I personally would like to see what's going on in the Eastern theater. See what Lee and McClellan are up to and what they're planning. Maybe also get a look at the respective presidents and how they're feeling about the course of the war. Thanks!
Wrapped in Flames: The Great American War and Beyond
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I'm wondering How John Reynolds is doing at this point and I'd also like either more of grant or the situation in Maine
Thankfully there is a brief section coming up on that! But brief however. I've got big plans for them, but I do have one idea for some high seas high jinks if that interests you at all.
Lee and McClellan are largely in winter quarters, but in a chapter coming up Lee makes a personal appearance while discussing an important matter with Davis. I did have it in mind that I could do a "state of the armies" post before getting into the meat of the campaigns of 1863 in the East if you were so inclined?
For 1, you're in luck since January will see him in his own update as well as fighting more battles in the West! He's going to be playing a pivotal role soon.
As for the French, they'll be more obliquely involved, and the Germans are still sorting out Bismarck's rise to power and are about to be very distracted on their Eastern frontier... but you'll get your fill of the French come 1863-64 as they start to angle in more directly.
John Reynolds is currently still serving in IV Corps under McDowell and commands the 1st Brigade in McCall's Division. He was heavily engaged in the Rappahannock campaign in the battles along Big Indian Run and covering the the withdrawal north. He earned distinction for leading the action which saved the flank, allowing Cox's troops to fall into line and stave off Hill's attack. Though only a brigade commander for now, he has been noted by his superiors!
The situation in Maine is basically as follows: The border towns of Houlton and Fort Fairfield are occupied by the British (essentially New Brunswick Volunteers and some garrison batteries) while Portland and Augusta are occupied by Pennefather's army, and the territory in between is somewhat tenuously under their control. The coasts and rivers are British, but Keye has the much reduced "Army of New England" acting as an army of observation outside Portland, but without rail access or naval support there is little he can do except keep the British from using the Grand Trunk Rail Road.
Only Bangor is out of British hands with some 4,000 Home Guard and militia holding it against an expected British assault. Otherwise, the state is effectively occupied, which makes the Gulf of Maine from Cape Anne to the Bay of Fundy a British lake. To be truthful, there's not too much more I can write fully about Maine in 1863...
HURRAY!!! This is my favorite active TL so I'm very happy to see it continued
RodentRevolution
Banned
HURRAY!!! This is my favorite active TL so I'm very happy to see it continued
Echoing this
Chapter 44: General Janvier
Chapter 44: General Janvier
Mount Pelion, Northumberland County, Canada West, January 4th, 1863
Cold winter wind whipped across the frozen expanse of Lake Ontario, coursing through the snow covered woods and the churned up ground along the British lines. The earthworks glistened with ice and shone beneath the steel gray sky of the New Year sun. The guns were pointed resolutely westwards, towards the Yankee headquarters at Brighton.
Lt. Col. Garnet Wolseley looked out across the near pristine white ground, straining his one good eye as though he might see the enemy. His wounded leg ached with the cold and he grinned internally. It simply wouldn’t do to have put himself in the line of fire so many times to be invalidated by frostbite. Leaning on his walking stick, he turned and began trudging down the steep hill back towards headquarters.
Sentries in grey greatcoats saluted as he passed. Wolseley nodded as he made his way to his horse. The ground crunched under his feet as he walked past the trees hung heavily with snow. A shivering corporal held his reins, he saluted with a shivering arm and Wolseley nodded to him.
“Get to one of the blockhouses corporal, find something warm.”
“Y-yes sir.” The man said, teeth chattering.
Crunching over the roadway, which, in the queer nature of Canada was far more passable in the winter, he made his way across the river to Port Trent. The town was small, barely able to contain the headquarters of the army, much less the fourteen thousand men that were contained in that army. In reality most of the “Upper Canada Field Force” was encamped along the river in brigades. Dundas maintained his headquarters close to the battlefield of the previous year, while staying on the railroad in constant communication with headquarters in Montreal.
