the frontiersmsn

The frontiersman very carefully loaded his rifle. The British soldiers were trying to conceal themselves in the mud, but to no avail.
The brown Betsey’s that the British carried were accurate out to only sixty yards, which compared unfavorably with the long rifle that the American Kentuckians carried, which could hit a man sized target out to three hundred yards.
The British were at a loss of what to do. They had amassed enough soldiers to win the battle, but the frontiersmen wouldn’t fight fair. The British were used to lining up against ranks of musket bearers and blasting away at each other until one or the other prevailed. The British almost always did. They would line up in ranks of three, one firing and two loading, then stepping up and firing for an average volley every ten seconds. The loading time for the smoothbore musket was twenty seconds whereas the Kentucky rifle took a full minute.
This was not much consolation to the British troops, who were not only out of range, but could hardly see the Kentuckians, who were hiding behind trees.
Hank, who had left his farm, only a month ago, was amazed at the British way of fighting. Hank, who could shoot the eye out of a squirrel at close to a hundred yards, almost felt compassion for the plight of these British soldiers who had come across the ocean, however unjust their cause. As the British blasted away at an unseen enemy, Hank calmly reloaded every minute or so and dropped another enemy soldier, who was trying to hide in the mud of the battlefield.
While the British tried to retreat, the Hank moved from tree to tree dropping them like flies. The battlefield was filled with the dead, the wounded, and the dying. Men were lying on the ground groaning and calling for water, but there was no respite, for this was a decisive battle that would set the course for the next phase of the war. No Quarter given, and none asked.
Little did Hank know that George Washington would from now on rely heavily on the fifteen hundred backwoodsmen with their long rifles, to scout and harass the enemy from this point on, in the War of Independence.
He looked forward to the time when this conflict would be over and he could go back to his cabin in the small settlement where his wife and children waited for his return.
After the battle and the prisoners had been rounded up and interned, Hank got his men together and they all celebrated their victory, one of the few against the British at this point in the war. Their good feelings were tempered by the losses that both sides had suffered. War means killing, which is never a pleasant sight. Men would lose arms and legs by crude amputation in these primitive conditions.
“Well Hank, what do we do now” his men asked him.”
“I guess that we should report the outcome and wait for orders from our commanding officer. I’d sure like to go home, but I have a feeling that we’ll be needed until these British are licked for good. Let’s gather our food and fill our water bottles in the meantime.”
But you know the rest of the story.