A bush of Brambles. [Open, Bog]

[Drunk Pasty]

The day was fair as the 7th Light dragoons [titled by many as the New York dragoons] arrived back from their usual patrol. Nothing really had happend apart from the odd encounter, like another British patrol. They had rode for a few hours on the outskirts.
Dewi had ordered his men to rest for a few minute near a pond, most men cleaned their carbines and a few cared for their horses. While most officers eat or bathed, Dewi was looking after Borris, his loyal pug.
He then started to wonder what was his purpose in life? He then shook that though away. Because he knew his purpose, it was to kill all who appose his majesty.
He heard drums out of the blue. They had rested in a dip in the smooth landscape. Surley it was British? " Half you boys mount half of you on foot!" Dewi ordered. He let the pug go find is carer, Dewi placed his helmet on his head. He walked rather briskly to his horse, climbing up onto the saddle. The rest of the high ranking officers followed, they would advance to the top of the ip to see.

[Bog]

Four days as picquets. It was not the most ideal duty for light infantry, in Leighton's opinion, but his opinions did not have any bearing on his orders. The colonel had received the orders from his own superiors and passed them on to Leighton. There was nothing for it but to detach his company from the rest of the regiment and do as directed.

It had not taken very long to detail platoons to their respective posts, and then to walk the picquet line himself to make sure each pair of men were awake and alert. This was the first of those four days and Leighton was determined to make certain his lads performed their assigned duty well. They were, after all, supposed to be steady men.

The main body of the army lay behind them, the various regiments spread out into their designated bivouacs for the night. A large, sprawling, mass of men for whom the responsibility of protection fell in part to Leighton and his company. Not that there was any true reason for him to worry. He knew his men and was confident in their competence.

Two of their regiment's drummers struck up Retreat, wielding their drumsticks with obvious ease. Leighton looked out beyond the out-spread picquets at the countryside, wondering how many, if any at all, patrols had not yet come in from their day's work.

[Drunk Pasty]

Dewi had dismounted near the top of the dip, out of view. His officers did the same. A light breeze picked up swaying the shin deep grass. Dewi hated carbines, he had begged the field Marshall to give about a hundred musket but the Field Marshall was a stubborn man.

He raised his hand for silence, then signaled for the dismounted light dragoons to crouch. Dewi was in a foul mood, he wasn't sure why either. Maybe because he had little sleep last night? He dare think. Only 53 men were mounted, the rest had their carbines in a ready position. He didn't let them cock it, because any sound could be suspicious.

He ordered the slow and silent advance. They were to advance to the crest and then hist the deck. They waded through the tall dewy grass to reach the crest. As soon as they did they disappeared among the tall grass.

[Bog]

It did not appear as though there were any patrols or foraging parties still out. Or at least Leighton could not see any making an approach. The two drummers had since retired to thirty yards' distance from the picquet line and were settling down to the business of eating. Leighton himself carried on his slow walk along behind the men, checking that they were indeed spread apart at the regulation distance.

"Sir." The hushed call had come from Munro, one of his steadier men. "There's sommat movin' yon. In tha' grass."

Leighton peered in the direction that the Scotsman had nodded and thought he saw what the man meant. "Are you sure?"

"Aye, sir. It's nae rufflin' in the wind, like it ought. If 'tis somebody, they's sloppy."

Right. Not an hour into their period of duty and already they were being tested. Perfect. Leighton thought for a moment, then said, "Keep a weather eye out. If anyone shows himself, give the challenge. Make the alarm if there's no answer."

"Yes sir." Munro seemed satisfied. As he turned away, Leighton noticed the Scotsman rest his hand around his musket's doghead. Good fellow. Whatever was attempting to sneak close on them would not manage the surprise that was no doubt intended.

