A Father's Legacy.

Daria Morgendorffer looked up from her writing as the door to her second-floor study opened. Her normally expressionless face broke into a broad smile as her fiancee, Richard John Rawlings, came into the room. "Hello, my love," he said as she got up and walked over to him. Embracing, they exchanged a kiss. "Think you could come downstairs for a moment?" he asked. "I've got something you'll want to see."

Daria looked back at her writing area. "Well, I could do with a bit of a break," she said. She smiled up at her tall lover. "So what is it you've got downstairs for me? It can't be the wedding dress: Quinn and Stacy haven't finished designing it yet."

Richard smiled. "No, it's not that," he said. "Besides, I'm not going to risk my chances at happiness by seeing my bride's wedding dress before the big day. And speaking of that; how are Jake and Helen reacting to the news that I managed to get our first choice for a venue?"

"Well, when Amy explained to Mom and Dad about the importance of Bruton Parish Church to our nation's history, plus the fact that you had managed to use your connections with the Colonial Williamsburg people to be able to get a booking at The King's Arms tavern for the reception... Well, from what Amy told me, she was downright flabbergasted." Daria made a face. "Then, she just had to go and ring Aunt Rita to rub it in. Thankfully Grandma Barksdale has offered to help pay for the proceedings, even though you said you were more than happy to cover it yourself." She then smirked. "Mind you, Mom's also interested in Amy's developing relationship with Pete. Wonder just how she'd take the news about who he really is!" Her smile grew wicked. "For that matter, I wonder just how Grandma Tess would take the news!"

Richard mock-reprovingly shook his head. "Now, now, Daria," he said. "I think it best that we leave things as they are: that they think Pete's a distant relation of General James Longstreet. Which is in a sense quite true."

Daria nodded. "You do have a point," she said. "It also avoids having to explain who and what you are. And I suppose that the less who do know your secret the better." The previous summer Daria and Jane had met Richard in Lawndale while they were on summer break from college and had inadvertently discovered that he was actually a Confederate general officer from a world where the South had won the Civil War. At the time he had been following the trail of his counterpart, a Confederate colonel who had been on Stonewall Jackson's staff in the Maryland Campaign in Daria's world. During the time they had gotten to know him both he and Daria had fallen in love. A couple of months later, thanks to Jane, Daria's aunt Amy Barksdale and two of Richard's fellow generals, Richard had come up to Boston and proposed to Daria in the living room of the apartment she and Jane had been sharing. Since Christmas of that year Richard, Daria and Jane had all been living together in the large mid-Victorian town mansion that Richard had bought and refurbished. As he had commented at the time, there were distinct advantages to being the second-richest man in the whole Southern Confederacy.

"So, what's the surprise," Daria said as they left her study. As usual, Richard held the door open and allowed Daria to pass through before him.

Richard grinned. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait and see," he said. "But it's one of those serendipitous finds that one makes when not really looking."

"Ok. Now you've really got me curious." They walked down the staircase into the entrance hall when the door opened and Jane walked through.

"Ah! Jane!" Richard said. "You've just arrived for the grand unveiling!"

Jane raised an eyebrow. "Grand unveiling?" she said. A smirk spread across her features. "Has Daria been learning the art of strip-tease and is giving a preview of what she intends for your wedding night?"

"Jane!" Daria said. She looked at her best friend. "No, that was you, getting ready for when you and Custis Lee get hitched."

Richard realised that he had better get in quickly before things got out of hand. "No, Jane," he said. "It has nothing to do with the art of, ah, 'strip-tease.' Although I suspect I can get an idea from what you're saying what it might entail. But it does involve the visual arts, in particular, painting. So I daresay you'd be interested in it."

Jane's eyebrows rose at that information. "Well, lead on," she said, resting her portfolio case against the wall. "I'll put these away in my room later." The three of them walked into the front parlour and halted in front of a display easel that was covered by a cloth. Underneath the cloth Daria and Jane could see the outlines of what appeared to be a sizeable framed canvas.

Richard walked up and, very carefully, removed the covering cloth. Underneath was revealed a portrait of a young man. He appeared to be somewhere in his late teens and was wearing what was quite clearly a uniform. From the dark blue colour it was clear that this was most likely a US Army uniform from sometime in the Nineteenth Century. It was cut away into a pair of tails at the back and it had a row of ten gilded buttons down the front with black frogging of worsted lace on either side. At the top one button was left undone to show the frill from the ruffled front of a shirt of the 1810s and the black silk of a cravat. The collar was a high standing one, reaching up to the young man's jaw line and on it were two pairs of gold buttons with more black frogging in lace pointing towards the front of the collar.

On his left shoulder was a gold fringed epaulet indicating that he was an officer of some kind. Underneath one arm he had a black cocked hat of the fore-and-aft style with a black cockade worn on the right-hand side held in place by twin black straps and with a small gold eagle in the middle. From the ends of the hat hung small strips of gold fringing. Instead of trousers he wore white pantaloons and around his waist he wore a red silk sash. Over it he wore a black swordbelt with a gold buckle that supported a smallsword. On his face he had a pair of auburn sideburns that matched the auburn of his closely-trimmed hair.

Daria and Jane came up close. They could easily see the resemblance between Richard and this young man. "Who's this?" Daria asked.

Richard smiled. Giving a small bow, he said, "Ladies, I would like to introduce to you William Elliot Rawlings, United States Army. This is my father when he was a Lieutenant on General Winfield Scott's staff during the War of 1812."

Jane nodded in approval. "Well, I'd have to say that from what we've seen so far, the men in the Rawlings family tend to run to quite handsome," she said. "And hunky." Taking a closer look at the painting she said "And that isn't the only thing. This is... Oh My God!" She turned an awed expression onto Richard. "This is a Rembrandt Peale! Your father had a painting of himself done by Rembrandt Peale! How..." She caught herself. "I was going to ask how he managed to do that, but I realised that would sound stupid. I mean, your family are Virginian aristocracy. I wouldn't be all that surprised to learn that he knew Thomas Jefferson."

Richard grinned. "He did, as a matter of fact. In fact, Jefferson was a friend of the family and used his influence to help get my father his commission as a Second Lieutenant in the Thirteenth US Infantry before the start of the War of 1812."

