GoldEagle
Mar 10, 2006, 09:50 AM
Before you read, please realize that i understand Australia was never under French rule, and that Mossman and Port Douglas were never at war. I will be adding parts to this story every once in a while. I hope you enjoy it, as I have spent hard work on it.
This story does not come with a game that is being played alongside. It's just a short story that I dreamed up in my head. I hope you enjoy.
The events do not coincide with today's current date; it is just a coincidence.
Part 1, Posted Friday March 10th
The 8-Day War
http://www.cairnsholiday.com/transport/mossman.gif
Background information:
This is a fictitious story that takes place in 1794. It is set in present-day Queensland Australia, namely in the towns of Mossman, controlled by the French, and Port Douglas, controlled by the British, which are about 10 miles (16km) apart by foot. In this story, Australia is not a penal colony; it was settled by Britain in October of 1787 and France in January of 1788. Scores of families had come over, looking for a fresh start. Initially, the townsfolk were friendly to each other; after all, they couldn’t afford to have their mother countries begin a war just over them.
By March of 1794, Mossman and Port Douglas had populations of around 1200 and 1300, respectively. A map of the towns’ claimed land can be found here, with French border in black, British borders in Brown, and the disputed border in blue: http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v336/goldeagle16/668d3708.jpg
The “disputed” territory was needed by both towns for livestock and expansion of cities. The French* also wanted territory on the western side of the port, and the British wanted to control both sides of it. On March 10th of 1794, tempers finally exploded when a Port Douglas farmer was shot by a Mossman native while he was hunting. The farmer’s wife had heard the gunshot, and went out into her fields to see what it was from. She saw a man in French attire fleeing into the woods, and started to shout at him. A moment later, the man turned around and fired one shot at the woman. She ducked down, and the round barely missed her. She ran northeast towards Port Douglas and alerted the townsfolk. Rioting had broken out in the streets, and the local government, ruled by the British, couldn’t stop it. They tried for about an hour and, when all attempts were deemed fruitless, the governing body of about 30 or so fled onto the navy’s ships. The citizens of Port Douglas formally declared war on the town of Mossman at 8 AM. On March 10th of 1794. The sane governing bodies, through a mutual agreement, decided not to take part in the war and withdrew themselves and sat 5 miles offshore in order to keep peace between their two mother nations. The two towns were left without any form of sea transportation, and with only the weapons they had in their homes.
The result of what came to be known as “The 8-Day War” is one of the most brutal accounts of Australian history recorded to date.
*The citizens of Mossman will be known throughout the story as the French, and the citizens of Port Douglas will be known as the British
Day 1, Part 1, posted Sunday March 12th
March 10th, 1794
Day One
8:43 A.M.
Mossman Town Square
“As you all know, the citizens of Port Douglas have declared war on us”, said Pierre LeRoye, transitory mayor of Mossman, with a solemn countenance that clearly displayed his feelings of anxiety. He was speaking in the town square over a crowd that included almost all of Mossman’s population. “I must tell you my directions with brevity: women and children under 12, flee to the north and west along the Mossman Gorge. Once you reach the most western point, head back east along the gorge until you reach the coast. After that, travel north. You will have to bring only the most necessary of belongings with you; one or two changes of clothes and as much food as you can carry. You will only be able to bring along bread, water, and a few other forms of food, but be thankful for it. You will use the stagecoaches, and travel until sunset. You will start traveling at dawn, and repeat this process every day until you pass the gorge and start heading east. Once you have been heading east for a day, you can slow down, and once you get to the coast, travel north for a day or two. Then, find a good place to settle down. You will have to build a camp there and fend for yourselves.”
