Maple Buds

T McNay Daniel

Description

This novel follows the protagonist Isaac, a British soldier, as he struggles to survive in North America during the largely forgotten War of 1812. Isaac's journey takes him from Europe and sends him on a troubling journey through both Canada and the United States, where the need for survival will supersede any need for victory or glory. In this novel, Isaac must encounter the American enemy, the elements, enemies from within his own forces and even himself, as he battles with his own sanity. Though this is a war largely overshadowed by the Napoleonic Wars and the American Revolution, the War of 1812 had a massive impact on the world we live in today.

Sujets

• Napoleonic Wars
• Historical fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 30 novembre 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781528953054
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Maple Buds
Daniel T McNay
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-11-30
Maple Buds About the Author Copyright Information © Acknowledgment Part I Chapter 1 Crossing Chapter 2 Back in the New World Chapter 3 Journey to War Chapter 4 Forts St Joseph and Mackinac Chapter 5 Natives and Maguaga Chapter 6 Glory Chapter 7 The General Chapter 8 Lost Chapter 9 The Battle of Queenston Heights Chapter 10 Changes Part II Chapter 11 Return Chapter 12 Horror of the River Raisin Chapter 13 An Indecisive Leader Chapter 14 Our Capital Burning Chapter 15 Clash Chapter 16 Gruesome Discovery Chapter 17 A Disaster to End the War Part III Chapter 18 The New General Chapter 19 Oswego Chapter 20 Storm Before the Calm Part IV Chapter 21 Hope Across the Horizon Chapter 22 Bladensburg Chapter 23 The Burning of Washington Chapter 24 Baltimore Chapter 25 The War’s End Epilogue
About the Author
Born in 1993 and originally from the northeast of England, the author is also employed in the British Army. His main literary inspirations are authors such as Anne Rice and Bernard Cornwell. He is also a lifelong supporter of Hartlepool United FC.
Copyright Information ©
Daniel T McNay (2020)
The right of Daniel T McNay to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of creative nonfiction. The events are portrayed to the best of author’s memory. While all the stories in this book are true, some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of the people involved.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788230858 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528953054 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Acknowledgment
With thanks to Emily
Part I
Chapter 1