"How did he get on Scott's staff?" asked Daria.

"He was at Queenstown Heights and had managed to get himself noticed by then-Colonel Scott by his valour and steadfastness under fire in a very nasty situation. When Scott started assembling his staff on being promoted to Brigadier-General and just prior to establishing his famous Camp of Instruction in Buffalo, New York, he remembered my father and sent a request to have him detached from his regiment and sent to his staff with a promotion to Lieutenant." He looked at the painting. "I believe he had this done while recovering from his wounds in Baltimore after Lundy's Lane."

"And I detect yet another trend in Rawlings men," Daria said. "You seem to have a talent for getting yourselves into trouble on the battlefield." She looked at her fiancee. "Something I hope doesn't happen again."

"Which is something the Confederacy is taking every step it can to avoid," Richard replied. "We don't want another war, especially with the United States. Not if we can help it."

"And something I feverently hope doesn't happen," Daria said. "My reasons, however, are quite selfish ones. But that doesn't mean they aren't sincere."

Richard walked over and pulled Daria into an embrace. "Believe me, I think I've seen enough of the elephant for one lifetime," he said, and bent down to kiss her. The kiss went on for some time.

"Well! As interesting as it may be to see you two suck face," Jane said, "I want to know a little bit more about this painting, as well as about Richard's father."As they separated Daria shot Jane a dirty look, but Richard simply looked amused.

Jane looked back at the painting. "Did you have it brought over from your world?"

Richard shook his head. "That version is still hanging in the main hallway of my world's Mount Folly, along with the other ancestral portraits." He looked at Daria. "I'll want a painting of Daria to hang in the main parlour, as well as a portrait of myself. Probably a combined painting would be good." He looked at Jane. "Think you could handle it?"

Jane looked at Richard. "Are you offering me a commission?" she asked.

"You could put it that way," Richard said. "Of course, said painting will be accompanying Daria and I back to my world, and seeing it looks as though you and Custis are getting quite serious, it could be your entree into the art world there."

Jane raised her eyebrows. "Well, we'll see after the wedding. Hopefully I'll have gotten a bit of a start." She suddenly grinned. "You don't happen to have your uniform at Mount Folly, do you? I'd love to do a painting of you in your uniform. Or even a painting of you in the clothes you normally wear."

Richard thought for a moment, and then nodded. "Might could be I'll do that," he said. "Of course I'll pay for it and..." He looked at Daria. "It wouldn't be too gauche to have it hanging here, would it?"

Daria thought for a moment, and then shook her head. "No, not too gauche," she said. "Besides, Jane's doing that portrait of Tom Sloane with the photograph of his ancestor looking over his shoulder. That'll probably wind up in whatever office he has as an executive of whatever Fortune 100 company he winds up directing."

Richard thought for a moment, and then nodded at Jane. "That's what we'll do, then. We set up times for a sitting. Of course I'll be paying you for the portrait."

Jane thought for a moment and then nodded. "But the one do of you and Daria will be my wedding present to the two of you. I insist." She looked back at the painting. "So where did you find it?"

"In an art gallery that dealt in antique paintings," Richard said. "Though how it got up here is something of a mystery to me."

Daria looked at the painting. "Did he ever tell you any of his war stories before you went into the Army?" she asked

"Not too many," Richard said. "I heard a bit more from General Scott, though, as well as from some of his Old Army friends who were still alive."

"So he was wounded at Lundy's Lane?" Daria said. "Must be an interesting story."

"Wounded alongside General Scott," Richard said. "And from what he told me, it was a near thing..."

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Late Afternoon, on the Queenstown-Chippewa Portage Road, British North America, 25th July 1814.

Lieutenant William Elliot Rawlings rode back along the main road towards where his chief, Brigadier-General Winfield Scott sat overseeing the movement of his brigade of United States Regulars.

The Army of the Niagra was marching along the portage road in the direction of Queenstown Heights from the town of Chippewa, where on the 4th they had defeated a force of British Regulars and Canadian Militia in a battle that, for the first time, showed that the Regulars of the United States Army could mix it with the veterans of the British Army. Since then the army, commanded by Major-General Jacob Brown, had advanced in the direction of Queenstown but, on receiving reports that the British had been reinforced and learning that he would be lacking his promised naval support, he had retired back on Chippewa in order to reconsider his options. On learning that his opponent, now Major-General Sir Gordon Drummond, was doing his best to concentrate as many troops as possible, but also on hearing that Drummond hadn't received all of his expected reinforcements, Brown decided to attack the British position on a hill overlooking the portage road near its junction with a secondary road called Lundy's Lane.

William rode up to his chief and touched the tip of his cocked hat worn fore-and-aft. "I've managed to scout the British position, sir," he said.

Scott, a fellow Virginian, looked at his subordinate. "What did you see, Lieutenant?" he asked.

William reached into his uniform coat and pulled out a notepad. Opening it, he turned the pages until he reached a rough map of the area he had just been observing through his spyglass. "The British have managed to put themselves into a good position on this hill," he said, indicating the hill with his pencil. "They have a battery of artillery here in the churchyard. It appears, however, that they've only just arrived and have started emplacing them."

Scott looked at the map and reflected on what his young aide had said to him. "Looks like we could catch them relatively unprepared if we move fast enough and deploy in this field here," he said. He looked over to another aide. "Order the brigade to the double-quick," he said. "Have the skirmishers deploy ahead of the brigade and have the Ninth, Eleventh and Twenty-Second US deploy on this field, with Townsend's guns to the right. Have Jesup move his troops into the woods east of the road." As the aide touched the front of his hat and rode off, Scott looked around. "Let's go and see this position, shall we?" He gave William a grin. "And see if we can get some more of our own back for Queenstown."

As they rode off the sounds of musket fire could be heard off to one side. Interspaced between the shots war whoops could be heard. "Sounds like the skirmishers have managed to catch some of those Mohawks that were skulking around us," said one of the aides. Nobody answered, and he gave everyone a nervous smile.

Was I that nervous when I first saw action? William thought to himself. He cast his mind back to the action at Queenstown Heights, when the Thirteenth US Infantry crossed the Niagra River below the falls and had come under fire from British troops on the heights opposite after they had landed.