“Now leave; the enemy could be upon us any minute now. Gather up your last possessions, and meet by the stables on the northwest edge of town.” Wives were seen with tears in their eyes as they gave their husbands what could be their final kiss, and children were being picked up and hugged by their fathers. After about 5 minutes, the last of the families had separated, and the group of women and children had disappeared behind a row of houses that sat on the town square. “I know how you feel, gentleman; my wife and daughter have left me too. But we know must begin our planning for the impending attack. Now, I need the all of our rifles in one pile, and melee weapons in another.” The men shuffled about, creating a pile for items. “Fifty-two, Fifty-three, ok that’s fifty-four long-handled axes”, said one man, chosen to count them. “Alright”, said LeRoye, “we have 94 Flintlocks, 129 muskets, 54 axes, and 112 hatchets. How many men do we have here, Joubert? “415, sir, with 399 weapons”, he said. “Thanks, Joubert. Right now, I need the 16 fastest men front and center.” About twenty young men, most of them slender, made a line in front of LeRoye. He then chose 16 of them at random, telling the rest to go back into the crowd. “These men”, said LeRoye, “will be our runners. Gentlemen, turn and face your fellow townsmen. Everyone remember their faces. If you see them coming toward you, hold your fire. They will be bringing special information either sent by either your fellow townsmen or me.”
“Now, on to splitting you up. I need nineteen groups of twenty each. Nineteen of us “generals” will head your platoons, and I will stay back in the city for planning. Try not to have too many of one age group in each platoon. We will hand an equal number of weapons for each platoon, and the fittest looking men will receive the better weapons.” The men started to shuffle around, forming into the requested groups. It took 10 minutes or so, mainly because a few men wanted to be with either their brothers or their sons. The weapons were passed out; 4-5 Flintlocks, 6-7 Muskets, 2-3 axes, and 5-6 hatchets per platoon. “This has taken us long enough; almost forty-five minutes has been wasted”, said Mathieu Scott, one of the generals who would be heading a platoon.
The men headed off; each platoon stayed away from each other, but were still almost close enough to form a front. T platoon stayed to guard the town, A-F went to the southwest, G-M platoons went to the south, and N-S platoons went southeast. While they were walking, every man was praying. They were praying not only for themselves, though; they prayed for their fellow soldiers…their town…but most of all, their families.
Day 1, Part 2,
March 10th, 1794
Day One
9:54 A.M.
In and around a deserted farmhouse on the southeast edge of their territory a platoon of Mossman militiamen lay, waiting for an attack. They were near the edge of the disputed line, one squad in and around the farmhouse, and two in the fields of tall grass right next to the house. To their east was a pasture, but no livestock resided there; why, the men didn’t know. “You know there’s got to be something wrong here”, said one young, jittery teenager. “I mean why the hell aren’t there any livestock here? Do you think the enemy scared them off? Where do you think they are now?” “Shut it, kid. I’m sure everything’s fine”, said a man, in his mid-30’s. “Why the hell did we have to bring these damn kids along?” said another man, to a few behind him. “All they do is scare the **** out of us for no reas-“ He was cut off by the sound of about twenty rifles firing, all at once. Militiamen were struck down, left and right. The men in the farmhouse shifted their fire south, to where a small but thick strip of forest was. Suddenly, another thunderous roll of fire came from the southeast, almost where the pasture and the forest joined. The men were in shock; of the twenty men in the fields, nine had already been wounded. In the farmhouse, no one had been shot, but numerous holes dwelled in the walls. Those men, though inexperienced, took aim in to the trees, fired, and reloaded. Then, after that line of men had fired, two more shot into the woods. They repeated this, but had gaps, as there were only six men on each floor. They couldn’t reload their rifles fast enough, but their fellow men outside were having much bigger troubles. Though hidden in the tall, three-foot high grass, the advancing forces started coming out from the southeast corner of the woods. There was only one window facing east, which was on the first floor; those six men were too preoccupied fending off the advancing forces from the south. The men in the tall grass periodically jumped off and shot in the general direction of the troops, but every time they did several rounds came traveling towards their heads. Finally, a soldier in the farmhouse looked out the eastern-facing window. What he saw scared the absolute **** out of him. There were 30 or so men coming towards the farm. Their first line would run up and hide. Meanwhile, their second line would fire as those mean were running up, and duck behind their cover, or just lie flat on the ground. The third line would run up to the second line, and as soon as they were close enough, they would fire and the second line would run up near the first line, firing. This process took about two minutes each time, advancing thirty yards. The men on the first floor shifted some of their fire east, slowing down the attack. The southern forces then started to advance. Even though they had less troops, they had more cover because tree stumps and bushes.