[Drunk Pasty]

Someone had shuffled, Dewi ignored him and nodded slowly which gave the sign cock the guns. The grass shifted as the wind picked up and suddenly died.
He crawled forward ever so slowly, they had never practiced this tactic before. But he had gone through it many times, many a trooper was sweating.
They hadn't best camouflage, surely someone must have seen them. This made dewi even more nervous. He wasn't sure if they were British or american, either way they were as good as dead.

The plan was to kneel when he was to shout present, and present. He was praying it would work.

" Present!" He shouted. He stood up as his men kneeled guns pointed at the unknowns.

[Bog]

"Sir!" It was Munro again, but this time his tone was hard and urgent. Leighton only needed to turn haflway toward the Scotsman to see what was happening. Roughly half a company of men had risen suddenly out of the tall grass, accompanied by a hoarse shout. That answered the question of their guests being friendly, didn't it?

"Drummers! The alarm!" Leighton called, and in an instant the two drummers were hammering away at their instruments, calling the rest of the Light Company to their alarm-posts. Even as the men hurried to their designated places, Leighton knew the gesture was probably a futile one. They were about to be fired upon and only he, Munro, and Potter were in any position to make a defence.

"Make ready, lads," the captain told the two men. The muted clicks as the pair obeyed helped settle Leighton's sudden nerves. He breathed out and rested his left hand on the hilt of his sword, not yet ready to reach his right hand across to draw it. "The challenge, Munro," he added calmly. If they could delay even a moment to give his company time to form behind them, the picquet line might be held. The rest of the 54th would be arriving soon as well, he knew. There was a chance yet.

The Scotsman flinched, then coolly shouted, "Marlborough!"

[Drunk Pasty]

It had seemed to surprise them, but it turns out they were Brits. He sighed in relief. " At ease." He ordered his men. And they did so, they shouldered their weapons and got up from their knees.

The rest of his dismounted infantry came up behind them. While the mounted soldiers wheeled right to stand beside his red coated light dragoons. He fixed his crested helmet, he looked embarrassed but what else would you do?

" How the bloody hell would i know that when I'm in front of you?!" He shouted, rather angry. He raises his hands for emphasis.

[Bog]

The appearance of cavalrymen put Leighton right back on his guard. Not that he had been relaxed in any way to begin with. If those troopers charged, they would meet no true resistance. There was no way the Light Company could close up to form square before the troopers were upon them with their sabres.

"Marlborough!" Munro repeated, more firmly this time. He knew his duty and the cavalry officer's failure to properly respond to the first challenge would get only this second chance.

Leighton put his right hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword, ready to draw it if necessary. The gruff back of his lieutenant a short distance behind him meant that the company was formed into line, awaiting only his next orders. His lieutenant had not wasted a second, once he'd realised what the picquets were up against.

"Present, you two lads," Leighton said, his voice loud enough to carry. "Company! Make. Ready!"

The ragged chorus of flints being drawn back was a comfort.

[Drunk Pasty]

" Captain! As the colonel of the 7Th light dragoons I order you to relax your company!" He said, knowing the captain by his uniform. A major shouted something up the line. " I think its Blenheim!" The major was soon hushed.
The dismounted light dragoons went back to presenting without orders, it was instinct and Dewi didn't mind them doing it. A trumpeter approached Dewi they mumbled something then shouts of 'Sound the recall!' accompanied the call of trumpet. The cavalry pulled back down the ridge and the infantry company sprinted down the ridge. Dewi stood alone on the ridge. His hands behind his back. " Shoot me and see where it gets you."

[Bog]

One of the dragoon officers had piped up with the correct countersign, but as it had not come from the fellow who was clearly in charge, Leighton did not react to it. He did, however, react to the line of mixed infantry and cavalry abruptly disappearing from view. It was one thing to see one's enemy clearly arrayed opposite one. It was entirely another to have that enemy withdraw from view without warning.

"Fix bayonets!" He called, not taking his eyes off the lone cavalry officer. An attack from now-unseen dragoons could very easily result in slaughter amongst his company. The least he could do was attempt to level the field by giving his men the added protection of steel, and then hope they could move swiftly enough to draw into square should the dragoons make a charge.