Dundas himself had commandeered the local tavern as headquarters. The livery was overflowing with horses and officers, including the cavalry company assigned as escort. Wolseley passed off his horse to a harried looking aide and stumped his way inside past the Volunteer guarding the door. The ground floor was filled by staff and messengers. Fires burning from the old double box stove in the waiting area and the fires in the barroom and kitchen meant it was tolerably warm for a Canadian winter.
Much of the town had been taken over by the First Division, while open space had been filled by wooden huts camped in by companies. The town had ballooned in size since the battle in August, though really only the first brigade and the staff were directly in the town.
Wolseley shed his greatcoat, handing it to Lough, who seemed to materialize from thin air, and looked for a free seat.
“Over here old boy!” Came a delighted call. Wolseley looked for the voice and his eyes widened in shock.
“Soames??” He asked, mouth almost agape as he walked over and clasped the other mans proffered arm. “Good God man, why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with the army on the Richelieu?”
“Oh that I should be, but special delivery and all that.” He chuckled patting his pockets. “For this though, I would ask we get some privacy. Show me to your quarters?”
Wolseley looked around and saw the not quite well concealed curiosity of junior officers glancing at the assistant adjutant general and an officer of Her Majesty’s Cavalry in a place conspicuously lacking any such units. Wolseley nodded and led him to the second floor where the inns ballroom had been turned into a staff headquarters. He led him to the room just off of his own and closed the door.
“Come now, what is with all this cloak and dagger nonsense Soame?” Wolseley said. “I’m not one for it among friends.”
“The letter I have for you comes right from London. They’ve made a rather far reaching decision.” Wolseley felt his eyebrows rising.
“Go on.” Soame unfolded the letter, containing numerous documents and it seemed, many pieces of correspondence.
“I’m telling you now because you’ll be overjoyed, but I am supposed to deliver this to a superior officer for the Field Marshal.” Wolseley felt his curiosity itching at him like a rash. He wanted to yell at the other man to go on.
“Dundas is being promoted to Field Marshal to command the army in Canada East, Williams is to be transferred to Canada West to take command of the ‘Third Corps’ Army of Canada. You and the staff will be moving along east on the train to begin reorganizing the field army, you’ve been reassigned.”
Wolseley was silent for a moment as he absorbed the news. It was stupendous! He would no longer be staff to a largely militia force on a secondary front, he was moving to be with the most powerful force yet assembled by Britain in the war! It took him a moment to let that sink in, then he smiled.
“Soames this is a late Christmas gift but it’s the best one I could have asked for! This will mean a whole reorganization, the army changing completely!”
“I knew you’d want to see it first.” The cavalryman said grinning.
“Difficult time to be moving though. We can only be thankful the Americans have been so quiet.”
“I noticed the rails were largely intact. The Yankees seem to have been shirking their duties of late.” Soames shook his head. The only real way to keep the British in Canada West down was by cutting that railroad in winter. Someone had made a big oversight.
“I dare say I’m inclined to thank them for it at the moment. Once we’re ready I can be in Montreal in hours. Will you be accompanying us back?”
“My friend you can count on it.” Soames grinned.
“In that case, once you’ve delivered the news to the general, let’s gather the staff and have a toast.”
“God save the Queen and damn the Yankees?” Wolseley laughed at Soames quip.
“God save the Queen and damn the Yankees!” He repeated.
Cowan Farm and Rouge River, Canada West, January 12th, 1863
The moon was waning, casting dark shadows across the frozen woodlots and swamps on the shores of Lake Ontario. Snowdrifts glistened off of the lake giving an arctic appearance to the land. The farms on the lakeshore were islands of settled civilization against that foreboding white expanse. Some lights shone fitfully in the darkness, and plumes of smoke rose from chimneys as the evening embers burned down, but for most, the day was done.
