Posted for George, it was a good gaming night!
The Last of
the Moccasins
An After Battle Report for Song of
Drums and Tomahawks
(For two
eastern woodlands warrior forces, some agriculturally minded women, and a score
of village youths)
(with
accompanying whooping noises)
Along time ago
(Monday night) in a war games
genre lost in
time (the beaver wars) in a
location so remote that it doesn’t appear on any maps of North America (Plympton)
the early morning dawn
cast its rosy fingered glow over a small Miami village.
The sachem of
the Seneca had received
intelligence (probably
through some of that
peace pipe smoking)
that a
Miami Village nearby could be vulnerable to a raid
as their warriors were all preparing for a big hunt. Gathering his
tiny but
tigerish force of young initiates and Not
so young Warriors he set
out to win fame
glory and possibly some new neighbourhood
watch
friends.
Approaching
through the broken terrain he Noted the women doing womany things in the field, the
children and young men doing things to each other near the camp, and little or no evidence of any warrior defenders at all. The only thing of concern was some
bloke dressed like an eagle. Confident
that this could be the easiest raid yet he stared at the distant figure of the
woman known in the valley as orenda of the big breasts and wondered how he was
going to sneak her home past his existing main wife. Splitting his force into
two groups under himself and his war leader achak he led the men and boys
towards the village…In Indian file surprisingly enough.
Things
immediately went gourd shaped as the right-hand group under achak became bogged
down in reeds, broken ground, and difficult undergrowth. Sachems main group was
faring little better as his warriors seemed to forget how to move through the
undergrowth at all. He ordered some youths to crawl forward so that contact
could be established. The eagle-eyed Miami scouts immediately spied achaks
rather inept attempts at attacking from a concealed position and opened fire
with bows and the odd musket (not to be confused with an even musket or an even
dozen). Though ineffective it drove the Seneca further into cover.
Wahta the
shaman took control and barked orders about the camp. Given he was dressed as
an eagle some of the women wondered why he was barking…but chose not to query
such details as they had to concentrate on getting back across the stream.
Wahta ordered the young men into a firing line in front of the camp while
sending several boys across the stream to allow the women to escape. He
correctly deduced that the Seneca would be moving in two groups even though the
second had not shown itself yet.
The women in
the fields started back toward the camp arming themselves as they went with
scalping knives and large gardening implements.
More of this later in the story.
In the far
distance kitchi and hadawako the two Miami war leaders heard the gunfire and
turned back from the hunt. They urged their small but experienced party onward
hoping to return before too much damage could be inflicted.
The race was
on.
On the right,
movement was still being held up by boggy
ground, reeds, shrubs, the bad omens of the dice gods,
and the inexplicable ability of a young Miami youth soon to be called musket boy to avoid any and
all objects of the missile variety slung in
his direction. Defending
the Ford Crossing he seemed to jeer at every attempt to bring him down.
Singing ‘I’m
musket boy, I’m musket boy, I’m not afraid, your weapons are toys’ he danced on
the bank of the ford. Being harsh critics of ad lib song composing the Seneca
redoubled their efforts to bring him low…but to no avail. Several
of the youths
moved across the stream to cover
the women as they fled across the fields.
Wahta realised it was all taking too long as the Seneca closed through the
scrub. Sporadic shooting resulted in several wounds but no real damage.
Despite the urging
of gallantry tempered with caution, one youth raced across the path into the clearing
to engage a full blood warrior hand to hand. With one mighty backhand swing the
youth was struck from his feet and his blood mingled with the dust of the
field. Watching in horror a new sense of revenge girded the Miami loins…along
with the realisation that a huge difference in stats could see all of them
mingling in the dust.
A Seneca
brave overcome with blood lust surged from the line to claim the scalp of the
recently departed Miami youth. He plunged forward ignoring everything in his desire.
He was knocked down by fire from the Miami line.
Desultory
fire was directed at the youths by the camp. Several were knocked down but no
serious wounds were inflicted. Wahta knew he must hold out until the hunting
party returned.
Miraculously
or so it seemed; after much running kitchi urged his men into the clearing and
formed a rough firing line shielding the village from the advancing Seneca. They
had arrived in time. Not knowing the true size of the raiding party he urged
his men to fire calmly and to fight as if this were the end of the world. His
men caught the odd word of his rousing speech; several wondered what he meant
by ‘fill up the breeches with our English dead”…. Mainly because the enemy were
Seneca and more importantly because almost no one was wearing breeches due to
the the rather warm weather.