"You have been challenged twice, sir," said Leighton evenly, his sword now drawn but resting lightly against his right shoulder. "One more time than is strictly necessary. If you know the correct response, I should thank you to give it. I shall fire into you, else."

Though why this fool had not answered Munro's challenge it had first been given was known only to God. Leighton could only hope the reasons were not what he suspected they were. The steady tramp of feet some distance behind heralded the impending arrival of their support. One way or another, this unseemly incident would shortly be resolved.

[Drunk Pasty]

" As I said Captain." Dewi replied casually. " I do not know the correct reply. I have not been given the correct reply." He looked steadily at their gleaming bayonets. They could perhaps out gun his carbines, but not combined with the cavalry.
Why is this man so stubborn? I have told him once that I do not know the signal.
Dewi stepped back a step, smiling. He was not worried by the muskets pointing at him, he was worried about his wife; Rhiannon, she was pregnant and the shock wouldn't do her any good.
Dewi started mumbling lines from the bible in Welsh, aloud. He then repeated the lines in english.

[Bog]

This man was either mad or attempting to distract them. Or both. It was impossible to tell. Leighton frowned, unable to credit the dragoon's admission of ignorance. The day's challenge and countersign had been made known to all regiments who would be sending out patrols that day. What were the odds this man was genuinely unaware? No. One of the fellow's subordinates had known the correct response.

There was, then, only one course for Leighton to take. He glanced briefly at Munro and Potter, who still held their muskets at the Present, fingers as yet resting against the outsides of their trigger guards. "If he moves a step in any direction, fire."

"Aye sir," said Munro and slipped his finger around the trigger. It was some comfort to have the Scotsman here. His judgement could be trusted completely.

Leighton withdrew slowly, torn between confusion and smouldering anger. This was so blasted senseless. The colonel himself was present with the now-arrived support, which was drawn up some fifty yards behind Leighton's own company, and it was to him that Leighton gave his report. It was simple enough; he recounted the steps he had taken to address the unexpected appearance of cavalry and then described the dragoon officer's own actions.

"Regiment will form into line," the colonel remarked calmly, and the appropriate orders were snapped out immediately. Then, with the colonel beside him, Leighton returned to his two picquets, hoping with every step that he had not made the wrong decision in not defending his position with musketry from the first.

[Drunk Pasty]

Dewi grinned slightly, almost laughing. A man had called from behind him. " It's Blenheim! "
" Is it?" Dewi replied over his shoulder and a cheer of 'Yes!' came in reply.
He then frowned, a regiment had formed in front of him. If he tried anything they would fire. Dewi decided that he would reply with the correct word.
" Blenheim!" He shouted casually. " Blenheim." Still he thought; I am in a British Uniform, I have a Welsh accent. Why would he point guns at me? It was beyond Dewi.

The wind picked up and his grey cape flapped behind him.

[Bog]

Now that, thought Leighton in disbelief, was as blatant a display of incompetence as any he could imagine. He stared at the cavalry officer for a long moment before willing his nerves to settle. This had very nearly become the scene of bloodshed, for no better reason than this fellow's careless ignorance.

"Shoulder. Arms!" Leighton called, and his company shifted their muskets to their left shoulders, recovering from the Poise, the position at which they'd previously been.

The 54th's colonel was striding forward, his face like thunder. "What the devil do you think you are playing at, sir?" He demanded angrily. The emphasis on the 'sir' was, Leighton noted, so firm that it could not be mistaken for anything except contempt. And understandably so, in Leighton's opinion.

[Drunk Pasty]

" I was having a spot of tea." Dewi said calmly. " Until you tried to shoot us up." A small whistling sound came as his regiment pulled up onto the ridge behind him, a few troopers looked confused as Dewi walked forward to face this man. He gazed into his eyes, giving him a chilling stare. Suddenly he kneeled and pick up a small branch of brambles and explained. " I'm like a bush of brambles, I'm fine if you leave me, even productive, but when you step on me, intimidate me or hurt anyone close to me and/or me; I will strike back.