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"He basically started to recall his first time in action," Richard said. "He had been in the lead wave of boats that crossed the Niagra River back in 1812 for the assault on Queenstown, which offered a suitable landing area on the Canadian side of the river."

"But I gather that things didn't go according to plan," said Jane.

They were all sitting on the couches that formed a conversation area in the front parlour, with Richard and Daria sitting close together on one while Jane sat on the opposite couch. All had cups of coffee which were placed on the coffee table in front of them. A pot of coffee, part of an Arabian coffee service that Richard had purchased, also sat on a tray on the coffee table.

"No, they didn't."

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Bank of the Niagra River near Queenstown, Upper Canada, Dawn, 13th October, 1812.

He had just seen Major-General Van Rensselaer, the commander of the army, go down after taking several hits from British musket fire, and saw Captain John E Wool of his own regiment take command of the landing spot. Under Wool's leadership they had driven the British back into the village and enlarged the beachhead somewhat, but this was countered by the increasing accuracy of the British artillery as daylight grew. Pinned down, William and the others saw some boats turn back while others, mainly in the second wave, either get shot out of the water or drift downstream. Before he had been carried back to the boats, however, General Van Rensselaer had ordered Captain Wool and Captain Ogilvie to scout out an alternate path up the bluffs.

William was directing his section of the platoon to keep up a steady fore on the British positions in Queenstown when he felt a hand land on his shoulder. Turning around he saw that it was attached to Captain Wool. "William," Wool said, "we've managed to find an unguarded pathway up the bluffs. It looks as though it leads right into the rear of that redoubt up there." He pointed to where three British guns were pouring a galling fire onto the American boats trying to cross the river. "We silence those guns, the rest of the army will have a chance at crossing the river."

William nodded. "What will you have me do, sir?" he asked.

"I want you to bring your boys and come up the bluffs with me. If I'm right, we should be able to clear that redoubt out in no time at all." William nodded and, indicating for his men to follow, followed Wool up the winding path running up the bluffs and into the rear of the British position. Soon they were in the rear of the British position, looking on as the British gunners serviced the pieces that were causing such carnage on the river.

"The path's unguarded," Wool quietly said, "and it looks as though there's only the artillerymen, plus a few bloodybacks, in the position." Bloodyback was an old term of derision for British soldiers that dated from the Revolution. It referred to their red coats as well as to the savagery of British Army punishments. "So we..." Just then, one of the British infantrymen still in the redoubt saw Wool's force and shouted a warning. "Damn it!" Wool said. "Now or never!" Screaming war cries the Americans swept out into the rear of the redoubt, causing the British soldiers to run, but not before the gunners had managed to spike their own guns. "So we can't turn them on their former owners," Captain Wool had said as he slapped the still-warm breech of an 18-pounder. "But we've at least neutralised this position."

Suddenly they were astonished to see British infantry, around four companies, form up at the base of the hill on which the redoubt stood and, led by what appeared to be a British general, start to make their way up the hill. Immediately Wool sent his men to the rear of the redoubt, where they began to pour fire into the advancing redcoats. Initially they seemed to be halting and even beginning to fall back, but apparently at the urging of the British general who led them, they reformed and, joined by an additional two companies, renewed their attack. During this William cooly stood to the immediate rear of his men and calmly gave them orders and encouragement, his stomach churning the whole time.

William saw the British general again lead them from the front. My God, he's brave, he thought. Even without his uniform he stands out against his men, mainly because he's so tall and because of that odd waist sash. Suddenly he saw the British general fall and his staff, under fire all the time, pick up his body from where it had fallen and carry it to the rear. The British, however, were not overly dismayed by this and renewed their assault, but the US force had by now been reinforced by more American troops who had landed at the bottom of the bluffs and had made their way up the path to the top of the bluff. Together Captain Wool's force and the reinforcements managed to drive off the British, who withdrew through the village.

William was overseeing his men check their muskets and reload them when he felt a hand land on his shoulder. Looking around he saw that it was Captain Wool. "By God, those were brave men," he said. "Especially that officer in the lead: now that's how to inspire men!" He looked in the direction the British had gone in. "I wonder who he was?" He then looked at William. "And you're no slouch yourself, young Rawlings," he said. William blushed faintly under such praise. Inwardly, though, he could still feel his stomach churning.

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"My father told me that, after the surrender, he found out that the British general he had seen shot down was Major-General Sir Isaac Brock," Richard said.

Daria's lips formed a soundless whistle. "Your father saw General Brock killed?"

Richard nodded. "When Winfield Scott heard what had happened, he asked Brock's successor, Major-General Roger Hale Sheaffe, for permission to attend the funeral along with his officers."

"Who was Sir Isaac Brock?" Jane asked.

Daria looked at her best friend. "Major-General Sir Isaac Brock was Lieutenant-Governor of what was then called Upper Canada," she said. "He saw the war between Great Britain and the United States coming long before anybody else in Canada or Britain. When war broke out he had his province well prepared and even managed to go on the offensive and take Detroit."

"Wow," Jane said. "And he was in charge at Queenstown?"

"He was," Daria said. "And, as Richard just told us, he was killed there. But not before he stopped the United States' first attempted invasion dead and gave us one of our greatest military defeats. To this day he is known as 'the Hero of Upper Canada' and is regarded as one of Canada's greatest historical figures."

"My father told me that while Winfield Scott did offer his condolences for the death of a gallant and much respected opponent," Richard said, "he could not but observe that Brock's death was to the advantage of the United States. Incidentally, Sheaffe, Brock's successor, was born in Boston before the Revolution."

"So Sheaffe was an American Loyalist?" Jane said. "What happened?"

"Sheaffe granted permission for Colonel Scott and the American officers to attend Brock's funeral at Fort George. But that was later on, after the battle had ended..."

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American Position, Queenstown Heights, Upper Canada, Approximately 10:00am.

By ten in the morning the American forces had been reinforced in the redoubt by troops led by Colonel Scott, who took overall command of the force. William saw Colonel Scott prowling the perimeter of the American position and occasionally looking back towards Lewiston.

