincials was easy. Now, as acting commander of British forces, Shirley was responsible for the 1756 campaigns. Without another infusion of hard capital from England, he would spend more time begging the various colonial assemblies for funds than preparing to put his limited resourced to good use. Even when funding was available, the colonists were next to impossible to deal with. The previous spring, Braddock had planned an ambitious and complex four-pronged assault on French North America. Not accounting for the inevitable delays in requisitioning supplies along the vast eastern seaboard, only the enthusiastically supported Nova Scotia expedition launched on time. Given the hunger for land by the New Englanders, the Massachusetts’ provincial army efficiently removed the disloyal Frenchmen whom had been a thorn in the side of Great Britain for decades. Never accepting British rule despite gentle terms of conquest, the “Acadians” were now in the process of being ejected from Nova Scotia to Quebec, France, or the Louisiana territory. British settlers were already moving into the homes of the displaced Frenchmen.



The other campaigns of 1755, however, went less smoothly. Braddock’s humiliating defeat at the Monongahela had left the entirety of the Virginia and Pennsylvania backcountry open to invasion. The dual campaigns against the French strongholds in Ft. Niagara and Crownpoint in upstate New York petered out before they began due to competition for resources between Shirley, whom was to lead the Ft. Niagara conquest, and the New York trader and Indian expert William Johnson, whom was tasked to take Crownpoint. Both expeditions were scheduled to leave simultaneously from Albany. Almost immediately, though, relations between the two men fell apart. Angered by Johnson’s insubordination, Shirley had appropriated some men and supply meant for Johnson’s expedition. In retaliation, Johnson refused his theoretical superior the use of some of Johnson’s native guides and scouts. Making matters worse, Johnson was supported by acting Governor De Lancey of New York. Given that De Lancey and Shirley’s political patrons in Great Britain were enemies, the two Governors extended that rivalry into the New World. This mutual antipathy characterized their dealings.



Due to the time wasted amid this infighting, it would be late in the season before both campaigns were ready to march. Making matters worse, in the confusion of Braddock’s defeat, the commissaries refused to issue proper payment to the military contractors for goods provided. Immediately the flow of supply halted. Bowing to the inevitable, Shirley was forced to postpone the expeditions to the following year. He merely ordered the forward forts and supply houses to be strengthened and prepared to support a spring march in 1756. The Governor (and reluctant commander-in-chief) then ordered his soldiers into winter quarters.



Knowing that his career prospects lay damaged, possibly beyond repair, by this failure, Shirley resolved to make all effort to secure military victory in 1756…even if that meant groveling to a score and one colonial Assemblies to do it.







November 1755



The Duke of Newcastle sat quietly in his comfortable London office perusing the latest military reports from throughout the empire. The surprisingly balmy November evening could do nothing to warm the chill that drew upon his heart as the most recent dispatches brought more damning news. For years, the First Lord of the Treasury and defacto leader of the King’s government had struggled mightily to maintain the balance of power throughout Europe in hopes of avoiding another conflict. Though each major continental power publicly offered warm reassurances of their peaceful intentions, Newcastle could see his carefully negotiated treaties fall apart one by one.



Most crucially, Great Britain’s alliance with Holland and Austria, which Newcastle himself had dedicated much of his decades of service to creating and maintaining, had come undone. This alliance had been preserved through the previous wars and ensured that Hanover, the northern German state and ancestral home of the Hanoverian line of British Kings was safe from the maddening and increasingly aggressive King Frederick II of Prussia (as well as Great Britain’s ancient enemy, France). As continental powers were wont to do, Austria chose to realign itself with France in order to ensure military superiority over an increasingly ambitious Prussia. Holland then effectively chose to abstain from the alliances of Europe and accept their status of a declining power, much as Portugal had decades earlier.



Newcastle abruptly dropped the latest news from Europe as if they were too much to bear. King George II of Great Britain would never accept a risk to his beloved Electorate of Brunswick-Luneburg (commonly known as Hanover). Ever since the Elector of Hanover was selected by Parliament to supplant Britain’s previous Royal Dynasty (the exiled Catholic and autocratic House of Stuart), the affairs of the tiny German state had dominated British foreign policy. Now, a new system of alliances must be negotiated to preserve the flat and indefensible northern German territory. Exactly what the price would be in British gold and blood weighed heavy on the First Lord’s mind.



