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Tale of the Week 294: Battle of Trenton - VOTING THREAD
| Submission 1 |
Patrick ground his teeth. Every splash of his paddle burned his knuckles cold. He shivered. River mist curled around the boat, ice chunks thumped against the hull. He peered forth, eyes locked downstream, too afraid to look away lest a rock or log emerged to upturn the vessel. A soft thud bumped the bow and Patrick looked to the river’s night-black waters. A Union soldier’s face stared back at him, wide eyes glazed beneath the water’s surface.
“Be strong, Mary,” Patrick called out over his shoulder. “Tomorrow McClernand’s counter-attack will shatter the Confederates morale – have them all fleeing back to Fort Sewall in a glorious rout.”
Mary said nothing.
Patrick looked at her. She sat at the boat’s rear, wrapped in a cloth blanket. Through a fold around her neck was the small-round head of their son, his face held against her neck, his own cupped by Mary’s hand. The baby’s thin hair was white with frost.
“Keep our lad warm, Mary.” Patrick curtailed the urgency in his voice. “We’ll reach Little Harbor by dawn, I promise. Just you wait until you see my father’s farm. Sheep, Mary. And cows and chickens.” Patrick laughed, breath white as a ghost. “What will our boy think of them?”
Patrick plunged the paddle into the river and rowed harder.
The boat sailed onward, cutting a path through mist and the smell of gunpowder. The river gulped surf and bubbles and the frozen dead. On either side, grass banks rose steep into shadow, the glow of burning villages long fallen from sight.
“Not long now, dear. Keep our lad warm.”
Patrick didn’t look back. His cheeks stung wet. |
| Submission 2 |
| When Publius Cornelius Scipio’s horse started to cross the Trebia river, the Consul was distraught. He looked at a Decurion from his personal guard and saw that the man’s leg was injured. “The fool Sempronius” Publius thought to himself for the tenth time since early morning. “It serves him right to have launched such an attack!” Publius’ wet caligae made him shiver; he was lucky that it wasn’t cold enough for ice to form. The camp wasn’t very far but he’ll suffer it, just like the loss. He looked behind and saw that the Carthaginians didn’t press further and was letting what remained of the battered roman and allied forces cross the river. Morale was low among the soldiers. The battle’s ending and its catastrophic result was just piled on over the cold, the lack of sleep and the hunger that was tormenting them… He could see his fellow Consul with some decimated centuries two stadiums away. He couldn’t help it and sighed heavily… He shook his head in disgust. “At least I warned him…” he thought. “I did tell him not to go against them right now…” Publius sighed again… “And to think for Hannibal, it is just… glorious!" |
| Submission 3 |
Delaware Doggerel
In a cold and damp December shiver
With nary a defense against his great foe
But only fields, farms, and a river
(Stern) George and his captains round meager glow
Discusssed the plain simple sad rationale:
The sad absence and lack in their men of morale
"They've been running and losing all season long
"They need a story, a lyric, or e'en a song
"To write home of victory against the excise
"By bravery, firmness, and bold stern attacks
"Not sad tales of rice cooked with ice
"And broken limbs set with a splice."
So the patriots plotted, schemed and contrived
A cross river amphibious assault to arrive
North of Trenton ten miles barefoot to march
Cross the Delaware Christmas Eve disembarked
Washington's army however meager and slight
Through the midwinter night, with nary a light
From farmstead or stars; not even the Moon's
The boatmen, officers, hussars and dragoons,
And fusiliers with musket and ball,
Continentals, minutemen and militia all,
With their wet and frozen efforts laborious
Won a victory o'er the Hessians glorious.
The yuletide greetings from steeple to steeple
By the townsfolk now spread fast as an eagle
Of a battle won in combat lethal
By a brave, free, newly confident people. |
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