strictlysupreme Chapter 737: March to Mississippi
Chapter 737: March to Mississippi
Chapter 737: March to Mississippi
"To Her Majesty, Cheers!"
The wine glasses collided, splashing amber wine.
In the miners' tavern, a group of miners with coal dust on their faces and sweat all over their bodies were drinking happily to relieve their day's hard work.
A young man wearing a slightly ancient silk robe pushed open the door and walked in, and the wind chimes made a tinkling sound.
The bartender pointed to a sign nearby and said, "Hey, this is the Miners' Tavern."
"You won't be receiving other guests?"
"Of course not, it's just"
The bartender looked at the guest's fancy clothes. His noble appearance was nothing like the miner next to him. Why would such a big shot come to his smelly tavern?
If anything goes wrong, our pub won’t be able to bear the consequences.
The man sat down and said with a smile, "That's good."
The bartender felt helpless and thought to himself, didn't you notice that the noise in your tavern has become much quieter since your arrival? Those miners are not easy to deal with. Who knows how many of them may have their eyes on you, a fat sheep?
The man pointed to the wine list. "I'd like a drink of your signature drink, the 'Iron Ore'."
"alright."
The bartender turned back to mix drinks.
Sitting at the table, a miner who was dressed relatively elegantly couldn't help but say, "You look strange. You must have just come from Europe. Where are you from?"
The man was not proud of himself and responded with a smile: "I guess I am German."
The miner couldn't help laughing and said, "You don't look as rigid as they do."
“Maybe it’s because I’m from Southern Germany.”
Losa shrugged. The difference between north and south Germany was not as simple as High German and Low German.
The far-reaching impact of the Thirty Years' War has not yet been eliminated.
It also led to the German Confederation under the Habsburg rule in this world being even more fragmented than Germany II.
But no matter how bulky it is, it is still much better than the Austro-Hungarian freak with two heads.
The miner laughed and said, "You must not be an ordinary person. You are a branch of the nobility and came to the New World to start a business?"
"It is."
"You may need a guide. My name is Old Henry. I have been in this town for many years. No one knows the ins and outs of all walks of life better than me. And I am British, from Nottinghamshire. Have you heard of me?"
"The hometown of Robin Hood?"
"Yes, that's it!"
When talking about his hometown, the miners' faces are full of pride.
Losa didn't intend to respond to his question, but asked, "I heard that the black uprising in the South is about to start. Why don't you seem to be worried at all?"
"Ha, those black slaves? They will soon be crushed into pieces by the Empire's army. Did you hear that this time the Empire even sent out steam airships - the kind of warships that fly in the sky. With just one shot, even a small mountain will be flattened."
The obedient miner at the side couldn't help but interrupt and said, "Maybe the Louisiana militia wiped them out. I heard that a whole regiment of Massachusetts cuirassiers and a detachment of the Order of St. George were stationed there some time ago."
Talking about the strength of his motherland, even though old Henry was just an ordinary miner, he couldn't help but straighten his chest.
The strength of the motherland is closely related to the lives of each of them.
Especially for the British in overseas territories, even if you are just an illiterate lower-class landless peasant in your homeland, you can become a superior person by coming to the colonies.
And it's not just the blacks who are the superior class. In the colonies, the fourth class of people were black slaves, the third class of people were Hispanics and Italians, and the second class of people were French, Germans, and Irish.
Old Henry was a first-class citizen, with a salary much higher than others. He could also do easy jobs like overseer, and had connections with many officials in the town, so he naturally had reason to be proud.
Old Henry couldn't help but complain: "Instead of worrying about those guys, we should worry about the wild beasts that are roaming in."
Last night his family lost another sheep, and the clergyman they invited took a quick glance and told him to pay a hunter to deal with it, but everyone knew that those hunters who tied their heads to their belts would offer the most unfavorable prices.
The money he paid them was enough to buy a flock of sheep.
Losa listened to the miners' gossip and thought to himself: It seems that they may not know that the cuirassiers have been completely wiped out, even though their opponents were a group of Texas cowboys.
"It's getting late. I have to leave. Old John, I personally suggest that you and your colleagues stop staying here. If possible, it's best to take your families to the north and leave this town."
Lothar said, stood up, left a piece of advice that no one would listen to, and walked out of the tavern.
The sky gradually darkened, gloomy clouds gathered, and a heavy rain was about to fall.