[Bog]

The colonel gazed at the cavalryman a long moment, apparently sizing him up. Then he turned to Leighton and said, "This officer and his regiment may not pass into our lines. I am not convinced of his standing or his identity."

Leighton saluted. "Yes, sir." This was not wholly unexpected, to be sure, but he was mildly surprised at how swiftly the colonel had come to his decision. Honestly. What sort of mad nonsense was that babble about brambles and striking back? It had not been the picquets who had initiated this hostile encounter, after all!

"You and your men are to turn about at once and withdraw," the colonel continued, now addressing the cavalry officer. "Should you return, you shall be fired upon. Is that understood?"

[Drunk Pasty]

" I am a Colonel god dammit." Dewi looked angry. " You may send all the letters you like to the household but I will still be a colonel." He mumbled some insults after in Welsh. " Ast, broga hoyw!"
He turned around, and almost threw his arm at the colonel. He briskly walked down the hill and mounted his horse with a red face. Dewi shouted something as he kicked his horse into a slow gallop. His men mounted as well, following him up the dip. " You may have more troops then me, but by god I have better ones then you."

[Bog]

The cavalry officer's angry blustering had no effect on the 54th's colonel. He watched, unmoved, as the dragoon made his departure. That fellow could claim to be a colonel all he wished. It did not change the fact that, from what the colonel had witnessed, the man was as incompetent an officer as it could get. This encounter would have gone much differently had the cavalryman acted like a proper officer and identified himself from the start - never mind approached the picquets in the appropriate way. Honestly. Who but a madman sprang upon a picquet line with muskets presented, ready to fire?

"Captain Leighton. I will bivouac the regiment one hundred yards to your rear, to be on hand should there be any difficulties during the night. Well done. Carry on." The colonel's voice was level and calm, which was a reassurance.

And that, Leighton thought as he saluted, was that. For now.

[Drunk Pasty]

The night arrives, bringing joy to Dewi. He sat with his officers in a small tent a few hundred meters away from camp. " What are we doing sir?" One major asked, sipping some water from his glass.
" It's something called revenge major." Dewi replied. " We can all mimic a different accents correct?" A quite cheer of 'yes' replied.

Dewi stood up suddenly, he walked to a chest. He opens it and produces some civilian clothes. He threw them to the group. A few looked puzzled.
" Put the bloody clothes on! And follow me." By now dewi was in some ruff farmers clothes with a farmers cap on his head.

He pushed through the tent and mounted his horse, his weapon hidden in the cape. The officers followed him, the troops had been informed of the plan. Dewi pulled the cap over his eyes as they approached the piquet.

[Bog]

The darkness of the New York countryside reminded young Joe Howard of the West Riding. He missed the moors. It had been the most unfortunate day of his life when he'd crossed paths with that recruiting sergeant. Now he was standing nearly motionless in this foreign place, a musket in his hand and a heavy red coat on his back, keeping an eye out for anything that might signal the approach of danger. It had only been two years since he'd been home. Sometimes it still seemed like yesterday.

The light jingle of a bridle somewhere in the dark caused him to freeze, every sense immediately alert. There was a horse out there. A horse and a rider. Now that he was listening intently, Howard could hear the quiet thud of hooves over the ground. More than one horse, by the sound of it. Nothing yet could be seen except shifting shadows. What should he do? That was stupid. He knew very well what he should do. It was simply a matter of actually doing it.

"Halt!" Howard called out, his right hand curled lightly around his musket's doghead. "Who comes there?"

He was grateful, at least, for the earlier order that all men on picquet should have their bayonets fixed while on duty. It might give him a slight advantage should anything happen. Howard swallowed hard and pulled the musket's flint back to full cock. The metal clicks were unmistakeable.