About 45 minutes into the fighting, all except one of the men in the tall grass was dead. The British forces coming from the east were still twenty strong, and those from the south had seven men left. The farmhouse had lost three of their men; two from the top floor and one from the bottom. The British forces then broke through: on the east side, they had finally reached the tall grass. The final Frenchman was in the middle of reloading when he saw the men in front of him. One troop stuck his bayonet through the man’s skull. His body immediately became limp, lying prone in a pool of blood. Another British soldier came through, took a rapier out of its sheath, and decapitated the man. He then took the rapier, wiped both sides on his right pant leg, and continued on. By this time, the Southern forces had also gotten up to the house. The French men on the first floor retreated upstairs, taking a white sheet and ripping it into a flag. One man stood on the stairs with a white flag so that the British would see him when they came into the farmhouse. They took all of their weapons and laid them in a pile on the threshold of the front door, nearest the stairs. Their final attempt was to surrender; they wanted no more of this fighting.
As the British burst through the back door, they quickly searched the bottom floor. It was then that they saw the pile of guns lying by the stairs and the front door. One man yelled to his captain, “Sir, I think they have surrendered”. The Captain walked warily towards the pile of guns, and looked up the stairs. He saw a Frenchman standing there, waving the white flag. “We surrender”, he said. Faster than one could blink, the Captain pulled his pistol out of its holder, and shot the man square in the chest. The Captain then took a rifle from the floor, checked to see if it was loaded, and went upstairs. Nine Frenchmen were kneeling, facing the stairs, with their hands on their heads. The Captain took the butt of his rifle, and hit one man in the temple, killing him instantly. “You are now prisoners of the town of Port Douglas.” He shot one more in the head, as his men rushed up towards him. He turned around, murmuring something including, “Cowards” and a few other choice words.
The men were led downstairs and brought outside the farmhouse. They were led out towards the road, where two covered stagecoaches were being led north towards them. As the stagecoaches pulled up, four men were placed in each one. As the stagecoaches started up again, the men had no clue what was in store for them...
This story does not come with a game that is being played alongside. It's just a short story that I dreamed up in my head. I hope you enjoy.
The events do not coincide with today's current date; it is just a coincidence.
Part 1, Posted Friday March 10th
The 8-Day War
http://www.cairnsholiday.com/transport/mossman.gif
Background information:
This is a fictitious story that takes place in 1794. It is set in present-day Queensland Australia, namely in the towns of Mossman, controlled by the French, and Port Douglas, controlled by the British, which are about 10 miles (16km) apart by foot. In this story, Australia is not a penal colony; it was settled by Britain in October of 1787 and France in January of 1788. Scores of families had come over, looking for a fresh start. Initially, the townsfolk were friendly to each other; after all, they couldn’t afford to have their mother countries begin a war just over them.
By March of 1794, Mossman and Port Douglas had populations of around 1200 and 1300, respectively. A map of the towns’ claimed land can be found here, with French border in black, British borders in Brown, and the disputed border in blue: http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v336/goldeagle16/668d3708.jpg
The “disputed” territory was needed by both towns for livestock and expansion of cities. The French* also wanted territory on the western side of the port, and the British wanted to control both sides of it. On March 10th of 1794, tempers finally exploded when a Port Douglas farmer was shot by a Mossman native while he was hunting. The farmer’s wife had heard the gunshot, and went out into her fields to see what it was from. She saw a man in French attire fleeing into the woods, and started to shout at him. A moment later, the man turned around and fired one shot at the woman. She ducked down, and the round barely missed her. She ran northeast towards Port Douglas and alerted the townsfolk. Rioting had broken out in the streets, and the local government, ruled by the British, couldn’t stop it. They tried for about an hour and, when all attempts were deemed fruitless, the governing body of about 30 or so fled onto the navy’s ships. The citizens of Port Douglas formally declared war on the town of Mossman at 8 AM. On March 10th of 1794. The sane governing bodies, through a mutual agreement, decided not to take part in the war and withdrew themselves and sat 5 miles offshore in order to keep peace between their two mother nations. The two towns were left without any form of sea transportation, and with only the weapons they had in their homes.
