In the Middle Ages, people drew cards to be promoted to nobility. - Chapter 740

“Cheers to Her Majesty the Queen!”

The wine glasses clashed, splashing amber liquid.

In the miners’ tavern, a group of miners with soot on their faces and smelly of sweat were drinking happily to relieve themselves from a hard day’s work.

A young man wearing slightly ancient silk clothes opened the door and walked in, the wind chimes tinkling.

The bartender pointed to the sign on the side: “Man, this is the Miners’ Tavern.”

“Don’t accept other guests?”

“Of course not, it’s just”

The bartender looked at the customer’s fine clothes. How could the nobility have anything to do with the miners next to him? What would such a big shot do in his smelly tavern?

If something happens, the hotel can’t afford it.

The man sat down by himself and said with a smile, “It’s okay if it’s not.”

The bartender felt helpless for a while and thought to himself, you didn’t realize that the noise in your tavern was much quieter as soon as you arrived. Those miners are not easy to mess with. In just a short time, there’s no telling how many people are watching. Fuck you, the fat sheep.

The man pointed at the wine list: “Have a drink of your signature drink, this ‘Iron Ore’.”

“Okay.”

The bartender turned around and went to make drinks.

Sitting at the wine table, a relatively well-dressed miner couldn’t help but chat: “You look like a stranger. You just came from Europe. Where are you from?”

The man was not proud and responded with a smile: “You can be considered a German.”

The miner couldn’t help but laugh: “You don’t look as rigid as them.”

“Maybe it’s because I’m from South Germany.”

Lothar shrugged. The difference between North and South Germany is not just as simple as High German and Low German.

The far-reaching impact of the Thirty Years’ War has not been eliminated to this day.

This also led to the fact that the German Federation under the rule of Habsburg in this world was even more bulky than Germany II.

But no matter how bulk it is, it is much better than the Austro-Hungarian freak with two heads.

The miner smiled and said, “You must be no ordinary person, but a descendant of the aristocracy who came to the New World to start a business?”

“That’s right.”

“You may need a guide. My name is Old Henry. I have been living in this town for many years. No one knows the ins and outs of all walks of life better than me. And I am an Englishman from Nottinghamshire. I have heard of without?”

“Hometown of Robin Hood?”

“Yes, that’s right there!”

Mentioning their hometown, the miners’ faces were full of pride.

Lothar didn’t mean to answer his question, and asked instead: “I heard that the black rebel army in the south is about to open up. Why do you seem to be not worried at all?”

“Ha, those black slaves? They will soon be crushed to pieces by the empire’s army. Did you hear that this time the empire even sent out a steam airship – the kind of warship that flies in the sky? Just one shot down, Even a hill will be leveled.”

The obedient miners on the side couldn’t help but interject: “Maybe the Louisiana state militia will wipe them out. I heard that an entire Massachusetts cuirassier regiment was stationed there some time ago. There is also a branch of the Knights of St. George.”

When talking about the power of the mother country, even though old Henry was just an ordinary miner, he couldn’t help but straighten his chest.

The strength of the mother country is closely related to the lives of each of them.

Especially for the British in overseas territories, even if you are just a landless farmer at the bottom who cannot read a word in your homeland, you can become a master when you come to the colonies.

And they are not just black people. In the colonies, the fourth class people are black slaves, the third class people are Spanish, Italian, and the second class are French, German, and Irish.

Old Henry was a first-class citizen, and his salary was much higher than others. He could also do leisure work such as supervisors. He could talk to many officials in the town, so he naturally had the ability to be proud.

Old Henry couldn’t help but complain: “Instead of worrying about those guys, it’s better to worry about the ferocious beasts of the wilderness that are scurrying in.”

Last night, another sheep was lost in his family. The priest he invited took a quick look and asked him to pay the hunters to deal with it, but who didn’t know that those hunters who tied their heads to their belts could offer the most outrageous prices.

The money they paid was enough to buy a flock of sheep.

Lothar listened to the chatter of the miners and thought to himself: It seems that they may not know that the cuirassier regiment has been completely wiped out, even though the opponent is a group of Texas cowboys.

“It’s getting late, I have to leave. Old John, I personally suggest that you and your colleagues stop hanging around. If possible, it’s best to take your family to the north and get out of here. A small town.”

Lothar said, stood up, left a piece of advice that no one would listen to, and immediately walked out of the tavern.