Henry Cowan was a prosperous farmer and had thus far managed to miss the worst of the war. His sons had all stayed home when the call to arms came, and he had even managed to avoid being harassed by the advancing armies. He had lost some horses and livestock to feed the Yankee horde, but so far no more than that. It did not make him love the invaders however. His eldest son William, sat with a band of men who were even less disposed to like them in the evening chill. The barn was large enough to accommodate the men of the raiding party, most of them at least.
Captain William D. Pollard, formerly of the 31st Battalion of Volunteer Infantry, sat at the head of forty men crammed into the barn. They carried few lights, and were mostly seated around a foul smelling barrel. Roughly half the men were fugitives from the disastrous fight at Delaware Crossroads eight months previous. The other half were locals who had, for one reason or another, decided to strike back at the invaders. They all carried weapons of some sort; muskets, shotguns, Enfield rifles, and fowling guns, along with a collection of hatchets, old swords, and knives. It was a motley armament for a diverse band of raiders.
“Any word from the scouts yet?” One asked.
“No.” Pollard said in the dim light. They were all careful that the lights were well back from the barrel or the pails sitting nearby.
A creaking broke the silence and men went for swords or pistols.
“It’s me!” A voice called. “Don’t panic. We got their patrol, time to move.”
“Good.” Pollard said. “You know the plan men, hunters with me, painters with Mr. Nisbet. I’ll crack a shot to let you know when to light it.”
There was a flurry of ‘yes captain’ as half the group, largely the locals, took their buckets and brushes and set out towards the frozen marsh near the lake shore. The militiamen began trekking through the snow, snowshoes giving them traction, and they soon came by a second group of men who were hiding five bodies stripped of their uniforms and greatcoats behind a copse of trees.
“All in order Captain.” One of the men donning a captured Yankee great coat said in a thick Irish burr. “It’s the Second Canadian Volunteers as we thought. Should make this easier now.”
“Any other patrols?” Pollard asked.
“Just the one, and they were straggling. I think if we’re not knocking on the door in ten minutes they’ll get suspicious if they’re not all drunk.”
“You get a move on then.” Pollard replied, pointing towards the looming shape of two of the great blockhouses spanning the railroad bridge in the distance.
The four blockhouses had been constructed in September when someone had burnt down the bridge which spanned the marshy end of Rogue River as it entered Lake Ontario. Being so close to Toronto, and the lakeshore, it was quickly rebuilt, but if it was thoroughly wrecked it would mean that no supplies would reach the Yankee army on the Trent River for well over a week while they tried to rebuild the bridge. And as an added bonus, near eighty traitors would be dead in the process.
Pollard and most of the men under his command were survivors from the disintegration of the 3rd Brigade following the Battle of Delaware Crossroads. The 3rd Brigade had routed, its men mostly killed or captured. Pollard himself had only escaped capture by throwing away his uniform pants and hiding with a farmer in the aftermath. He, and other survivors, had drifted together throughout June and July, and following the confirmed rumours of what had happened at Brantford, had been striking back at the Yankees. At first he had commanded only a dozen men, sniping at army patrols and killing the occasional sentry. But his little band had soon grown to fifty strong, and others had joined him hoping to hit back at the enemy.
This would be his most audacious attack yet, and he hoped his most effective. It had required considerable cooperation with the locals to pull off. The foul barrel and its contents were key to their success. If his painters did things right, they would have struck a mighty blow against the Yankees.
Slowly, his men stalked towards the blockhouse.
-x-x-x-x-
Corporal Patrick Boyle sat warming his hands by the brazier in the main room of the two story blockhouse. The sounds of snoring from the other eight men in the cramped bunks around him were a constant headache, and he wished he could fall asleep with them. Unfortunately he was on watch waiting for the return of the other ten men out on patrol, his only company was the equally ill tempered Private Donnelly who had gained watch duty as a punishment for fighting in the ranks. Probably a dreg and a criminal who had no business serving alongside true Irish patriots like Boyle, but so long as he was awake Boyle didn’t care.
“Damn but I wish I were back in Toronto.” Donnelly muttered, not for the first time and Boyle was sure not for the last.
