So far I had stumbled out of the gate at the Battle of the Hook. I had failed to jump on board with the morning amphibious assault, then I took a fall a bit too early during afternoon battle due to a faulty flint. I promised myself I would not skip out on anything moving forward.
To top off a busy Saturday, an assault on the British redoubt was scheduled. Calls for volunteers were made with one sole caveat before participating–sobriety. Taking advantage of my unlubricated state, I chose to join the assault party with roughly forty of my companions who were also not done marching across fields with heavy firearms. We joined together at the end of the field roughly a half mile across from the redoubt.
A redoubt is essentially a large dirt mound approximately six feet high, four feet wide at the top and spanning (in this case) about two hundred yards in length. A segment of the redoubt was split open to make way for supporting cannon.
The assault kicked off at dusk by cannon fire from both sides.
Our line waited patiently as the cannons traded blasts for about twenty minutes. As the darkness descended, the British, seemingly frustrated by our lack of progress, began heckling. Insults were hurled our way followed by boisterous laughter. The heckling reached its apex with a redcoat standing on the top of the redoubt to show us his ‘full moon’. I began to wonder how seriously they took the sobriety instructions. Our commander ordered one of the riflemen to take a shot at the next British infantryman with similar inclinations.
At last, the cannon fire resided and we were given orders to march. As we approached around a hundred and fifty yards from the redoubt, the British opened up. In easily the most impressive thing I saw all weekend, the entire top of the redoubt burst into a two hundred yard wide wall of fire.
After the impressive display of firepower, someone quipped that technically we were all dead now. No way many of us could of survived that volley. The British had turned out in force and easily outnumbered us three to one. Granted, we had chosen the more strenuous side of the engagement, volunteering to march yet again at the end of the day while our enemies lay comfortably behind a dirt wall. However, we were rewarded for our efforts with best view of the evening fireworks.
We returned a few rather pathetic volleys (this time a ‘flash in the pan’ from me. It was a rough day firing my Charleville), then closed into charging distance. The charge was a ton of fun, and I did my best Alexander Hamilton impersonation as we bound over the top of the redoubt and pushed away the retreating British.
Just like that, the assault was over and we all attempted to avoid the mud behind the redoubt and form lines to march back to the camp. The day had ended, and it was time to get some sleep.
Pingback: McIntyre’s Farm | Twistification