An insistent knock on the door returned Newcastle from his daydream as he looked up to see Henry Fox enter his office. Given the ruddy cast to Fox’s complexion and the familiar scowl scrawled across the face, Newcastle suspected that domestic affairs would not prove to be any easier to endure in the near future than Britain’s crumbling foreign policy. Fox was the protégé and favorite of the Duke of Cumberland, himself the second and preferred son of King George II and gifted by the King of the command of the British Army. Whilst Fox had often opposed Newcastle in past Parliamentary duels, they had both determined to work through their differences for the greater good. To Newcastle’s surprise, his alliance with grasping and avaricious Henry Fox proved to be a fortuitous and productive one. Newcastle seldom witnessed a parliamentarian produce such success in cajoling the MP’s into supporting the ministry. Newcastle’s new Secretary of War and the ministry’s leader in the House of Commons seemed to work wonders in maintaining discipline in Parliament. Only the innate greed and unseemly self-interest endemic to Fox’s character concerned Newcastle. However, Newcastle had few other options and any break may well shatter the government majority.



Newcastle waved Fox into the well-appointed couch next to the desk and moved to join him. Mumbling his thanks at Newcastle’s offer of brandy, the Prime Minister nodded for the aide whom escorted Fox into the First Lord’s sanctuary to fetch one for him as well. Once both had received their libation and thoroughly enjoyed the first sip, Newcastle sat back silently and allowed Fox to begin.



“The bastard was in fine form today,” Muttered Fox with more than a little rancor in his voice. “You should have heard him. One tirade after another on “wasted taxpayer coin” to support our “little continental empire”. He had the entirety of the Commons up in arms!”



“Pitt, again?” Newcastle asked in a question that was not really a question. William Pitt’s oratory from the minority had been plaguing Newcastle’s government for months. Since the breakup of Newcastle’s “System” of alliances, the First Lord had been forced to support several of the smaller Protestant German states, including Hanover, with large financial subsidies in order ensure that their armies would be available to Britain in the event of war with France or Prussia. The Parliamentarians whom most vocally represented the British ratepayer responded with the expected resentment.



“Yes, it’s Pitt.” Fox spoke the hated name as though the demagogue were one of Satan’s less pleasant demons. “If he ever truly becomes as popular in the Commons as he is among the public, he may be able to bring down the government.”


Newcastle considered this for a moment. Like most opposition MP’s in the Common’s, William Pitt had the advantage of expressing his support of the more popular government initiatives while heaping disdain on the rest. However, that did not necessarily make him a threat. Pitt’s real influence was minimal. Beyond having the support of the Prince of Wales and his tutor, the Earl of Bute, the man’s only real power base lay among the Leicester faction represented by the Queen’s family and a handful of varied interest groups in Parliament. The factions were connected by nothing more than opposition to Newcastle’s government. Pitt could not realistically expect to gain a majority from this random conglomeration of rabble-rousers and professional opposition MP’s. Ever since Newcastle reluctantly tied together his strategic alliance with Henry Fox in order to organize his government’s support in the Common’s, Pitt had been little more than a loud voice of dissent, albeit one with genuinely exceptional oratorical skills. And considering that the King loathed most of the individuals aligned with Pitt, most especially the King’s grandson and heir apparent, Pitt posed no immediate threat. No government long survived in the face of the King’s ill-will.



With a wave of his hand, Newcastle replied dismissively, “Let him make his speeches. We have no realistic choice in the matter. Our subsidies are but a petty amount contrasted to having to finance a British army in Hanover. As is, we may soon be able to rest a bit easier. My dialogue with Prussia may bear fruit sooner than expected.”



“I would expect so,” Fox chuckled. “Given that Frederick is now faced with an alliance of the two most powerful armies on the continent, his ardor for conquering Hanover is likely receding. God help him if Russia becomes involved as well. Do you think Prussia is strong enough to make a significant ally in the event of war?”



“Let’s us put faith in providence that we have no such occasion to learn. Continental wars are brutish, bloody, and expensive. I have no interest in seeing our nation’s treasury emptied so a tiny province or two can change hands between the continental powers.” Newcastle paused a moment to consider. “However, conflict may come from quarters other than Europe. The British East India Company and the French factories on the subcontinent are nearly in a state of war. Apparently, the company feels that influence over the various….kings or rajas or whatever the Indian potentates call themselves… is more important that profit. Across the Atlantic, in the colonies, things are even worse.”



