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📜 By Quill & Candlelight: The Dispatches of Colonel Shufflebottom on the Matter of Colonial Nonsense
🗓️ October 10th, 1775 — Of Plots, Poetry, and Pelvic Discomfort

Currently in deep cover somewhere in New England

After several months of attending secret Loyalist gatherings I find myself compelled, nay obligated, to record the matters of import before my memory is further eroded by the deep trauma of substandard tea and colonial upholstery.

The principal plotters of these gatherings included William Franklin (a son of Benjamin, though clearly not of his temperament), Lord Dunmore of Virginia (whose powdered wig was as stiff as his politics and twice as flammable), and Thomas Hutchinson, formerly of Massachusetts and presently of poor judgment, poor company, and poorer snacks.

Meetings were held in a rotating selection of venues, each more regrettable than the last: shabby wharf-side homes smelling of damp orphanages, and Quaker churches whose benches were so impeccably crafted they could double as medieval interrogation devices. I sat upon one for three hours and emerged with a new understanding of theological suffering.

Topics of discussion included the initial drafts of a “Declaration of Dependence”, strategies for avoidance of taking public loyalty oaths, as well as a demonstration lecture on the removal of hardened tar and feathers, which I found both practical and deeply distressing.

Potential escape plans were also discussed should the plot unravel. Escape locations considerations included Canada, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, Britain, or the Caribbean—anywhere with proper tea and fewer pitchforks. Poetry was also read aloud. I shall not speak of it.

The attire of these Loyalists was a visual assault—one that left me emotionally bruised and sartorially offended. There was an abundance of garish waistcoats, breeches that appeared to have lost a duel with geometry, and powdered wigs worn with the confidence of a man who’s never met a mirror. Even their boots seemed to be in open rebellion against symmetry, and possibly against feet.

Refreshments were provided, though I use the term loosely. They were, predictably, a culinary insult! Improperly steeped tea (lukewarm and thus morally questionable), cucumber and radish sandwiches (with crusts intact, barbarism!), and what I can only describe as dried seaweed paired with overripe eels… it defied both logic and digestion.

Alas, the plot has unraveled—the details are vague, but here is my working theory: A message meant for Lord Dunmore was tied to a pigeon’s leg. Unfortunately, the pigeon had strong anti-monarchist leanings and delivered the note directly to a Patriot tavern, frequented by one of most annoying Militia Captains I’ve ever had the pleasure of despising. The bird was clearly a radical. Possibly French.

I now find myself in the awkward position of being disguised as a colonial librarian (fortunately colonials rarely read). This sculking about is denying me my daily comforts. No more gentlemanly morning constitutionals amidst the aristocrats of Boston. No more fancy dance parties with questionable punch. Only a growing sense of colonial dread and the looming possibility of facial hair disguises.

Ever Encamped, Occasionally Enraged,
Colonel Archibald Shufflebottom, 47th Regiment of Foot,
Defender of Empire, Critic of Quaker Seating and Treasonous French Couriers

📜 By Quill & Candlelight: The Dispatches of Colonel Shufflebottom on the Matter of Colonial Nonsense
🗓️ September 24th, 1775 — Of Canoes, Congress, and Canadian Catastrophes

Ah, the week of September 24th, 1775 … a time when rebellion took to the rivers, and common sense was left ashore.

General Benedict Arnold, that ambitious lad with a fondness for dramatic gestures, has departed Cambridge with a thousand men and a dream: to conquer Quebec. His chosen route? Through the Maine wilderness. Yes, dear reader, the man has elected to invade Canada by canoe. Canoe! One might as well attempt to storm Versailles in a wheelbarrow.

By the 20th, they’d reached the Kennebec River, where their vessels—leaky, splintered, and seemingly carved by blind carpenters—begin to betray them. Provisions spoil, morale sinks, and the men are left paddling through despair and dysentery. I’ve seen better-planned picnics.

Meanwhile, Congress, in its infinite wisdom, has begun formalizing the Continental Army. Officers are appointed, ranks bestowed, and yet not a single uniform appears to match its wearer. It’s less a military and more a theatrical troupe with delusions of grandeur.

On the 22nd, British Governor Guy Carleton received word of Arnold’s soggy approach and began fortifying Quebec. At last, a gentleman’s defense! Walls, cannons, and none of this sock-stuffed nonsense.

And as if the week weren’t already brimming with nautical nonsense, Congress begins debating the formation of a navy. A navy! With what, pray tell? Canoes and conviction? Perhaps they’ll christen their flagship “The Soggy Patriot.”  Ahahaha! Or perhaps the “HMS Wishful Thinking.”

