Al Kling wrote:
So how does one come up with the title of "Sir Muddy"?
Funny Picture and Mudd On...
Monsewer:
Well, since you asked... I was given the title of Sir Muddy way back in the day when I was but a young lieutenant serving the Duke of Brunswick at the head of a regiment of Uhlans. It was early on the morn of June 18th, 1815 and Brunswick's forces had joined the Coalition to oppose Nappy's latest attempt to subjigate the Continent.
I was posted on the left flank that morning guarding the fords over a small stream, not far from a rather stately chateau called Plancenoit or something close. It had rained most of the night and the water was high and the ground was quite sloppy in some areas. The battle had just been joined in mid-morn when we were driven back from the fords by a full host of French cavalry. Giving ground judiciously, our horsemen delayed long enouogh for our reinforcements to arrive. There were now thousands of horse on both sides with our Coalition forces holding the high ground.
It wasn't long, however, before the French had closed ranks and charged our own mass of cavalry. My command was in the front and we waited with some trepidation as the French closed the distance. When they were yet but 75 yards away, our line of horse began to advance at the trot. As the distance separating the foes evaporated, both sides went to full gallop and the air was pierced by the war cries of thousands of young men, like myself. Lances, swords, and sabres reached for the enemy as the sides met in a hellacious crash.
I remember vividly, yelling and screaming and urging my new horse forward, and the tremendous crash of a thousand horse and steel. I can't say if or how many of the enemy I slashed in those first moments but my horse and I both emerged on the back side of the first French line still intact and with renewed momentum we continued the charge, along with many others, forward into the French second line. I can still see the those long lances bending in my direction as we neared the moment of impact, but somehow my horse maneuvered his way between the points as I slashed left and right like a fiend. It was here, in this melee that my horse slipped as we turned to parry a blow from a French officer. Off balance, the both of us, were driven to the ground under a wall of horseflesh as the melee continued above us.
My horse fell directly on top of me and I would have been crushed then and there but for the fact that the ground beneath me was quite soft. Instead of being crushed, I was driven several inches into the mud. There I lay until the melee moved on and my horse was able to get to his feet. when finally I was able to pull myself out of the mud, I saw that the French attack had been driven back down the hill to the fords. Standing and regaining my mount, I rode uphill to where the Coalition forces were reforming. No one recognized me at first. My uniform and horse were completely covered in a thick layer of gooey muck. Finally, declaring my identity before my commander, they all erupted in a chorus of laughter. "Lt. Jones," they declared, "you were fighting like a knight of old but we thought you were dead when we saw you fall. But here you are looking like a piece of the earth itself. Someone, I don't recall who, annoited me, Sir Muddy." And the nickname stuck (pun intended).
So, Monsewer, since you asked, there is your answer.
NWC
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