10/27/2026
Saturday, White Plains 250
What a massive and grueling enterprise this day has proved. Our four battalions were mustered to move upon the rebel positions shortly after the midday meal. As we slowly, haltingly trudged our way up the rugged road through the timber and the dense forest, the muffled crack of musketry reached our ears, telling us the grenadiers and the light infantry had already engaged the rebels amongst the trees. Those continental skirmishers kept up a most chilling, savage war cry—a barbarous sound that seemed to echo from every quarter of the woods—answered only by the steady, resolute volleys of our brave grenadiers.
We passed a quiet cemetery upon our left as we advanced, though not a single man among us anticipated he would find his eternal bed in that consecrated earth before nightfall. We continued our slow, deliberate progress forward, moving inexorably like the slide of a printing press being drawn beneath the heavy plate itself.
At last, the gloom of the forest opened into a clearing. A small company of the 54th Regiment engaged a party of retreating continentals hurrying across the road further up, whilst the 10th Grenadiers delivered a crushing volley to our left, forcing an opening onto the lower slopes of the hill.
We were then granted a full view of the rebels’ multiple lines, and we poured our fire into their ranks with the vigour by which the 43rd Regiment is known. Advancing steadily by platoons, we drove the stubborn continentals back through the chest-high grass and thorny brambles.
As more and more of His Majesty’s troops deployed upon that reverse slope, the rebels at last saw it most prudent to retreat toward their damned higher ridge, leaving us bloodied, weary, but entirely victorious in that first contested field.
Cpl Duebel
43rd Regt of Foot
Oct 24, 2026
