Near Oslo, Norway 998 A.D.
In the late summer we were ready to leave. We had been two months stocking supplies and arms. A call had come that winter from far-off Greenland. Leif Eriksson was looking for men to join him on an exploration of new lands to the West, the land sighted by Bjarni Herjolfsson in 985 after being blown off course in a storm. It would be a long and dangerous voyage across the North Atlantic from Norway to Iceland and then to Greenland to meet Eriksson. I joined as part of a hand picked crew led by the fearless warrior-sailor Kenut the Lucky. I was to be his navigator and good one I was too. They used to say, "If Svarren (that was me) can't find it, it's not there." There were about 80 of us altogether, seasoned raiders and seamen all. Our longship was one of the finest ever built. It was a gift from King Olaf Tryggvason to Kenut for his loyal support uniting Norway three years earlier. Kenut named it "Fjord Explorer". It was late in the season for a sea voyage but we weren't worried. They didn't call Kenut "the Lucky" for nothing. "We sail!" Kenut commanded as he cast off our lines. Down the fjord, out through the Skagerrak and into the North Sea we sailed. On the third day out we ran into one of the worst storms I've ever seen. Lightening, thunder, huge waves all around us. Our sail was torn to shreds. Most of our supplies washed overboard. We rowed as hard as we could to keep our head into the sea so as not to broach. Through it all Kenut was as calm at the tiller as if made of stone. He kept our spirits up with stories. We could barely make out what he said but we knew the legends by heart anyway. At one point he set us all laughing with a crazy idea of his. He claimed if we made an enclosed boat we could ride beneath the waves and avoid such storms! After two days the storm ended. Other than lost supplies and a worthless sail we were in pretty good shape. Finding ourselves near the Orkneys, Kenut said we should go ashore for supplies. "With what will we trade?" asked one. "Trade!" cried Kenut, "Thor's hammer! We're Vikings not merchants!" With that we cruised the shorelines looking for a village to raid. After spotting one we hit them at dawn. Resistance was futile, and the fighting soon over. As we were loading supplies imagine my shock to see Kenut approach with a woman in tow. "This is Kara, our new cook," Kenut said, pointing at this raven haired beauty with a look in his eye I had not seen before. The woman glared at us. There were a few raised eyebrows but not a word was said. They boarded and we set sail for Iceland.... More To Come...
<BGSOUND SRC="beethoven.mid" loop="1"> The year is 1854, the 25th day of October... Fear? I'll tell you about FEAR! There I was with the 93RD Highlanders in Balaclava on the Crimean Peninsula. I thought we were taking a rest, then I see them, about 5,000 Russian Calvary ready to do battle with our 550 or so Highlanders. Now I'm scared! So up rides Sir Colin Campbell and says, "Men, there is no retreat from here. You must die where you stand." Now I'm TERRIFIED!........I heard someone say, "Aye sir, there'll be nae but Hie'land bonnets on this ridge tonight". Oh, great. There's a brave one. Still the Calvary came on. We fired one volley, and a second. Amazingly the Calvary halted, began to drift back. Our whole line surged forward. What were we thinking? But, you know the Scots when their blood's up. "93rd, 93rd, damn all that eagerness!" I heard Sir Colin yell. We steadied, fired a third volley and they retired from the field. I was alive and feeling good... <BGSOUND SRC="bolero.mid" loop="1"> Rorke's Drift. Natal, South Africa. January 22, 1879... I was in the hospital with a mild case of dysentary. Outside there were 4,000 Zulu's, a proud warrior race, who weren't there for an annual check-up. As all the rooms had doors that opened to the outside, there was only one way to escape before they swarmed in. That meant chopping holes in the walls from room to room until reaching the outside courtyard. Until now I'd been counting myself lucky to have escaped the massacre at Isandlwana with the rest of the lads of A Company, 1st Battalion, 24th Foot, but that's another story. I wasn't liking the odds, 4,000 to our 100 or so, not one bit. I've never liked hospitals, in fact, I was DYING to get out of this one!... Part 2... And dying we were. Some of us were fighting from loopholes and doorways, while others chopped holes from room to room. Then, as if things weren't bad enough already, the building caught fire! Finally, those of us left hacked our way through the last wall and into the open yard beyond. Luckily our men still held the perimeter there, but it was still a long dash to either the stone cattle kraal or the chapel at the other end. And what a mad dash it was! Yelling, screaming, fighting, incoming rifle fire and the occasional thrown spear. Reminded me of a certain Cardiff pub on a Saturday night. Upon reaching the other end I chose the safety of the chapel and dove through the door. Just to find Surgeon-Major Reynolds had turned it into a hospital. I thought to myself "It's going to be a long day".... part 3 ....There