The sky is getting dark, gloomy clouds are gathering, and a heavy downpour is about to fall.

The warm-colored tavern is like the only remaining shelter in the darkness, exuding a cozy light.

The tavern has regained its former bustle.

Old Henry’s expression changed for a while, and the colleagues on the side couldn’t help laughing: “Looking at his extraordinary clothes, I didn’t expect that he turned out to be a coward. Brother Henry, you can’t be serious, right?”

Seeing Old Henry’s stern look, the relaxed smile on his colleague’s face gradually disappeared.

“I’ll go take a look.”

Old Henry hesitated, but still didn’t move, just because of someone’s words. Even though he thought this person was definitely not an ordinary person, he still felt that it was too hasty to move away. After all, moving overnight in the North American colonies was not an easy task. You might be eaten by wild beasts from somewhere.

However, not long after, the door of the tavern was kicked open.

The cold wind blew into the tavern with drizzle, and the candlelight flickered.

A stern-looking conscription officer entered with a team of guards.

“Everyone follow me, yes, including you, old Henry. You have been recruited by the Third Mississippi Infantry Regiment.”

The soldiers, armed with live ammunition and as fierce as wolves and tigers, looked at these drinking miners coldly, as if as long as they said a word “no”, their heads would explode the next moment.

A militiaman persuaded: “Men, there is no time to hesitate. The rebellious slaves have gone out of the city. If you don’t want to be hanged by those slaves, don’t want your wife and daughter to be pregnant with a black bastard, and don’t want your baby to be hung on the bayonet, pick up your weapons immediately!”

The atmosphere in the tavern was frighteningly solemn.

The miners had never thought that the black slave riot described in the newspaper was just a mob, and it sounded so far away from them, how could it affect them so quickly?

…

At the same time, on the Mississippi border.

In the twilight, countless blacks were rushing towards the enemy’s position in a loose formation, holding rifles.

The artillery roared, and from time to time someone was hit by a shell, and the whole body was torn into pieces. The solid shells fired by those antique cannons plowed across the ground like a meat grinder.

Behind them, the sturdy black soldiers of the supervisory team stared at the soldiers’ backs with a fierce look, and they couldn’t help but feel lucky that they had surrendered to the leader early, otherwise they would be the ones charging now.

Their leader was an old warrior with a white beard on his face and various totems painted on his body, who looked extremely tough.

He came from the Niger Delta in West Africa. He was a wild warrior who could chase lions on the grassland. He was far from being comparable to the second-generation black slaves in Louisiana who were mostly domesticated and bred.

He was captured in a tribal conflict and was one of the few black slaves with “war” experience. After several setbacks in the early black uprising army, he was quickly elected as the “leader”.

He was obviously a very capable guy. You know, the uprising army was originally a mess. The ability to roughly integrate them relied on the fear of the British army on the one hand and his personal ability on the other.

Otherwise, most of the black rebels would rather flee into the wilderness, be eaten by ferocious beasts, or be captured by the slave groups, rather than take up arms to attack the towns of the British colonies.

As time went on, the defense line of the state militia was gradually penetrated.

Their weapons and equipment, and training level were not much better than those of the black rebels. On the contrary, due to the support of Losa, they were given a batch of new firearms, which were much worse than those of the black elite.

The castration of the colonial armed forces by the British can be seen.

The morale of the state militia whose positions were penetrated gradually collapsed, and they turned into countless fleeing soldiers and ran away.

Along the way, the black rebels chased the fleeing soldiers, and the distance between the two sides was getting closer and closer.

Many fleeing soldiers could only wail in despair, watching these black slaves, who were pitch black under the moonlight, pierce their bodies with bayonets.

Black, a skin color that was originally a symbol of inferiority and lowliness in the eyes of the fleeing soldiers, now seemed to be equated with death. A black soldier would suddenly jump out of the darkness and pierce their bodies with a sharp bayonet.

“God, save your people.”

“Let those black beasts stop and stop harming your loyal people.”

Amid the wailing of the people, the black torrent rushed into the town.

The newly recruited militiamen built simple fortifications with wood and stones. The men stayed at home, holding their shotguns tightly, protecting their wives and children.

Accompanied by a roar.

The shells penetrated a house and exploded in the streets.

The black slaves pushed the captured artillery and laughed wantonly. They didn’t know how to calibrate or calculate the trajectory. There was no calibration for this old antique cannon, but they knew that as long as they pushed the cannon close enough, they would definitely hit!