Crossing
For half a decade I had fought and lived in Spain and Portugal, chasing and being chased by Napoleon’s armies. Despite the horrors I witnessed – the killings, famine and sorrow – I had loved my time there. Heat blessed us nearly every day, and though we despised it while marching, those days spent lying by the side of the road with my comrades or drinking myself into a stupor on a warm evening, surrounded by Spanish girls who admired and abhorred us in equal measure, those days were what I lived for. However, my years in the Iberian Peninsula, though eventful and emotional, are part of a different story, my first story. My long life has only really had two stories. In these memoirs, I intend to tell my second story, which is an ocean away from my first.
In 1812, I bid farewell to Spain and set sail for North America. A new war waited there, one that had been brewing for a long time. Essentially, it had never ended, but had begun decades earlier. This was to be a much smaller war than the one in Europe, no doubt colder too. But this was much more personal. As we sailed, it hadn’t yet officially commenced, but we knew it was coming, and so we were coming to it, handpicked to leave Spain and avoid what would be the bloodbath at Badajoz, sent to the other end of the world to play our part in what was predicted to be a small and quiet war. Though it would be comparatively small, it would not be a quiet war.
On our ship, there were no more than a couple of dozen soldiers, mixed amongst a crew of sailors. In my most youthful years I had briefly been a sailor, though by this point, although I was still youthful, those years seemed a lifetime ago. I did not miss the ocean. I had done the crossing of the Atlantic before, and nothing terrified me more than knowing I was in the middle of nothingness. I put it out of my mind whenever I could. With me were Thomas Fields and Roger Billet, two of my oldest friends, two opposites. Thomas was good looking, quiet and shy, and people liked him. Roger was short and stocky, a brawler, a murderer, so he claimed, a killer before ever entering the army. We did not entirely believe his boasts, though they were not beyond the realms of possibility. In fact, when Thomas and I both left home at the tender age of sixteen, enlisting as sailors, that was when we first met Roger. We disliked him immediately, and he attempted to make our lives Hell, tormenting us whenever he could. Nevertheless, time and circumstance came along and decided to make us the closest of friends. Again, this is really another story.
Will Jones, Francis Baker, Sean Alleck and Davey Jones were the others that I knew well, who had also been selected to sail the ocean; selected by me, no less. Will was like Roger, but less so. To many, that’s really all there was to him. Francis irritated me a lot, but he was harmless. He saw himself an intellectual, though all he ever talked of was what he overheard real intellectuals speak of at tables near him days before. He could barely read, but that was more than most, and so he used that to further his delusion. He was a very friendly person. I end on a compliment. Sean was my favourite of the four. He was young, but ambitious; uneducated, yet showed so much desire to learn. Every night he would ask me to teach him about the world, the history I had learned, the places on the globe which few had heard of or would ever see. Sean could not read, but I could, and make no mistake I read everything; anything to do with politics, history, philosophy, I put into my head and formed opinions and fabricated dreams and desires that could never be fulfilled. At Sean’s own request, I bequeathed them unto him. Lastly, there was Davey. He was the youngest at sixteen, and just a blank canvas. He smiled when we smiled and laughed when we laughed. He was with us to adapt and to imitate. He too was learning.
As often was the case, below deck was a rowdy and intimidating place to be, though it was the place we could be ourselves, free from the judgement of the officers above. This was something we were all thankful for, me in particular, for when I was chosen, by General Wellesley himself, I was made aware that an officer must accompany me and the men I had selected on our journey across the ocean. To this day I still do not know how Wellesley allowed it to happen, whether he even knew until it was too late, but the man that accompanied us was Lieutenant George Harman. For reasons I had wished to leave in Spain, he hated us and we hated him. Though our hatred was mutual, it was he, with his rank and seniority, who had the ability to act upon it. Nevertheless, we were free of him down there, and it was a place where we had some of my favourite memories and conversations.
Nothing much spectacular happened on the crossing to British North America. It was a calm journey, seemingly not even as long as I had previously remembered. Perhaps it was my excitement. Though I had chosen my fine companions, it was I who held the title of ‘chosen man’, a pseudo-rank which Wellesley insisted upon; in fact, he had once said that he saw me rising to become an officer under him one day, though that now seemed unlikely. Nevertheless, it did not cause my comrades to look upon me any differently, and for this I was thankful, though it did give cause for the younger ones to look up to me to an extent, none more than Sean.
“Do you really think it right that we left Spain?” Sean asked one particularly stormy evening, his words almost drowned out by the sounds of waves crashing against the hull of the ship.
“That depends what you mean by ‘right’. Why? What’s concerning you?” I replied, hunched over the table across from Sean, nudging a sleeping sailor on the floor beside us with my foot to see if he moved.
“It’s just, are we not abandoning them? There are big battles to be fought in order to defeat Napoleon, that’s what everyone kept saying, Badajoz for one. Yet here we are, hundreds of miles away and moving further away still.” He spoke with passion, as if he truly was offended, as if it were he that was left behind while the rest of us had gone on ahead.
“You haven’t been with us long. You weren’t here for John Moore’s failed campaign; the Battle of Corunna , you’ve never really tasted defeat, or seen the horrors it brings. It’s the humiliation that manages to comfort you and torture you at the same time. You feel ashamed as a result of running away in defeat, yet you feel comforted in the fact that you still breathe, that you are still able to flee, as we did those three years ago. If I were to answer your question, yes, I do think it is right. It is right because our lives will be in less danger, it is right because, believe it or not, there is still a dangerous job for us to do when we reach this new land. We are not going to Tahiti; we will not have it easy in the way you may be thinking.” I continued to nudge the sleeping sailor beneath my feet. He was certainly unconscious.
“Yeah, that is true. I still feel guilty. How many men will die over there?”
“A lot. A lot would die anyway, with or without us. We have nothing to be ashamed of. Besides, how many of us on this ship were actually part of Wellesley’s army? About twenty men and couple of useless officers. It will not even be noticeable. Also, Wellesley picked me because he knew I had an interest in North American history, and it is simply through his decision to allow me to pick a handful of men to join me that you are here now. Should I not have chosen you? Should I have left you behind?”
As I looked up to see Sean’s reaction, I saw him nodding along and raisin