The warm-colored tavern, like the only remaining shelter in the darkness, radiates a tranquil glow.
The pub has regained its former bustle.
Old Henry's expression changed for a while, and his colleague beside him couldn't help but laugh at him: "He looks so well-dressed, but I didn't expect him to be a coward. Brother Henry, you didn't take it seriously, did you?"
Seeing old Henry's stern expression, the relaxed smiles on his colleagues' faces gradually disappeared.
"I gonna go see."
Old Henry hesitated but still did not move, just because of what someone said. Even though he thought this person was definitely not an ordinary person, he still felt that it was too hasty to move away. After all, moving overnight in the North American colonies was not an easy task. Who knows, he might be taken away and eaten by some wild beasts.
However, not long after, the door of the tavern was kicked open.
The cold wind wrapped in drizzle blew into the tavern, and the candlelight flickered.
A stern-looking recruiting officer walked in with a team of guards.
"Everyone follow me, yes, including you old Henry, you have been drafted into the Third Mississippi Infantry."
The soldiers, armed with live ammunition and as fierce as wolves and tigers, looked coldly at the drinking miners, as if if the word "no" came out of their mouths, their heads would explode the next moment.
A militiaman advised: "Men, there is no time to hesitate. The rebellious slaves have all driven out of the city. If you don't want to be hanged on the gallows by those slaves, if you don't want your wives and daughters to be pregnant with a black bastard, and if you don't want your babies to be hung on the bayonet, pick up your weapons immediately!"
The atmosphere in the pub was frighteningly solemn.
The miners never imagined that the slave rebellion that was clearly described in the newspaper as just a group of rabble and sounded so far away from them would affect them so quickly.
...
Meanwhile, across the Mississippi border.
In the twilight, countless blacks were rushing towards the enemy's position in a loose formation, holding rifles.
The artillery fire roared, and from time to time someone was hit by a shell, and the whole body was torn into pieces. The solid shells fired by those old antique cannons plowed across the ground like a flesh mill.
Behind them, the strong black soldiers of the supervision team stared at the soldiers' backs with a coveted look, and they couldn't help but feel fortunate that they had surrendered to the leader early, otherwise they would be the ones charging forward now.
Their leader was an old warrior with a white beard on his face and various totems painted on his body, looking extremely tough.
He came from the Niger Delta in West Africa and was a wild warrior who could chase lions on the grasslands. He was far from being comparable to the second-generation black slaves in Louisiana, most of whom were domesticated and bred.
He was captured in a tribal conflict and was one of the few black slaves with "war" experience. After the early black uprising army suffered several setbacks, he was quickly elected as the "leader".
He was obviously a very capable guy. You have to know that the rebels were originally a group of scattered sand. The fact that he was able to roughly integrate them was due to the fear of the British army approaching on the one hand, and his personal ability on the other.
Otherwise, most of the black rebels would rather flee into the wilderness and be eaten by wild beasts, or be captured by slave groups, than take up arms and attack the towns in the British colonies.
As time went on, the state militia's defenses were gradually penetrated.
Their weapons and equipment and training level are not much better than those of the black rebels. On the contrary, thanks to Lothar's support, they were given a batch of cutting-edge firearms, which are much worse than those of the black elite.
This shows the British's castration of the colonial armed forces.
The morale of the state militiamen whose positions were breached gradually collapsed, and they turned into countless defeated soldiers and ran away.
Along the way, the black rebels chased the fleeing soldiers, and the distance between the two sides was getting closer and closer.
Many of the fleeing soldiers could only howl in despair as they watched these black slaves, who were pitch black under the moonlight, pierce their bodies with bayonets.
Black, a skin color that was originally a symbol of inferiority and lowliness in the eyes of the fleeing soldiers, now seemed to be synonymous with death. Suddenly, a black soldier would jump out of the darkness and pierce their bodies with a sharp bayonet.
“God, save your people.”
"Stop those black beasts and stop harming your loyal people."
Amid the people's wailing, a black torrent rushed into the town.
The newly recruited militia built crude fortifications with wood and stones, while the men stayed at home, holding their shotguns tightly to protect their wives and children.
Accompanied by a roar.
The shell penetrated a house and exploded in the street.
The slaves pushed the captured cannons and laughed wildly. They didn't know how to calibrate or calculate the trajectory. There was no need to calibrate this old antique cannon, but they knew that as long as they pushed the cannon close enough, they would definitely hit the target!