I stood, safe at last,in a well protected building. "Are you hurt lad, wounded?" asked the Surgeon-Major. "No, Sir. I'm fine Mr. Reynolds," I replied. "Then grab a rifle and get out to the barricades with the rest. Only wounded are allowed in here." Imagine that, thrown out of a hospital. Sure, and where was he two hours ago? So I grabbed a rifle and darted out the door. And ran right smack into the imposing figure of Colour-Sargeant Bourne. "YOU!" "Me, Colour-Sargeant?" "Yes, you. Are you a good shot?" "Yes, Colour-Sargeant," I lied. One never says no to the Colour-Sargeant, especially during a battle. "Get up into that redout and help cover the lads at walls." Now this was a large 9-12 foot high mound of mealie bags with firing positions inside with a 360 degree arc of fire support to any position of our shrinking perimeter. This is where I spent the rest of the battle. By now it was late evening and the sun was going down. Still they came. Attack a section of wall, can't get in, fall back. On and on it went. Attack, fall back. Attack, fall back. It was getting darker but we could see by the light of the burning hospital. Still they came. My rifle got so hot I tore strips from my shirt just to hold the barrel. My shoulder was bruised from the constant recoil. Finally, the Zulus withdrew. I guess maybe they decided they couldn't break in. Maybe they were hungry, thirsty, and tired. We were! All I know is I'm still alive and grateful to be that. Eleven defenders of Rorkes Drift were awarded the Victoria Cross, Britian's highest award for bravery. The Zulus didn't have medals but the bravery of warriors who repeatedly charged into massed rifle fire, armed with only a spear and cowhide sheild, speaks for itself. Main/Surname list/Native American research/Outten research/History according to Warren/Photo Album/ Contact us/
Rorke's Drift. Natal, South Africa. January 22, 1879... I was in the hospital with a mild case of dysentary. Outside there were 4,000 Zulu's, a proud warrior race, who weren't there for an annual check-up. As all the rooms had doors that opened to the outside, there was only one way to escape before they swarmed in. That meant chopping holes in the walls from room to room until reaching the outside courtyard. Until now I'd been counting myself lucky to have escaped the massacre at Isandlwana with the rest of the lads of A Company, 1st Battalion, 24th Foot, but that's another story. I wasn't liking the odds, 4,000 to our 100 or so, not one bit. I've never liked hospitals, in fact, I was DYING to get out of this one!... Part 2... And dying we were. Some of us were fighting from loopholes and doorways, while others chopped holes from room to room. Then, as if things weren't bad enough already, the building caught fire! Finally, those of us left hacked our way through the last wall and into the open yard beyond. Luckily our men still held the perimeter there, but it was still a long dash to either the stone cattle kraal or the chapel at the other end. And what a mad dash it was! Yelling, screaming, fighting, incoming rifle fire and the occasional thrown spear. Reminded me of a certain Cardiff pub on a Saturday night. Upon reaching the other end I chose the safety of the chapel and dove through the door. Just to find Surgeon-Major Reynolds had turned it into a hospital. I thought to myself "It's going to be a long day".... part 3 ....There I stood, safe at last,in a well protected building. "Are you hurt lad, wounded?" asked the Surgeon-Major. "No, Sir. I'm fine Mr. Reynolds," I replied. "Then grab a rifle and get out to the barricades with the rest. Only wounded are allowed in here." Imagine that, thrown out of a hospital. Sure, and where was he two hours ago? So I grabbed a rifle and darted out the door. And ran right smack into the imposing figure of Colour-Sargeant Bourne. "YOU!" "Me, Colour-Sargeant?" "Yes, you. Are you a good shot?" "Yes, Colour-Sargeant," I lied. One never says no to the Colour-Sargeant, especially during a battle. "Get up into that redout and help cover the lads at walls." Now this was a large 9-12 foot high mound of mealie bags with firing positions inside with a 360 degree arc of fire support to any position of our shrinking perimeter. This is where I spent the rest of the battle. By now it was late evening and the sun was going down. Still they came. Attack a section of wall, can't get in, fall back. On and on it went. Attack, fall back. Attack, fall back. It was getting darker but we could see by the light of the burning hospital. Still they came. My rifle got so hot I tore strips from my shirt just to hold the barrel. My shoulder was bruised from the constant recoil. Finally, the Zulus withdrew. I guess maybe they decided they couldn't break in. Maybe they were hungry, thirsty, and tired. We were! All I know is I'm still alive and grateful to be that. Eleven defenders of Rorkes Drift were awarded the Victoria Cross, Britian's highest award for bravery. The Zulus didn't have medals but the bravery of warriors who repeatedly charged into massed rifle fire, armed with only a spear and cowhide sheild, speaks for itself.
Get your own Free Home Page