J
jrhume
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New York Times, December 26, 1776
Dateline: December 25, near Trenton, New Jersey
Disaster on the Delaware
by Fob Emoff, Current Events Reporter
After considerable trouble and a long ride through the New Jersey countryside, where armed brigands masquerading as patriots have been attacking the loyal British and Hessian soldiers billeted in the area, I managed to catch up with the fleeing Continental Army and its outlaw commander, the self-styled 'General' Washington.
For those gentle readers who have not kept abreast of the illegal insurgency against our rightful and sovereign King George, I shall recap the events of the previous months.
Ignoring international law and the divine right of kings, a trivial portion of our citizenry, under the influence of capitalist war-mongers, plotted a revolution. The shooting war began last year and the initial fighting eventually resulted in a siege of Boston, the largest city in Massachusetts, where money-grubbing businessmen, seeking to control the whale oil market, helped to foment the rebellion.
The rebel army, as disreputable a group of terrorists who ever graced a scaffold, was bundled out of the Boston after the trifling affair at Bunker Hill. In the ensuing months, Washington and his undisciplined hordes were driven from Long Island and across New Jersey. They huddle now on the far shore of the Delaware, awaiting defeat at the hands of their masters.
I spoke with 'General' Washington on the morning of December 25 at his squalid camp on the Delaware. What follows is the gist of our conversation:
Fob: May I call you George?
GW: You may call me 'Sir' or 'General.'
Fob: Okay, ah -- General. I had heard you were a glacial sort. Our readers like to know more about famous characters. What, sir, is your favorite color?
The General made no response. His face was a study in granite.
Fob: Well, uh -- I understand you have a favorite horse. What is his name?
GW: Do you have any substantive questions?
Fob: Ah -- ha-ha. Substantive? Um -- can you tell me what your men are wearing this season? What is the current fashion among the revolutionaries?
GW: Rags. Bandages. Bare feet. Surely you saw them?
Fob: Of course. Of course. Silly me. I just assumed that rabble outside was a horde of camp followers or homeless vagabonds.
GW: They are the Continental Army.
Fob: Indeed? Dear me, sir. Things are worse than I imagined. I've seen the British and Hessian troops. Do you really expect to defeat such professionals with this mob?
GW: I've given my word that I would try.
Fob: Your word? Of course. The Hessians occupy Trenton, just across the river. What if they swoop down on your -- ah -- 'army' and attack during the night?
GW: They can't. We have all the boats.
Fob: Boats. Okay, I can see that. But, sooner or later they'll come across. In the spring, at the latest. What then?
GW: Perhaps they won't be there in the spring.
Fob: But why would they leave? Are you going to -- wait a minute. You have the boats. Your men are grouped on the shore. You're going to attack the Hessians! Are you mad!
The 'General' made no reply but stood up and escorted me outside. A swarthy man in ragpicker's clothes stood waiting. Washington addressed this beggar. "Escort Mr. Emoff to the first town where he can hire a packet to New York." He turned to me. "You'll be in the city by morning, sir." With that he strode down to the river and entered a beat-up wooden boat.
Gentle readers, as you peruse this article, I'm sure the pitiful remnants of the Continental Army are being rounded up by the Hessians billeted in Trenton. Alas, that they should have embarked on such a risky endeavor. And all for whale oil.
Fob Emoff
Author's note: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to newspapers or reporters living or dead is strictly fortuitous.
JR Hume aka Old Guy
Dateline: December 25, near Trenton, New Jersey
Disaster on the Delaware
by Fob Emoff, Current Events Reporter
After considerable trouble and a long ride through the New Jersey countryside, where armed brigands masquerading as patriots have been attacking the loyal British and Hessian soldiers billeted in the area, I managed to catch up with the fleeing Continental Army and its outlaw commander, the self-styled 'General' Washington.
For those gentle readers who have not kept abreast of the illegal insurgency against our rightful and sovereign King George, I shall recap the events of the previous months.
Ignoring international law and the divine right of kings, a trivial portion of our citizenry, under the influence of capitalist war-mongers, plotted a revolution. The shooting war began last year and the initial fighting eventually resulted in a siege of Boston, the largest city in Massachusetts, where money-grubbing businessmen, seeking to control the whale oil market, helped to foment the rebellion.
The rebel army, as disreputable a group of terrorists who ever graced a scaffold, was bundled out of the Boston after the trifling affair at Bunker Hill. In the ensuing months, Washington and his undisciplined hordes were driven from Long Island and across New Jersey. They huddle now on the far shore of the Delaware, awaiting defeat at the hands of their masters.
I spoke with 'General' Washington on the morning of December 25 at his squalid camp on the Delaware. What follows is the gist of our conversation:
Fob: May I call you George?
GW: You may call me 'Sir' or 'General.'
Fob: Okay, ah -- General. I had heard you were a glacial sort. Our readers like to know more about famous characters. What, sir, is your favorite color?
The General made no response. His face was a study in granite.
Fob: Well, uh -- I understand you have a favorite horse. What is his name?
GW: Do you have any substantive questions?
Fob: Ah -- ha-ha. Substantive? Um -- can you tell me what your men are wearing this season? What is the current fashion among the revolutionaries?
GW: Rags. Bandages. Bare feet. Surely you saw them?
Fob: Of course. Of course. Silly me. I just assumed that rabble outside was a horde of camp followers or homeless vagabonds.
GW: They are the Continental Army.
Fob: Indeed? Dear me, sir. Things are worse than I imagined. I've seen the British and Hessian troops. Do you really expect to defeat such professionals with this mob?
GW: I've given my word that I would try.
Fob: Your word? Of course. The Hessians occupy Trenton, just across the river. What if they swoop down on your -- ah -- 'army' and attack during the night?
GW: They can't. We have all the boats.
Fob: Boats. Okay, I can see that. But, sooner or later they'll come across. In the spring, at the latest. What then?
GW: Perhaps they won't be there in the spring.
Fob: But why would they leave? Are you going to -- wait a minute. You have the boats. Your men are grouped on the shore. You're going to attack the Hessians! Are you mad!
The 'General' made no reply but stood up and escorted me outside. A swarthy man in ragpicker's clothes stood waiting. Washington addressed this beggar. "Escort Mr. Emoff to the first town where he can hire a packet to New York." He turned to me. "You'll be in the city by morning, sir." With that he strode down to the river and entered a beat-up wooden boat.
Gentle readers, as you peruse this article, I'm sure the pitiful remnants of the Continental Army are being rounded up by the Hessians billeted in Trenton. Alas, that they should have embarked on such a risky endeavor. And all for whale oil.
Fob Emoff
Author's note: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to newspapers or reporters living or dead is strictly fortuitous.
JR Hume aka Old Guy