Suddenly a runner came up to Scott and handed him a message. Scott opened it, read it and then, with a curt nod, dismissed the messenger. He then started to walk up and down the line, looking all the while at the British position in Queenstown, which was visibly growing stronger.

"Where are our reinforcements?" muttered one soldier. "Those bloodybacks seem to be gettin' stronger. Where are our boys?"

"I'm sure General Van Rensselaer has all that in hand," William said. He looked back and saw, to his astonishment, Colonel Scott looking at him, and then moving off to where Captain Wool was standing. Time seemed to pass slowly, with the steady firing of a British artillery piece that was emplaced in another work further down the river the only constant noise. Still the British force in Queenstown did nothing. I suspect they're building up for an attack, William thought to himself. The question is, when?

Before long William heard a pair of guns that the British had positioned in the village open fire. Suddenly, war whoops could be heard and William saw a group of some three hundred Mohawk Indians fall upon the outposts Colonel Scott had thrown out. Chills rode up and down his spine as he remembered the stories his father and grandfather had told of their encounters with Mohawk Indians on the frontier during the Revolution and the French and Indian War. However, he did not allow any of this to show as he walked up and down his section of the line steadying his men by his example. After a short but fierce struggle the Mohawks were driven off without loss to the Americans, but they remained in the vicinity, their cries visibly unsettling the men. Partly to steady the men William and the other officers braved the fire of Mohawk sharpshooters to look out over the line of American troops to see what was going on in Queenstown.

By late afternoon it had become clear that no reinforcements were going to arrive. William had heard from one of the other officers that despite General Van Rensselaer's urging the New York militia had refused to cross the river and were simply watching events unfold

Suddenly a flourish of drumming could be heard coming from Queenstown. To the astonished gaze of William and the other Americans the British, now some eight hundred strong and supported by a pair of guns, marched out of Queenstown, aligned themselves on the edge of the village as if on parade, and begin advancing towards the American position, colours flying and drums beating. My God, but they make a stirring sight, thought William.

Suddenly he heard shouting and running feet. Looking around he saw that the militiamen, their nerves totally frayed, had dropped their weapons and started running for the pathway that led back down to the riverbank below the bluffs. Some of their officers tried to stop them, but many of them simply threw away their weapons and ran with their men. William could also see Colonel Scott and several of the Regular officers try and stop individual militiamen, but soon the top of the bluffs, save for the area around the entrance to the pathway, was bare of militia. Only some three hundred Regulars remained.

William looked at Scott. Scott himself was clearly considering his options. Suddenly he called out: "The Battalion will retire fifty paces to the rear! Battalion, march!" Keeping their faces towards the British, William and the other officers marched the Regulars back until they had formed a position around the struggling mass of militiamen trying to make it down the bluffs to the bank of the river. Out of the surrounding brush they could see the Mohawks come pouring out on the flanks of the British, whooping with glee and, despite fire coming from the Regulars, running up to the edge of the bluff and firing into the mass of militiamen.

William, while keeping an eye on his men, kept another on Scott, who kept looking down at the river. Suddenly he called over to one of the regimental musicians. The musician came over and William distinctly heard Scott say to the man "Drummer, I intend to beat for parley." Looking around his eye lit upon William. "Lieutenant, come here."

William came over. "Do you have a white handkerchief?"

"I do sir," William said.

Scott's eyebrows rose at William's Old Dominion accent. "A fellow Virginian, eh?" he said. "Mind if I ask you your name?"

"Second-Lieutenant William Elliot Rawlings, Thirteenth United States Infantry," William said.

"Rawlings," he said. "Are you a connection of a Colonel Henry Rawlings, formerly of the Virginia Militia and Continental Army?"

"My father, sir."

Scott looked at the approaching British. "Well, I understand your father was at Yorktown when Lord Cornwallis surrendered to General Washington," he said, "so I suppose this balances that out. Tie your handkerchief to your sword and go out there with the drummer. I'm surrendering to the British."

"May I ask why, Colonel?" William said. "We could hold out long enough to be able to get back..."

"Van Rensselaer was unable to get the civilian boatmen to cross the river, let alone the New Yorkers," Scott said. "So there'll be no boats coming to get us off this side of the river. And if I don't surrender I'm afraid those red devils will start a massacre. So we're surrendering to the British to avoid that." William felt tears sting his eyes, but said nothing. He nodded and, after tying his handkerchief to his sword, indicated to the drummer to follow him.

As they reached a gap in the line William said to the drummer "Start beating for parley." The drummer started beating the tattoo indicating that they wanted to talk while William started waving his impromptu white flag and walking forward. Gradually the firing stopped, save for that of the Indians.

A group of British officers stepped out. "Come forward," one of them said. Accompanied only by the drummer William stepped out into the space between the two forces, still waving his white flag. The British officers also advanced and they and William met halfway between the two forces.

"What message do you bring, sir?" one British officer, who, by his uniform, appeared to be yet another general.

William swallowed. "Colonel Winfield Scott, in overall command of all American forces on this part of the field, wishes to discuss terms of surrender so as to avoid a possible massacre," he replied.

The British general nodded. "Lead on, Lieutenant," he said. William nodded and led the British officers towards the American lines.

Not long after the surrender had taken place, William and the others saw some five hundred militiamen come out of hiding all around the bluffs and surrender themselves to the British.

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As he was leading his men to where they were piling arms before being taken to the rear William was approached by no less a person than Colonel Scott. Scott came up to him and, extending his hand, said, "I'd like to shake hands with one of the officers who did the United States Regulars proud today, even though we went down to defeat."

William extended his hand and took Scott's. "Thank you for the complement, Colonel Scott," he said.

Scott suddenly smiled. He reclaimed his hand and clapped it to William's shoulder. "Your father distinguished himself as a young officer in the Continental Army, or so I'm told," he said. "And you seem to be bidding fair to carry on the family tradition. I have no doubt you'll leave your children an equally distinguished legacy." He looked around. "For now, though, I'll leave you to look after your men." With that, Scott had gone off to oversee another aspect of the surrender.

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William would have cause to remember that meeting with Scott. Much later, after he had been exchanged and returned to his regiment, William was called to meet his Colonel.

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"I take it your father had no idea what was going on," Daria said.