Exhorting
his men to ‘shake a spear’ (an old Miami battle encouragement line) a rippling
rain of musket balls and arrows ploughed into the Seneca lines; men slumped to
the ground, some dead, some dying, some merely trying to find cover to avoid
the vengeful Miami fire. One brave launched himself through the maelstrom
directly at the Miami sachem who clubbed him to the ground mercilessly.
Resisting the scalping urge he shouted encouragingly to his troops “thus perish
all who seek to destroy and enslave our people”.
It was a
good line but “di(ga) tilvsdi” (‘let’s get em lads’) rolled off the tongue
better so the leading warriors screamed that instead….it made little difference
as the Seneca didn’t speak Miami and probably wouldn’t have cared about the
intended sentiment even if they did.
His men
surged toward the increasingly hesitant Seneca line.
On the right
the Seneca cleared the obstacles and had some women clearly in sight ready for hostage
taking. They ran swiftly past musket boy heading for the ensuing women. Musket
boy retreated back toward the village. One Seneca warrior positively glowing
with exuberant masculinity broke though and confronted one of the slower women.
His intended prize turned like a frightened deer in the fire light…and smashed
him senseless with what appeared to be either a large cooking pot or a two-handed
scythe. He didn’t really get to identify which as he passed from this world without
reaping his prize. As is the way of savages everywhere the woman set to work to
claim his scalp as a prize. She was joined by one of the other women who
thought it might look good over the window lintel and had a sharper scalping
knife...because trying to scalp someone with a scythe is a tough gig in
anyone’s book.
Another
youth had taken musket boys place at the ford and accounted for an ill-advised
charge by one of the less skilled Seneca. However, he was in turn felled by the
Seneca war leader; who immediately felt the scalping lust rise in him that made
him oblivious to everything except bringing back a prize (at this stage any
prize at all would be good). One last warrior tried to recover the body of his
comrade currently experiencing the Miami equivalent of an extreme short back
and sides. With one great whoop he attempted to fall on the stooped Over women:
and was swiftly felled with the aforementioned dangerous scalping knife. Whoop
and stoop soon became poop and scoop encouraging the women to start signalling
across the stream for the others to join in the fun.
The right
wing had realised the situation was hopeless and started to break off before
the rather nasty women could get an opportunity to break off anything else.
Pursuit was relentless by both the women and youths on that flank. Retreat was
equally relentless and mercifully fast.
In the
centre the situation was equally hopeless but with more bodies. The Seneca were slowly being squeezed in a
huge vice…a Miami vice. The war leader dodged fire to get a good look but could
only see two or three warriors following him from the field. The warrior with
the scalping lust from earlier managed to get his prize but was immediately
surrounded by whooping savages.
His fate did
not look promising and probably did not include making it home for dinner.
This was a
disaster. No saga could be written about this. In fact the less people who knew
about this debacle the better. Given his force had been reduced by nearly half…the
Seneca war leader realised that fewer people did know about it. The chances of
even fewer people knowing about it before their return to the village was very
high…in fact at one stage it looked like no one would know about it.
Around the Miami
campfires that night it was agreed that the luck of the gods had got the
hunting party back at the earliest time they could arrive. By keeping their
order and placing themselves where they did, they were able to outfight the
main Seneca battle group.
Wahta had
organised his meagre resources well; the youths were brave and their fire accurate,
and the women vengeful. The gods had smiled lovingly on the village resulting
in the Seneca getting bogged down on the right flank. This allowed the youths
to get between them and the women and exchange fire.
At the
Seneca camp that night the conversation drifted inevitably to the subject of
who would be the next war leader once the current one departed for a long
holiday at Niagara Falls. Someone commented that the current war leader was to
dice rolling what Herod the great was to the Bethlehem child care association.
Hardly anyone understood the reference but they did understand that the whole
affair was an abysmal display and shouldn’t be spoken about again.
And in the
way of warriors everywhere discussion turned to the appropriateness of the
rules of war…the sun set as it always seems to do, drinks were drunk, food was
chewed, and talk turned to the next test of strength in the future….and things
best left forgotten started on the inevitable process of being inflated into super
heroic deeds…as is the way of the warrior.
