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EQandCivfanatic
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The candle continued flickering into nothing on the desk, next to papers and an inkwell and quill. Benedict Arnold lay down on his bed, watching the flame dissolve the candle into nothingness, thinking of the battles in Canada, and the bursts of flame from cannon and musket. His army had lost there, the Canadians and British keeping control of that particular British colony. Benedict never wanted to feel the shame of defeat again.
Now here he was, sitting in his quarters in this miserable fort. Not too long ago, in this very room, a British soldier had sat. In a moment of damnation, in a moment of fury against those who had taken away his field command and put him in charge of this miserable fort, Benedict gave the soldier a piece of paper, saying to him "Go, take this to Cornwallis, garentee him the fort will surrender to his army upon his arrival."
Andre must have made it to Cornwallis as no report of him being captured was ever made. Already scouts reported the movement of the British army towards the fort, and the garrison was becoming nervous.
Continuing to look toward the flickering and dying candle and the damned papers beside it, Benedict realized how easily with just a few strokes of the quill and the summoning of a courier he could crush the British Army and likely gain independence for the colonies by only calling the local militia for support. The numbers of the militia plus the fort's own garrison could evenly match, and potentially defeat the British Army. And if George Washington arrived with his thousands, the British would be certainly crushed.
Turning his head away, attempting to drive the thoughts from his mind, Benedict's eyes came to rest on the Bible, open to the chapter of Luke, the passage of where Judas hung himself after betraying his old leader and Benedict's God. Swiveling his eyes away, once more he looked upon the damnable inkwell and paper on the desk.
Feeling dizzy, Benedict got up and proceeded out the door of his quarters and into the courtyard of the fort. The courtyard was dark, with a little candlelight leaving the barracks, and the swinging of a lantern, as the sentry went about his rounds.
Suddenly, a man out of nowhere bumped into Benedict. Recognizing him, the soldier said, "Sorry General, didn't mean to run into you like that."
"That's fine, son, you go back to barracks and get some sleep."
"General, is it true the British will be here soon?"
"Any day now, son."
"Can we beat them?"
"Go back to barracks, lad."
With a nod, the soldier walked back to the points of light across the courtyard, Benedict watching his shadow enter the building. The soldiers still trusted him, dispite his defeat in Canada, they still respected and admired him for being a famous general in the new Continental Army, well before Washington did. Could he betray such loyal devotion for gold? The price of treason is likely death, and Benedict doubted the Congress would show him any mercy, and doubted the ability for the British Army to get him out of America even more.
"What would Judas do, given a second chance?" asked Benedict of the unanswering night. He turned around, back into his quarters, now empty of light.
Cornwallis, fighting his way through mobs of American militia with his 18,000 strong army, gathered from all over America to strike a devasting blow in a march across the colonies, devasting Georgia and Carolina, arrived outside of West Point two weeks later with a mere 9,000 soldiers of his army still combat effective and not on garrison duty in the conquered land. The ranks of the British Army were greatly thinned, two full regiments had to be disbanded. However, as the army neared West Point, their morale grew, knowing that with the fall of West Point, the tide of war could turn from the colonists' favor.
Cornwallis himself rode at the forefront of the army, with the select few of his officers who were the brains and wits of the army. He and his officers all carried with them the same tired, slightly disgruntled looks on their faces, though with a little candle of hope that they would recieve nice feather beds inside the fort upon their arrival. All of them were sporting minor wounds and bandages from the fighting against the thousands of militia soldiers they fought on the way north, after landing at the small little town of Savannah. Cornwallis himself was sporting a banage over his right eye, a souvieneer of an incredibly accurate Yankee rifle, though not accurate enough to kill him, just to blind him.
The British army reached within 200 yards of the fort and stopped, several soldiers dropping with exaustion from the long march and fighting, only to be prodded up by their sergeants. Leaving their battered army, Cornwallis and his officers rode up to the fort's gate.
As they approached, an American at the top of the fort proceeded to lower the rebel flag and in its place the Union Jack rose, fluttering gracefully over the bastions of the fort, and the gates into West Point swung open to the British Army. In the center of the fort, Benedict stood, wearing a blue parody of the British uniform, all the way down to shiny brass buttons, behind him the fort's garrison without weapons, with a smile greeting the conquering British general and his colonels.
The British dismounted, proceeded to walk up to Benedict, displaying a seal of the King to be put on the final contract for the surrender of West Point. Without hesitating, Benedict took the stamp, stamped the surrender paper, surrendering America's finest colonial bastion to the British. As a sign of respect, Benedict kissed the seal of the King before returning it to Cornwallis.
At this, the hidden American militia, numbering close to a thousand, hurryingly shut the gate, trapping Cornwallis and his officers from his army. Benedict turned, said, "Lock them in my quarters."
In the distance cannon fire picked up, captured British guns, now part of Washington's army, hurling death into the tired British. The American militia in the fort also began firing muskets and the fort's guns point blank into the resting enemy.
Benedict stood on the highest point of the fort, the Stars and Stripes fluttering behind him, the sounds of battle before him. Once more Benedict Arnold looked upon a field of battle, with the shine of muskets and cannons, the flame of explosions, and the screams of the dying as the rising sun climbed ever higher into the sky, showing a new nation had been born at the gates of West Point.
THE END
Last edited by EQandCivfanatic on 22-02-2004 at 22:58
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22-02-2004 09:43
Keep the goods flowing in. 
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