"Indeed he did not," Richard replied. "And, to hear him say it, his commander, Colonel Jackson, was not too pleased about it himself..."

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"Do you know Brigadier-General Scott, Lieutenant?," Colonel Jackson said to William as he stood at attention before his commanding officer's seat.

William, looking straight ahead and directly over his colonel's head, replied "I did meet him after the disaster at Queenstown Heights in 1812, sir," he said. "He sought me out after the surrender."

Jackson shot William a look that he could not interpret. He then picked up a letter and handed it to William. "Your orders, Lieutenant," Jackson said. "You are hereby ordered to the camp of instruction that General Scott has established nearby, there to report to General Scott for duty as one of his staff officers. Seems you may have made an impression on him at Queenstown." He leaned forward. "I wonder if this is not any more of President Jefferson's influence in forwarding your career?"

"I could not in all honesty answer that, sir," William replied.

Jackson snorted. "Well, it's of no matter now," he said. "Have your gear packed and ready to go within the hour. Dismissed, Lieutenant." William clicked his heels, gave a small bow and left the tent.

Placing his hat on his head, William looked down and opened the letter. There, as Colonel Jackson had reported, were orders instructing him to report to General Scott's headquarters, and others assigning him to General Scott's headquarters as an aide "with a Promotion to the Rank of Lieutenant, United States Regulars." A promotion? William thought as he walked to his quarters. But why did General Scott ask for me? I mean, I only met him just the once, after the battle. General Sir Isaac Brock's funeral surely doesn't count! Puzzled, he reached the large tent he was sharing with three other junior officers. He took off his hat and walked in.

Sitting around a table on their bunks were his three tent mates: Second Lieutenant Grahame Bent, of South Carolina, Second Lieutenant Elias Goodwin of Upper New York, and Lieutenant John Derwent of Boston, Massachusetts. All three had been playing cards and drinking sack when William entered the tent.

"So, William," said Derwent. "What did the Colonel want of you?" In reply William tossed the letter onto the table in front of Derwent and then eased himself past to get to his bunk.

"Read it and find out," William replied as he started to put his gear away in his army trunk. The other three looked at William with some curiosity, then looked at the untouched letter.

Eventually, Derwent picked up the letter and unfolded it.

As he read the letter his eyebrows rose to the top of his head. "Report to General Scott's headquarters? Made an aide with a promotion to lieutenant?" He passed the letter to the other two and turned an astonished gaze on William. "How did this happen?"

William shrugged. "Colonel Jackson pretty much asked me the same thing," he said. "Only he asked me if I knew General Scott. I told him that I met him after we surrendered to the bloodybacks at Queenstown Heights and that he had sought me out. Mind you, he was doing that to pretty much all of the Regular officers who were there, saying we had done the Regulars proud."

"Well, it certainly looks like General Scott saw something in you that day," Derwent said, refolding the letter and handing it to William. "Mind, I understand you'll have to really work on his staff. Rumour has it that he's intending to form his brigade into some kind of model outfit for the rest of the Army to emulate."

"So, you could be saying that young William here is in for a lot of very hard work?" Bent said as he watched William finish packing his trunk and place a luggage strap around it.

"That, plus he could be on the sharp end of the stick when we go up against the British," Derwent said. He got up and closed the front of his uniform. "I'll go and get a couple of the enlisted men to help you with your trunk." Putting on his hat, Derwent exited the tent.

"You realise that going on a general's staff will require a slight change of uniform," Goodwin said. "New hat, new buttons and, with the promotion, a new epaulet."

"Once I get settled in over at General Scott's headquarters I'll write my father and get him to send me those items," William said. He walked over and, after reclaiming the letter, folded it and placed it in-between two buttons of his coat. "Might as well try and look as good for the general as I can," he said, straightening his cravat and checking his shako. It was, as standard with the United States Army of the time, based on the British model and replaced the one he had lost at Queenstown. Its silver cords contrasted with the black felt of the shako and the gilded brass shako plate on front.

Derwent reentered the tent with two enlisted men in their fatigue dress. "That trunk over there," he said, pointing at William's trunk. "Mister Rawlings will tell you where he wants it taken."

"Out in front of the headquarters tent, I daresay," William said. "I believe a wagon will be along shortly to take me over to Buffalo."

"Travelling in style, I see," said Bent as the two privates walked over and picked up William's trunk. He stood up and extended his hand. "Good luck, William. Something tells me you're in for quite an adventure."

William took Bent's hand. "Thanks, Grahame," he said. The other two officers came over and shook William's hand in turn.

"Thing is, we'll have to break in a new whist partner," Bent said as they exited the tent so as to allow the privates to carry William's trunk out.

"Oh, I think that won't be too much of a problem," William said. "Not for you three, at any rate." Giving a waving kind of salute, William indicated that the two privates follow him in the direction of the headquarters tent. His three former tent mates each raised a glass in salute as he departed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Lieutenant Rawlings reporting with orders to General Scott's headquarters," William said as he stood to attention in front of the folding table inside the headquarters tent.

The staff officer, a captain, looked William over and then extended his hand. "Your orders, please?" he asked. William reached up, removed his orders from where he had put them and handed them to the captain, who unfolded and read them. After reading them he refolded them and looked at William. "Do you know anything about why you have been ordered here?" he asked.

"Only what my orders have told me, sir," William replied. "That, and what rumour says."

"And what does rumour say?"

"That General Scott is creating in this camp a brigade that is intended to be some sort of model for the rest of the Army, sir," William replied.

"And for once rumour has it right." The captain leaned forward on the table. "General Scott has decided to standardise the drill and tactics of this brigade," he said, "so as to ensure that debacles like Queenstown Heights do not happen in the future."

"I understand, sir," William said. "I, too, was at Queenstown Heights. I met General Scott there. He had me go and begin the parley with the British for the surrender."

The captain gave William an assessing look. "I see," he said. He handed William his orders. "I'll have Lieutenant Harding find you a tent so that you can get yourself settled in," he said. "Once you have your kit in your tent you are to report back to this headquarters, and I'll take you in to see the general. He will inform you of your duties."

"Thank you, sir," William said. When he did not move, the captain said, "Something the matter, Lieutenant?"