The result of what came to be known as “The 8-Day War” is one of the most brutal accounts of Australian history recorded to date.
*The citizens of Mossman will be known throughout the story as the French, and the citizens of Port Douglas will be known as the British
Day 1, Part 1, posted Sunday March 12th
March 10th, 1794
Day One
8:43 A.M.
Mossman Town Square
“As you all know, the citizens of Port Douglas have declared war on us”, said Pierre LeRoye, transitory mayor of Mossman, with a solemn countenance that clearly displayed his feelings of anxiety. He was speaking in the town square over a crowd that included almost all of Mossman’s population. “I must tell you my directions with brevity: women and children under 12, flee to the north and west along the Mossman Gorge. Once you reach the most western point, head back east along the gorge until you reach the coast. After that, travel north. You will have to bring only the most necessary of belongings with you; one or two changes of clothes and as much food as you can carry. You will only be able to bring along bread, water, and a few other forms of food, but be thankful for it. You will use the stagecoaches, and travel until sunset. You will start traveling at dawn, and repeat this process every day until you pass the gorge and start heading east. Once you have been heading east for a day, you can slow down, and once you get to the coast, travel north for a day or two. Then, find a good place to settle down. You will have to build a camp there and fend for yourselves.”
“Now leave; the enemy could be upon us any minute now. Gather up your last possessions, and meet by the stables on the northwest edge of town.” Wives were seen with tears in their eyes as they gave their husbands what could be their final kiss, and children were being picked up and hugged by their fathers. After about 5 minutes, the last of the families had separated, and the group of women and children had disappeared behind a row of houses that sat on the town square. “I know how you feel, gentleman; my wife and daughter have left me too. But we know must begin our planning for the impending attack. Now, I need the all of our rifles in one pile, and melee weapons in another.” The men shuffled about, creating a pile for items. “Fifty-two, Fifty-three, ok that’s fifty-four long-handled axes”, said one man, chosen to count them. “Alright”, said LeRoye, “we have 94 Flintlocks, 129 muskets, 54 axes, and 112 hatchets. How many men do we have here, Joubert? “415, sir, with 399 weapons”, he said. “Thanks, Joubert. Right now, I need the 16 fastest men front and center.” About twenty young men, most of them slender, made a line in front of LeRoye. He then chose 16 of them at random, telling the rest to go back into the crowd. “These men”, said LeRoye, “will be our runners. Gentlemen, turn and face your fellow townsmen. Everyone remember their faces. If you see them coming toward you, hold your fire. They will be bringing special information either sent by either your fellow townsmen or me.”
“Now, on to splitting you up. I need nineteen groups of twenty each. Nineteen of us “generals” will head your platoons, and I will stay back in the city for planning. Try not to have too many of one age group in each platoon. We will hand an equal number of weapons for each platoon, and the fittest looking men will receive the better weapons.” The men started to shuffle around, forming into the requested groups. It took 10 minutes or so, mainly because a few men wanted to be with either their brothers or their sons. The weapons were passed out; 4-5 Flintlocks, 6-7 Muskets, 2-3 axes, and 5-6 hatchets per platoon. “This has taken us long enough; almost forty-five minutes has been wasted”, said Mathieu Scott, one of the generals who would be heading a platoon.
The men headed off; each platoon stayed away from each other, but were still almost close enough to form a front. T platoon stayed to guard the town, A-F went to the southwest, G-M platoons went to the south, and N-S platoons went southeast. While they were walking, every man was praying. They were praying not only for themselves, though; they prayed for their fellow soldiers…their town…but most of all, their families.
Day 1, Part 2,
March 10th, 1794
Day One
9:54 A.M.