“Oh shut up Donnelly, just sit patient and wait for the patrol.”
“You don’t see Major Murphy down here doing this work do ya?” Donnelly said, ignoring Boyle. “Nah, he sits warm and cosy in Hamilton while we suffer here strung out in the wilderness. Can’t even be in the city cuz those damn Tories” he paused to spit into the corner “would riot on account of our presence. I say we just shoot them all and be done with it.”
Most of the men of the 2nd Canadian Volunteers had enlisted when the American army had occupied Toronto in the summer. Six hundred proud Irishmen who remembered British misrule had signed up under the command of the newly minted Major Michael Murphy who had been an organizer for the Fenian Brotherhood before the war. Their presence had caused considerable friction within Toronto, and so the garrison commander had moved them to Hamilton, or guarding the lines of communication around the city.
Largely throughout the fall and winter the men had sat in garrison, gone on patrol, shot or hung a few guerrillas, or simply been bored. That had led to problems, drinking and brawling had become common. There was talk about sending them to the front in spring, and Boyle thought that would be for the best.
A harsh pounding sounded on the door and Boyle looked up.
“Get the door Donnelly.” The surly private grunted in response. He heard the bolt slam back, and the door creaking open. The was a muted grumble of something, then a sound like someone falling. Rolling his eyes Boyle turned to lambast someone for being drunk but froze.
Donnelly was struggling in the arms of a man in a greatcoat, a red patch of blood flowing down his blue uniform. More men piled in. Boyle made to scream, but one of his assailants grabbed him around the throat and held fast.
The struggled, Boyle knocking against the table at the center of the blockhouse. He punched, bit, and tried to break free but iron talons closed his windpipe. Slowly his vision began to fade. As he lost consciousness, he made a prayer to himself.
Mary full of Grace…
-x-x-x-x-
The man in Pollard’s hands went limp. Drawing a knife and stabbing him through the heart for good measure, he looked around the room. His men had made quick work of the sleeping soldiers, not a one had stirred while their throats were slit. Quiet and professional, nothing which would alert the rest of the men nearby.
“Gather their weapons and anything else of value, then let’s be gone.” He whispered. The guerrillas quickly ransacked the building. He would have liked to do the same to all the blockhouses, but that would have been far too risky. Instead, they’d followed in the footsteps of the patrols, and his painters had used their foul concoction to paint the doors of each blockhouse. Soon they were finished, and tramping out into the snow again, kicking open the stove and scattering hot ashes to make good their escape.
Checking his watch, he saw they were precisely on schedule. Each of his other ranking subordinates had scrounged a pocket watch for this attack, and in one minute all would be ready. The sixty seconds felt like an eternity to him, and he waiting, stamping his feet from the cold. Twenty seconds passed the minute mark, and creeping dread moved up his spine and into his throat.
The warm glow across the river alerted him that all was well.
“Thank God you got your men in Collingwood got us that barrel.” One of the locals said. “Never could have burnt this so nicely without that petroleum.”
Pollard nodded. His business, the Craighleath Shale Oil Works had been pumping out the crude oil since the 1850s for use in lamps. Sticky and foul smelling, he liked to say it was safer than kerosene and coal oil in order to get sales. It was also nice and flammable, which made it perfect for the task at hand.
As the men watched, the bridge had fingers of flame creeping up along its trestles. The new wooden structures were largely green and not easy to burn, but with a liberal application of the oil, his painters set it ablaze. The blockhouses too saw gouts of flame leap along their bases, and the panicked cries of the men inside echoed through the night.
Smiling with grim satisfaction, Pollard watched a moment more, before turning and leading his men off into the night.
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HURRAY!!! This is my favorite active TL so I'm very happy to see it continued
Glad to be bringing this back! I'm hoping to get at least a few chapters up before New Years. I'll be busy with RL, but I think I've finally found the time to write again and get back on track here. Hoping to be able to zip through January-March, then do all the nitty gritty plotting for the 1863 campaign season so I can hopefully do some big updates all at once.