"Well... Just that it is a bit unusual for the commanding general of a brigade of infantry to personally tell a Lieutenant on the Staff what his duties are to be, sir."

The captain chuckled. "Believe me, there is nothing usual about this assignment."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

William was brought out of his reverie by Scott and his staff moving out into the open field from where William had carried out his reconnaissance of the British line. Up ahead, on the hill overlooking the portage road, they could see the British. There were a lot more than William had expected.

"They must have brought up reinforcements," Scott said as he surveyed the British line. "That line looks very solid." He looked through his spyglass. "Looks to be about eighteen hundred of them."

"There also appear to be Indians off to the left," one of the other staff officers said.

Scott lowered his glass and thought for a moment. "They look as though they're still positioning themselves. If we launch an attack now, we could force them off the hill." He turned to another aide. "Have Towson begin a bombardment of the British battery position. That might disrupt 'em enough to allow us to close to engage." He turned to another aide. "Go and find Jesup. Tell him to advance to a position on the portage road side of the hill and see if he can cause them to deploy some troops to stop him." As the officers rode off to deliver their messages he looked at the sky. "What's the time?" he asked.

"Almost 6:00pm., sir," replied one staff officer.

"Not much daylight left, then," Scott said. "That could be to our advantage, though." He looked at his staff. "As soon as Towson starts firing we move off. Skirmishers forward, the rest of the brigade in line." The aides scattered to give the brigade, now beginning its deployment, Scotts instructions. Just after the aides got back Towson's two twelve-pounder guns began firing.

Scott called out; "The Brigade will advance! Forward, MARCH!". As one the three regiments, the 9th, 11th and 22nd United States Infantry, preceded by a cloud of skirmishers from all three units, advanced across the open field towards the British position. Almost immediately British long-range artillery fire began tearing into the tight formations, which closed ranks almost as soon as gaps were torn in them.

William remembered the first time Scott's brigade had gone into action a few weeks earlier outside the town of Chippewa. The brigade had performed excellently there, showing the entire world the fruits of Scott's intensive instruction. Basing his ideas on the French 1791 Reglement, Scott and his officers had forged the first truly professional outfits in the United States Army.

Scott's work had even drawn praise from their opponents: William had found this out when meeting with some British staff officers in arranging for the treatment of the wounded after Chippewa, when one of them had told him that Major-General Riall, the British commander at Chippewa, had, thanks to their wearing grey uniforms instead of blue, initially mistaken Scott's men for militia. However, when he had seen them cooly close ranks after roundshot had torn through them, Riall had pointed at them and exclaimed, "Those are Regulars, by God!" and tipped his hat in salute. William commented that he had seen a figure in the rear of the British formation do just that, and was further gratified that one of Major-General Drummond's staff officers, a veteran of the Peninsular War acting as a liaison with Riall, had said that Scott's men were easily up to par with any troops he had seen in Spain, including the redcoats of the British Army. That bit of news, coming on the their victory over the British, had done wonders for the morale of Scott's men.

Now the brigade was advancing into what promised to be the heaviest fire they had yet encountered. William, looking ahead at the British line, on impulse stopped and, pulling out his spyglass, looked at the colours of the British regiments. After a moment he lowered his glass and, spurring his horse, caught up with Scott and the others.

"What did you see, Mister Rawlings?" Scott said.

"I'm certain that at least one of the regiments up there are from the British army that fought in Spain," William said.

Scott paused for a moment. "That does explain a couple of things," he said. Looking at the brigade he signalled for them to halt. "If we advance any further we'll only be committing suicide." Indicating the guns he shouted, "Brigade will commence fire. Hopefully we'll be able to discomfort those people somewhat." He turned to an aide. "Please give General Brown my compliments and ask him if he could hurry Porter and Ripley forward to my support." As the aide saluted he turned his attention back to the battle. "I hope they come forward soon," he muttered.

At around 7:00pm William saw an officer galloping towards Scott's position from the general direction of Jesup's regiment. "Sir," he said, drawing Scott's attention. "Runner from Major Jesup." Scott turned and, seeing the runner, spurred his horse to meet him.

The runner halted and touched the front of his hat. "Sir, Major Jesup's compliments," he said. "Major Jesup has driven what appeared to be a provisional battalion of Canadian militia out of the trees and has positioned himself cross the Portage Road and has sent his Light Company to occupy the junction between the road and the side lane the British have occupied. He also begs to report that the Light Company, while unable to occupy the junction, has taken Major-General Riall prisoner."

"Has he, by God!" Scott said. "Where is Riall now?"

"Major Jesup has sent General Riall back to the rear, as he is suffering from a shoulder wound."

"Can Major Jesup advance on the flank of the British position?"

The messenger shook his head. "He did make the attempt, but was held off by units on the British left. He also reports that some prisoners have indicated that reinforcements are en route from DeCour's falls."

Scott frowned as he heard that news. He thought for a moment, and then spoke to the runner. "Tell Major Jesup that he is to remain in his position, but that if it looks as though the British are going to move against him in strength, he is to fall back and conform to the position of the rest of the brigade." The runner saluted and rode off.

Scott looked around. "Gentlemen, we cannot go forward. Retiring is anathema to me, and, I daresay, the rest of the brigade. We shall hold our position until the rest of the army arrives."

"And we had better hope they arrive soon, sir," said one aide. He ducked as a cannonball bounced overhead. "We are taking one hell of a pasting here."

"We would be in for a worse pasting if we tried to reform into column of march and head back to join the rest of the army," Scott said. "So here we stay." He looked at William, rode over and said to him in a quiet undertone "I just hope they get here in time, as well as there's something left of us for them to link up with."

"If need be, sir, we could double-quick across their front and link up with Jesup," William said. "Their musketry wouldn't be able to cause us that many casualties and we'd be moving out of range of those guns." As he finished speaking the Americans heard a whistling shriek coming from the British lines and getting closer.

"Rocket!" yelled one of the aides. Sure enough, they could see a long shape shrieking towards them. Thankfully it fell short and exploded some way off.

"So they've got one of those Congreve rockets, eh?" Scott said. "Rather stick with conventional artillery myself. Those things are that inaccurate it's a wonder they stick with them."

