The Boy At Ticonderoga, Part Ii

...Duncan’s unit, the 42nd, was placed in the center of the mass, the French would crumble quick, he reckoned, when the lines started marching at last, not knowing that no orders had come, yet on the left came the sounds of guns… units began to advance with haste, before all the men were in their place! Duncan played his fife and the pipes wailed, and the Blackwatch men began to march, they’d be damned if they didn’t take part, if their brave Scottish hearts were to fail. So young Duncan found himself moving, in his chest came a frantic pounding. Ahead the light infantry attacked, approaching a long, branch-studded wall, when a wave of fire force them back, so much smoke…Duncan saw not at all, he kept playing, though he trembled now, amidst the terror of muskets loud, the 42nd, men of the kilt, pressed to the earthworks the French had built, when came a volley of vicious force, clumps of highlanders fell to the earth, Duncan dropped his fife, seeing the hurt, his young mind from its duties divorced, as dozens of men went to their end, the piper on his left amongst them. The Blackwatch was not easily swayed, through hellish fire they did not break, kept marching right through the smoky haze as their proud ranks were constantly raked. Duncan pushed on just behind the line, his feet ignoring his fear-gripped mind, the volleys came, the highlanders died, until many just ran for their lives. A precious few reach the wall to fight, when came the bright glint of bayonet, stabbing down quick at those not dead yet, poor Duncan wet himself at the sight; a highland blasted from his feet fell back on Duncan, trapped him beneath… He struggled madly to free his leg, but he was trapped beneath a large bloke, and only mere feet above his head was a Frenchman in a pale great coat, he grew panicked, and screamed out in fear, the Frenchman noticed a foe was near, on the breastwork he had a clear shot, but on seeing the boy, the man stopped, struck dumb by seeing this scared child, ’twas young enough to be his own son, then he slowly lowered his gun, struck by an impulse cool and mild, and as he moved his musket away he looed at Duncan, shouted, “Aller!” CONTINUES IN PART III.