Between the rebels and the recruits it's probably a wash as to how much the Union actually gains from the occupation. I think there would be a lot of guys ripping up RR track frequently too.
I love that Wolseley is such a gloryhound, you nailed him.
I love that Wolseley is such a gloryhound, you nailed him.
I mean, Grant, Thomas, and all would probably prefer the 30,000 troops currently undergoing garrison duty/front lines in their armies rather than occupying Canada. It's a wash in terms of strategic value, and is more of a resource sink. It's basically eating up soldiers and supplies which might be better used out West.
Tearing up chunks of RR and sniping is going to be a popular pass time for Orangemen in the winter of 1862-63...
Thank you! I only regret I didn't properly pick up on his leg trouble two years ago! Were I to ever get around to working TTL into a pure narrative set he would be an amazing POV character.
Also, wow! Over 100,000 views! Thanks to everyone who has stuck by TTL for so long and read and commented! I'm glad to be promising you at least two chapters in the next few weeks!
So, I'm clueless when it comes to how the military worked in this era. But I read a TL by Saproneth which has a Trent War break out. In his TL the British blockade of the US coast does such a number on them so that the war ends in June of '62 I believe. The biggest reason for this was the destruction of the Union navy and the serious lack of small arms for the Union army. So, am I missing something or was Saproneth wrong about the impact of the blockade? You're TL has the Union doing much better than Saproneth's. Sorry for my ignorance, thanks.
There's been a lot of debate about how much economic damage the blockade would cause the Union. Since it never happened we'll never know, but Saphroneth took the view that it would have irreparably damaged the Union's ability to prosecute the war. This TL takes a somewhat less dim view than that. Another TL by another banned member takes an even different view.
All in all it's a very contentious debate.
Understood. Thank you. Do you happen to know what the other TL was that you mentioned? I wouldn't mind reading it.
As @The Gunslinger said, its an issue of debate. Precisely how hard the British blockade would effect Northern industry is unknowable, and some good arguments have been made that the blockade would cause irreparable short term damage to the Union war effort. This post by user robcraufurd is pretty insightful, alongside his reading of Executive Document 99 is pretty insightful. That being said, my own TL diverges from some of the underlying assumptions laid out in those essays. The largest is that while Britain ceases selling arms to the Union in December 1861, other foreign powers (France, Austria, Belgium, ect) are all shipping weapons to the Union up to the declaration of war TTL in February 1862, and the British blockade throughout March and April is far leakier than they would like to admit, with on average only 1 in 6 runners being captured in this period, meaning a substantial number of weapons are still getting through.
Coupled with small supplies of weapons being captured by Union raiders and in victories against the rebels (capturing Memphis would be a huge windfall) the Union is still managing to put the historic 250,000+ volunteers who showed up later in 1862 into the field, even if many of them are being armed with substandard equipment. For instance, most of the troops guarding the cities on the coasts have muskets vs rifled muskets, while the 12,000 men in New York comprising XV Corps, are armed with rifled muskets passed on from the Army of the Potomac. However, as I've alluded to, the Union army simply can't carry out the energetic campaigns it did in OTL's 1862, Arkansas is basically a stalemate since Curtis can't advance due to a lack of supplies, the Army of the Potomac is stalled in the field due to want of supplies, and they are gambling on one big offensive in the West while moving supplies forward for a spring campaign against Montreal.
The biggest loss is in powder, the existing supplies were just enough to carry out this years campaigns, with a bit of windfall from blockade runners, and now they have to hope that by February/March, the nitre beds established the year before will be churning out enough powder to keep the armies in the field.
All in all, it isn't a terribly rosy picture leading into 1863, but it isn't hopeless either.
It was being continued over on Civil War Talk, but it hasn't updated in quite some time to my knowledge.
Just a quick question. If the British blockade is hurting the Union in terms of arms and powder, how the OTL CSA cope with these problems with the Federal blockade?