Fox turned to the Prime Minister, “You have full detail on the Wilderness skirmish?” Newcastle simply nodded as he took another sip with a pained expression on his face. Fox suspected it had nothing to do with the brandy. “Was it as bad as the initial report made it out to be?”



Newcastle put down his drink and looked away. “It was considerably worse. Over half of Braddock’s force was lost to a handful of savages and Canadian militia near some river called the…..the….Mongohollar….or some godawful name. The survivors fled like cowards after they saw Braddock fall. Rations, supply, cannon, horse and cart were lost or destroyed, even the very musket in our soldiers’ hands were cast aside to expedite their flight. With each new testimony I receive, the full extent of the humiliation becomes more apparent. Fortunately, one of Braddock’s aides kept his head long enough spirit the General away before the savages fell upon him. Even this latest report gives no opinion if Braddock will survive his wounds. However, his doctors insist that he be transferred to England to speed his recovery. He may even be en route now for all I know.”



The First Lord stood and walked over to the window. “Now France has dispatched another supply convoy to New France loaded with arms.” Fox politically chose to refrain from mentioning the last French convoy to the Americas. Desperate to halt French reinforcement, Newcastle had ordered Admiral Bowcawen to intercept and capture the French fleet. In capturing only few victualling vessels and a single mail packet, Britain did nothing to improve the military situation in the colonies but succeeded brilliantly in incensing the entirety of France. The Secretary of War was more than a little surprised that a declaration of hostilities hadn’t immediately followed. Only the reports of furious French activity in the Brest and Toulon shipyards offered an explanation. After the inadequacy of the French fleet compared to the mighty Royal Navy was proven beyond all doubt in previous conflicts, King Louis’ Ministers wisely determined to avoid the same mistake by prematurely declaring war before her new navy was ready.



Fox broke through the silence, “The Commons will not respond warmly to these failures. Perhaps a public reprimand or censure for the ones responsible for the North American failures would be prudent.”



Newcastle sighed and shook his head, “No, they are both loyal officers whom I placed in command myself. Bowcawen merely sailed too late to catch the main French Fleet. Though Braddock was clearly defeated, the reports of his bravery are virtually universal. And his army collapsed only after he fell. Few will have any interest in assigning blame to a man bearing the dignity of a near fatal wound earned in battle. It does not matter in the end, anyway. We find ourselves on a precipice. Though no declaration of war has been issued, I cannot but feel no force on Earth can oppose its approach and that this conflict shall be a long and bloody one.”



Draining the last of his brandy, Newcastle inquired, “Has the Duke of Cumberland recommended a replacement for Braddock?”


“Yes, sir, he has.” Said Fox, brightened at the turn of subject. “The Duke recommends John Campbell, fourth earl of Loudoun. As one of his majesty’s most dedicated and experienced servants, Lord Loudoun has the Duke’s full confidence.” Fox saw no reason to mention that the Duke of Cumberland, as Commanding General of the British army, held final say in the commission due to its martial nature. Newcastle’s approval, and the cabinets, for that matter, was a mere formality. The King maintained the greatest confidence in his favored son and the First Lord held no intention of alienating either.



Newcastle vaguely recalled Loudoun as another bureaucrat in Braddock’s mold, perhaps best known for getting his Regiment massacred during the rebellion of ‘45. However, the First Lord had long ago decided to avoid crossing Royalty without a clear reason, so Loudoun as Commander-in-Chief of His Majesty’s Forces in North America it would be. Seeing no point in articulating any doubts in the selection, Newcastle responded, “Please thank the Duke for his wise appointment. Lord Loudoun has my full support.”



Fox smiled as in recognition he would not have to argue the point for his sponsor, not that he really expected such resistance. “The Duke also has also recommended some more substantial regular forces be sent to support the new North American Commander-in-Chief.” Fox promptly went on detailing the requirements for a successful campaign in North America in terms of goods and manpower. With each sentence, the financial expert in Newcastle cringed. The Government had already spent a great deal of British coin in supporting the North American campaigns during the previous year. Given the histrionic howling produced over the issue of subsidizing the German states by Pitt and his cronies in Parliament, he doubted the MP’s in the Commons would approve of further taxes to ship and provision even the small army Cumberland was proposing to ship to America. Whom could Newcastle call upon to provide funds in place of the overextended and beleaguered English taxpayer?