I was there with him, holding my sword as I stood at Captain Rogers' side, facing the French. Perhaps I had drunk more claret than I realised, or maybe my nerves were reacting from their earlier strain by pushing me in the opposite direction. I do not know. I only know how I responded to Captain Rogers' words.
'The cannon fire increases, sending their iron balls bounding toward us and then we see the French advancing, huge blue columns backed by artillery and cavalry. Our men shiver, stamp their feet and spit tobacco juice onto the ground. And we wait for orders, and we wait, and wait as they come closer.'
'Oh, give the order,' I could nearly smell the Frenchmen as they marched towards the British lines. I gripped the captain's arm until my knuckles were white and my fingers ached. 'Give