Meanwhile in London, England – His Majesty King George III, having declared the colonies to be in open rebellion, is now engaged in the delicate art of speech-writing for the opening of Parliament. His Majesty is said to be rehearsing his speech to Parliament. I imagine it begins, “My loyal subjects… except you lot.” Sources close to the court suggest the tone will be less let “us reason together” and more “fetch me the Hessians.”

Meanwhile, the Ministry debates whether General Gage is the man to restore order in Boston, or whether a fresh face — namely General Howe — might do the trick. One suspects the decision will be made in the same spirit as changing the drummer in a regimental band: it will not alter the tune, but it may improve the timing.

In summary, the rebellion continues with all the elegance of a goose in a bonnet—loud, confused, and inexplicably determined.

Yours in bemused observation…

Ever encamped, occasionally enraged,
Colonel Archibald Shufflebottom
47th Regiment of Foot, Defender of Empire,
Critic of Canoe-Based Campaigns & Improvised Naval Fantasies

#ThisDayInHistory #250Years #AmericanRevolution

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📜 By Quill & Candlelight: The Dispatches of Colonel Shufflebottom on the Matter of Colonial Nonsense
🗓️ September 16th, 1775 — Regrettably clandestine, a dusty hayloft somewhere in New England

“Espionage,” they say, with the breathless excitement of schoolboys who’ve found father’s brandy and mother’s bloomers.

Word in the pig offal encrusted streets are that informal spy networks have begun forming, especially around Boston, New York, and Philadelphia. These include tavern gossip collectors, letter interceptors, and the occasional courier with suspiciously poetic handwriting (mostly in the form of limericks about bar maids with huge tracks of “land”).

Therefore today, I find myself engaged in what the local militia call “a secret operation,” which – in practice – amounts to loitering behind ale barrels and pretending not to hear conversations shouted across taverns. I am assured this is “discreet.”

I’ve taken to frequenting a ramshackle establishment known as The Gilded Otter, where one can hear every rebel whisper if one simply feigns drunkenness and listens near the hearth. (The hearth is where they all lean when conspiring; I suspect it is sacred.)

My own role as His Majesty’s discreet observer involves the consumption of endless porridge, the concealment of a wig under a bonnet (“to blend in”), and the writing of coded notes on scraps of ham paper. I am pleased to inform London that the rebels’ greatest security measure is poor handwriting.

Of particular intelligence value today: One Samuel P. of Concord appears to believe himself the leader of an underground movement involving the strategic relocation of buttons. His network is comprised of three cousins, a cow, and one man who simply stands near windows.

I remain embedded, as it were, though the only thing truly embedded is a splinter from the floor of this loft. I shall endure. Britain demands it. I do wonder, however, how much longer we must rely upon colonial methods of secrecy, which seem to involve a heavy emphasis on yelling, drinking, and the occasional “secret passphrase,” which yesterday was “more ale.”

At this rate, I shall become the most informed man in New England by virtue of having ears and patience.

Ever encamped, occasionally enraged,
Colonel Archibald Shufflebottom, 47th Regiment of Foot
Defender of Empire, Critic of Colonial Espionage & Tavern Intelligence

#ThisDayInHistory #250Years #AmericanRevolution

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📜 By Quill & Candlelight: The Dispatches of Colonel Shufflebottom on the Matter of Colonial Nonsense
🗓️ September 9th, 1775 — Philadelphia, regrettably self-important

Today, the Continental Congress—having exhausted its supply of petitions, proclamations, and powdered ambition—has recommended that each colony form its own independent government. I daresay, they now fancy themselves sovereign. I expect a flag made of turnips.

The delegates speak of liberty, representation, and “the will of the people”—a phrase which, in practice, appears to mean ‘whatever the loudest man in the tavern just shouted.’ They now draft constitutions with quills, candles, and the sort of confidence usually reserved for amateur dramatists and overambitious pastry chefs.

I overheard one gentleman propose a bicameral legislature, though he pronounced it “bicarbonate” and may have been discussing indigestion. Another suggested a seal featuring a beaver, a musket, and a sunrise. I suspect the beaver was symbolic. I hope the musket was not loaded.

Ever encamped, occasionally enraged,
Colonel Archibald Shufflebottom, 47th Regiment of Foot
Defender of Empire, Critic of Colonial Governance & Vegetable Heraldry

#ThisDayInHistory #250Years #AmericanRevolution

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