In and around a deserted farmhouse on the southeast edge of their territory a platoon of Mossman militiamen lay, waiting for an attack. They were near the edge of the disputed line, one squad in and around the farmhouse, and two in the fields of tall grass right next to the house. To their east was a pasture, but no livestock resided there; why, the men didn’t know. “You know there’s got to be something wrong here”, said one young, jittery teenager. “I mean why the hell aren’t there any livestock here? Do you think the enemy scared them off? Where do you think they are now?” “Shut it, kid. I’m sure everything’s fine”, said a man, in his mid-30’s. “Why the hell did we have to bring these damn kids along?” said another man, to a few behind him. “All they do is scare the **** out of us for no reas-“ He was cut off by the sound of about twenty rifles firing, all at once. Militiamen were struck down, left and right. The men in the farmhouse shifted their fire south, to where a small but thick strip of forest was. Suddenly, another thunderous roll of fire came from the southeast, almost where the pasture and the forest joined. The men were in shock; of the twenty men in the fields, nine had already been wounded. In the farmhouse, no one had been shot, but numerous holes dwelled in the walls. Those men, though inexperienced, took aim in to the trees, fired, and reloaded. Then, after that line of men had fired, two more shot into the woods. They repeated this, but had gaps, as there were only six men on each floor. They couldn’t reload their rifles fast enough, but their fellow men outside were having much bigger troubles. Though hidden in the tall, three-foot high grass, the advancing forces started coming out from the southeast corner of the woods. There was only one window facing east, which was on the first floor; those six men were too preoccupied fending off the advancing forces from the south. The men in the tall grass periodically jumped off and shot in the general direction of the troops, but every time they did several rounds came traveling towards their heads. Finally, a soldier in the farmhouse looked out the eastern-facing window. What he saw scared the absolute **** out of him. There were 30 or so men coming towards the farm. Their first line would run up and hide. Meanwhile, their second line would fire as those mean were running up, and duck behind their cover, or just lie flat on the ground. The third line would run up to the second line, and as soon as they were close enough, they would fire and the second line would run up near the first line, firing. This process took about two minutes each time, advancing thirty yards. The men on the first floor shifted some of their fire east, slowing down the attack. The southern forces then started to advance. Even though they had less troops, they had more cover because tree stumps and bushes.
About 45 minutes into the fighting, all except one of the men in the tall grass was dead. The British forces coming from the east were still twenty strong, and those from the south had seven men left. The farmhouse had lost three of their men; two from the top floor and one from the bottom. The British forces then broke through: on the east side, they had finally reached the tall grass. The final Frenchman was in the middle of reloading when he saw the men in front of him. One troop stuck his bayonet through the man’s skull. His body immediately became limp, lying prone in a pool of blood. Another British soldier came through, took a rapier out of its sheath, and decapitated the man. He then took the rapier, wiped both sides on his right pant leg, and continued on. By this time, the Southern forces had also gotten up to the house. The French men on the first floor retreated upstairs, taking a white sheet and ripping it into a flag. One man stood on the stairs with a white flag so that the British would see him when they came into the farmhouse. They took all of their weapons and laid them in a pile on the threshold of the front door, nearest the stairs. Their final attempt was to surrender; they wanted no more of this fighting.
As the British burst through the back door, they quickly searched the bottom floor. It was then that they saw the pile of guns lying by the stairs and the front door. One man yelled to his captain, “Sir, I think they have surrendered”. The Captain walked warily towards the pile of guns, and looked up the stairs. He saw a Frenchman standing there, waving the white flag. “We surrender”, he said. Faster than one could blink, the Captain pulled his pistol out of its holder, and shot the man square in the chest. The Captain then took a rifle from the floor, checked to see if it was loaded, and went upstairs. Nine Frenchmen were kneeling, facing the stairs, with their hands on their heads. The Captain took the butt of his rifle, and hit one man in the temple, killing him instantly. “You are now prisoners of the town of Port Douglas.” He shot one more in the head, as his men rushed up towards him. He turned around, murmuring something including, “Cowards” and a few other choice words.
The men were led downstairs and brought outside the farmhouse. They were led out towards the road, where two covered stagecoaches were being led north towards them. As the stagecoaches pulled up, four men were placed in each one. As the stagecoaches started up again, the men had no clue what was in store for them...