"Make enough of a noise, though," muttered one of the aides. Thankfully, Scott didn't hear him.

That, they shure do, William thought to himself.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Position of Scott's Brigade, 9:00pm

The last vestiges of daylight had almost vanished when William, who had been tasked by Scott with keeping an eye out for the reinforcements, saw General Brown ride out into the clearing in which the field they were on was located. He turned around and called out: "General Scott: General Brown's just arrived, And he has Generals Porter and Ripley with him."

Scott turned his attention from the battle. He had just spent the past few minutes reorganising his brigade, now severely reduced in size, into a "Provisional Battalion" under Major Henry Leavenworth of the Ninth Infantry. He had also had two horses shot out from underneath him and was still somewhat sore and bruised from being hit by a glancing impact from an almost-spent cannonball. He rode up next to William. "Thank God!" he said. "Now we can show the bloodybacks something!" He rode up to meet Brown, William following.

Major-General Jacob Brown reined in his horse as Scott rode up and touched his hat in salute. "Hot work, Winfield?" Brown said.

Scott nodded. "But now that you're on the field, we should be able to drive the British off that hill," he said. "Major Jesup has his battalion off to one side and has caused them to draw in that flank. And Biddle and Ritchie's guns should help in suppressing the British battery on the hill."

Brown, looking at the hill and then at Scott's depleted line, nodded. "But first we get your boys out of the firing." He turned to Brigadier-General Ripley. "Have your brigade deploy in front of General Scotts, men, if you will," he said. Ripley touched his hat and moved off to execute his orders.

Brown turned to Scott. "You say they've drawn in their left flank?" Scott nodded. "Then it might be worth while taking advantage of the approaching darkness to put in some infantry to see if we can clear those guns that way." He thought for a moment and then nodded. "No use having the militia do it." He kicked his horse into motion and rode up to Ripley. "Who's your best regimental commander?" he asked.

"Colonel Miller of the Twenty-First, sir," Ripley replied.

"Have him report to me," Brown said. "I have a little mission for him." He turned to Scott. "Who amongst your officers know the British positions well?"

"My engineers, McRee and Wood," Scott said.

"Good," Brown said. "Have them report to me.Reorder your brigade. And please, if you will, have Major Jesup's battalion conform with Colonel Miller's movements."

Scott nodded. "Ver good, sir." He turned to William. "Lieutenant Rawlings, please give Major Jesup my complements and tell him that he is to conform to Colonel Miller's movements." William repeated his instructions , touched his hat and rode off in the direction that he had last seen the runner from Jesup take. Before long he encountered Jesup's battalion positioned near the portage road.

William rode up, halted his horse in front of Jesup and saluted. "General Scott's complements, and he directs you to conform to the movements of Colonel Miller's regiment, which is to make an attack on the British battery position on the hill overlooking the portage road."

Jesup nodded. "Tell General Scott I shall do my best." he said. William touched his hat and rode off. As he rode to rejoin Scott's staff he passed the Twenty-First as they moved at the double-quick, with Miller and the two engineer officers on their horses at the lead, towards their jumping-off point along the portage road. As William passed Brown he heard him direct Ripley to begin his attack.

Ripley touch his hat in reply and then turned to face his brigade. "The Brigade will advance at the quickstep! Forward, MARCH!" As Ritchie's guns joined in the bombardment of the British line Ripley's brigade, minus the Twenty-First, moved off to the attack, with Porter's guns ready to move forward if needed.

William rode up to Scott and touched his hat. "Major Jesup's complements, sir. He says that he will do his best to conform to Colonel Miller's movement." Scott said nothing but simply nodded in reply. William retook his position behind Scott..

Brown turned and rode up to Scott. "General Scott, as soon as you have finished reordering your brigade, you will hold it in readiness to move forward at my command." Scott nodded in reply and Brown turned to watch the advance against the British position. It progressively got darker and darker, with only the light of a waxing moon to illuminate the field. Brown, peering ahead, uttered a muffled curse and turned to Scott. "General Scott, I am advancing closer to the general action," he said. "Please have your brigade conform to my movements."

Scott touched his hat. "Yes, sir." As Brown moved off Scott turned and shouted "The Brigade will advance to the front at the quickstep Forward, MARCH!" William and the others kicked their horses into motion as the brigade advanced in General Brown's wake. They arrived just in time to see Ripley's brigade, which had been repulsed, reform for another attempt on the British line.

Ripley saluted Brown as he rode up. "Colonel Miller should be in position now, sir," he said. "As soon as his men attack, I'll..." Just then a large volley of musketry was herd coming from the American right. Brown, Ripley and the other officers turned their heads in that direction and, under the light of the moon, saw a large body of troops advance from the position where Miller's regiment was believed to be and swarm over the British battery.

Ripley did not wait. "The Brigade will advance to the charge! At my command: CHARGE!" As he spoke, he waved his sword in the air, pointed it at the British position and set off at a gallop, his brigade following. From their position Brown, Scott and their two staffs saw Ripley's brigade swarm up the hill, deliver a volley at close range and drive the British off it in confusion. At the same time Porter's guns moved up and took up a position on the flank of the First United States Infantry, which was out on the left of the brigade as Ripley advanced his brigade to position it all along the laneway that led from the portage road. Both the Twenty-First and Jesup's Twenty-Fifth moved up on the right and extended the line all the way along the lane to the portage road, creating a very solid American position, with a gap at the hill where Major Jacob Hindman, the artillery commander, was deploying his remaining batteries.

Scott, in the meantime, was moving his brigade toward the gap. "I think we may have them on the run," he said. "We may have the damned lobster-backs on the run!" Lobster-back, like bloodyback and lobster, was another derisive term for the British soldier.

Scott looked around. "Have the brigade form up in column d'Assault," he said. The brigade halted and reformed itself into that formation, which had been immortalised in military lore by the armies of the French Revolution, the Directorate and was the preferred assault and movement formation across the battlefield of the armies of the French Emperor Napoleon. While this was happening the noise of musketry and artillery fire grew louder, faded away and then, after a while, once again grew louder in volume. "Sounds like the bloodybacks are trying to force us off the hill," Scott said. "It may not be over yet." He looked around and then, looking at the position held by the guns, ordered his men to move up next to them. As they crested the hill they saw, spread out before them and illuminated by the moonlight, the British, drawn up in line of battle, moving to assault the American position. Off to their left they could see the centre of the position begin to waver slightly.

Scott made his decision. "The Brigade will move to the assault at the double-quick! Forward, MARCH!" At Scott's command the brigade, now much smaller than when the battle had started, moved past the positions of the First and Twenty-First US Infantry and moved to attack the British centre. The British, taken aback by this assault, halted wavered and then broke.

Suddenly, from their left flank and rear... from out of the American position, musket fire tore into the column. "God damn it!" Scott shouted. "We're Americans! You're firing on your own men!" The column halted, wavered and, when struck by fire from rallying British units to their front, broke and ran for the rear. Scott, his staff following, rode in pursuit of his retreating men until, deciding to leave the task of rallying the broken brigade to Leavenworth and his officers, suddenly turned left and rode off to find Major Jesup's battalion. His staff followed and soon found Jesup's men, who were heavily engaged in a fierce firefight with some British units.

Scott rode up to Jesup, who was nursing a bandaged hand. "Are you wounded, sir?" he asked.

Jesup nodded. "Merely a scratch, sir," he replied.

Suddenly a voice was herd calling out from the ranks. "Cartridges!"

A voice came in reply from a man reeling to the ground. "Cartridges in my box!" As Scott and Jesup moved towards the falling man a volley tore through the undergrowth. To their horror Scott's staff officers saw their commander reel in his saddle and, clutching his left shoulder, fall off his horse. His officers raced over and, some dismounting, went over to their fallen commander.

William picked up Scott's head. "Where are you wounded, sir?" he asked. Scott made no reply.

"Is he dead?" asked one officer.

"No, he still breathes," replied another. "We have to get him out of the way." Trying to be as careful of Scott's wounded shoulder as they could be William and the others picked him up and, as they were moving him to cover behind a tree another volley of shots rang out. William felt one impact on the right side of his back and another in the calf of his left leg. He went down, spilling Scott onto the ground. Immediately several officers who were unhit picked Scott up off the ground while two other picked William up and carried him to shelter behind a neighbouring tree. Both men were laid out with their feet away from the enemy.

One officer knelt by William and, drawing out a hip flask, opened it and held it to William's mouth. "Take a draught, William," he said. "It'll help ease the pain a bit."

"How's the general?" William asked.

"He's hurt badly and is in some pain," the officer replied. "We're calling for an ambulance wagon to take the pair of you back to Chippewa."

"And the..." William coughed. To the concern of the officers who were nursing him, blood showed in his sputum. "The bloodybacks?"

"Looks like they've drawn off," the officer replied. "But we can't be sure they won't be back." He looked up at the wagon rumbled into view. "Here's your ride back," he said. He and the other officers got both wounded men into the wagon and, with two officers each nursing Scott and William in the back, the wagon turned and headed back down the portage road to the American camp on the Chippewa.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"How badly hurt was he?" asked Jane.

"Pretty badly," Richard said. "The ball that hit him in the back broke one of his ribs and drove one end of it into his right lung, which is why he was coughing up blood. Luckily the ball was mostly spent. His left calf was a flesh wound. The doctor who treated him managed to extract both balls, extracted the piece of rib, along with a fragment of his coat and shirt from his lung, reset it in place and patched up his wounds. Luckily he survived his treatment; many did not."

"I daresay," Daria said. "Otherwise we wouldn't be here." She snuggled in close to Richard. "Was that the end of his war?"

"Interestingly enough, no," Richard said. "He was in Baltimore recovering from his wounds when the British launched their assault on the city in September that year. He rushed to Fort McHenry and was present for the bombardment." He smiled. "If you look at the painting you'll see Fort McHenry there in the background."

Both Daria and Jane got up and looked at the painting. "Well, whaddya know?" Jane said. "There it is, with the flag flying overhead."

Daria gave her fiancee a droll look. "Somehow I'm not all that surprised," she dryly said. "It seems to be a characteristic of Rawlings men to go and fight battles while seriously wounded." She walked over and sat back down next to Richard. "Like father, like son, I suppose.

"So what happened after the war? I'd say, from some things you mentioned the other day in that talk with General Willard and his colleagues he stayed in the Army,"she continued as she put her arm around Richard.

"He did," Richard said. "Stayed on General Scott's staff through the Nullification Crisis, and the Trail of Tears from Florida to the Indian Territory, which is located in your state of Oklahoma. However, he left the Service as a Captain after the Trail of Tears and, after taking over from my grandfather, set about freeing our slaves in Virginia."

"And what was his relationship with Winfield Scott?"

"They actually became good friends," Richard said. "In fact, when General Scott started assembling his staff during the Mexican War he asked my father to come back with the permanent rank of Major. He agreed and served alongside his old chief throughout the Mexico City campaign."

"I remember you mentioning that," Daria said. "What else did he do?"

"Well, he met Major George Armistead at Fort McHenry," Richard said. "Got to know the Armistead family quite well, including Lewis Armistead. Stood in as one of his godfathers at his baptism. In fact, he helped Lo Armistead..."

"'Lo'?" asked Jane.

"Something of a joke nickname," Richard said. "They used to call him Lothario, even though he was actually quite shy around women. My father had met his father on the Niagara front and both men used their influence with General Scott to get Lo his commission in 1839. My father kind of took Lo under his wing in Mexico."

"And once again one sees the influence of the 'old boy's network' at work," Daria dryly said.

"Something for which I was grateful during the War," Richard said. "Lo served as one of my brigade commanders during the War and as a divisional commander when we formed up the Third Corps. We got to know each other well, and I hope he'll be able to make it back in time from Texas for the wedding in Richmond."

"And that just makes me more than a little nervous," Daria said. "I've been thinking about all of the figures who'll probably be there whom I only know of from history books."

"Then don't think about it," Richard said. "Just think of them as flesh and blood people." He eyed Daria. "I hope this doesn't mean you're getting cold feet."

"That's not going to happen," Daria said, and reached up to drag her fiancee's head down.

"Glad to hear it." The kiss went on for a while.

Fin (For Now).