The Qing Dynasty is about to end

Chapter 737 The rise of Xianfeng!
The city of Denver on the eastern foot of the Rocky Mountains trembled in the morning breeze. Governor John Evans's hand trembled as he held the telescope - as far as he could see, tens of thousands of yurts covered the grassland like white waves, and the "Gu Leyan Car Array" formed by covered wagons seemed like a wall that appeared overnight, surrounding the small city of Denver.

The Black Bear Khan of the Xiayan tribe rode his horse past the front of the formation. He was wearing a Mongolian-style leather robe, a Mongolian hood, and a Mongolian scimitar on his waist. Behind him followed hundreds of "Mongolian warriors" who were dressed similarly to him, with scimitars on their waists and foreign guns on their shoulders. He looked very difficult to deal with!
"Why are these Indians dressed like this? They look like Mongolians!" John Chivington, leader of the First Colorado Volunteer Regiment, was covered in cold sweat!
He and the Great Plains Indians were old rivals, and he knew very well that these barbarians were not easy to deal with - individual Indian warriors were very powerful, no worse than Western cowboys.

But the Indians were very scattered, and it was considered a lot if they could gather together only a few dozen "warriors".

Although the First Colorado Volunteer Regiment had only 1000 people in total, as long as they sent out hundreds of people at a time, they could basically walk across the prairie at will.

But now, the Indians have made progress, from hunting to nomadism!
This is bad, nomadism is easier to gather than hunting. If tens of thousands of people gather together for hunting, they will probably not be able to catch prey. But if tens of thousands of people gather together for nomadism, "swimming" along the water and grass, there will be no problem.

Tens of thousands of nomadic Indians gathered together could easily mobilize tens of thousands of "men with guns". What could the First Colorado Volunteer Regiment, with only 1000 people in total, do to any effect!

Jacob Adel, the "high priest" in Denver, made the sign of the cross and said in a trembling voice: "They even built chevaux de frise and dug trenches. Oh my God, who is that person in the red robe?"

On the hills in the distance, Archbishop Amur's crimson robe fluttered in the wind. The golden light of the prayer wheel in his hand shone brightly, and Hongyun Khan beside him waved the flag. Thousands of Arapaho warriors standing in formation raised their M1841 Mississippi rifles with bayonets, and the inscription "Medevac California" on the barrels shone brightly - well, they were all genuine American-made, and there was no need to add the "Lincoln tariff"
At noon, four 12-pound cannons were dragged to the front by Lei Laohu's mule team. The cannons also had "Mede-California" on them, and when they were loaded with California gunpowder wrapped in California silk, several Indian artillerymen wearing Mongolian hoods and Mongolian fur robes spoke in California dialect: "Fuck your mother, load live ammunition! Against the city wall!"

boom!
The first shell tore through the air, opening a huge hole in Denver's wooden walls.

Colonel Chivington of the First Volunteer Regiment was hit on the head by a flying piece of wood. He fell to the ground, stars in front of his eyes, and his ears were buzzing. He heard Governor Evans roaring: "Damn yellow monkeys, they gave the 12-pound cannon to the Indians. Melt the bronze bells of the church to make cannonballs. All men, go to the city walls!"

boom! boom! boom.
Then there were a few more cannon shots, and 12-pound shells came one after another, hammering into the wooden walls of Denver City, leaving a hole with each one!

Denver City had to defend against dozens or hundreds of Indians, so there was no need for a bastion or stone wall. A wooden wall would be enough.
Just when Governor Evans was at a loss, Chivington, who was covering his head with a blood-stained handkerchief, was supported by two of his men and came to him. He grinned and said, "Governor, we can't just stand under the bombardment like this. We must fight back!"

"Fight back?" Evans looked back at the embarrassed Chivington, "How should we fight back? There are at least tens of thousands of enemies outside!"

"Night attack!" Chivington gritted his teeth, "Night attack tonight!"

That night, 500 volunteers each drank a large glass of whiskey to build up their courage, wrapped their horses' hooves with cloth, and quietly left the city, hoping to attack the convoy. Just as Chivington, the leader, rushed within a hundred steps of the convoy, a torch suddenly lit up and illuminated Cheng Bao's grinning face, and then hundreds of torches were thrown at Chivington's head. Before the torches fell to the ground, 500 Cheyenne gunmen poked their gun barrels out from the gaps between the caravans, and the volleys of Mississippi rifles were like sickles cutting wheat, knocking the charging Colorado cavalry off their horses.

"For Tengri!" Shutonga drew out his machete and pointed forward. The Kiowa horse team rushed out of the chariot formation like a tide and swept in. Chivington turned his horse around and wanted to escape, but he was pulled off the saddle by the lasso before he ran two steps. He tried to struggle a few more times, but a bullet shot from nowhere pierced his ankle, and then a cold machete was placed on his neck.

When Adel walked into the golden-roofed tent holding a white flag, Amur Buddha, the Archbishop of the Colorado Territory of the Zhenyo faction, sat cross-legged on a cushion, holding a prayer wheel in one hand and a gilded cross in the other.

Pastor Adel looked at this "bishop Buddha" who didn't know which god he was worshipping, sighed, and whispered: "Khan, we hand over Denver and retreat to Kansas."

The pastor's voice was interrupted by the children playing outside the tent. Through the gaps in the felt, he saw several Cheyenne teenagers practicing wrestling with their arms swinging under the guidance of a Mongolian strongman, and several Mongolian women teaching Indian girls to milk goats.
"No!" Amur interrupted in stiff English, slamming the gilded cross on the low table. "If you want to live, then convert to the True Covenant and become a believer of Heavenly Father and Emperor God." The Mongolian nobleman, who was spinning a prayer wheel and wearing a monk's robe, said to Pastor Adel in stiff English, "Then wait for the arrival of Lord Zhao, the new governor of Colorado appointed by Washington."

"Are you Nicholas Zhao Si's men?" Pastor Adel looked at Amur. "What does he want to do? Colorado is the land of the United States of America!"

Amur smiled and said, "Which United States of America? You haven't shown your loyalty to Washington or New York yet, have you?" A horn suddenly sounded outside the tent. Cheng Bao opened the curtain and walked in, "Master Buddha, Bishop Lei asked if we should use picric acid bombs to bombard Denver?"

Amur looked at the trembling Adel and said, "Go back and tell Governor Evans that Bishop Zhao needs him and the three to four thousand white people in Denver to decorate the facade. If you cooperate well, you can live! If you don't cooperate, you will all die!"

A day later, a twenty-one-star flag symbolizing the federal government of New York was raised on the top of Denver. Reverend Adel, wearing a red hood of the True Jew, trembled as he sprinkled holy water on a converted white immigrant. When he looked out of the city, smoke rose from the tens of thousands of yurts - there were women milking, boys training horses, and carts of ammunition, food, and guns shipped from California.

At the same time, the True Covenant Archbishop of Colorado, Amur Buddha, stopped chanting and looked eastward: "Under the blessing of the Eternal Emperor, the descendants of Genghis Khan finally took root in this new world."

Half a month later, on the grassland outside Denver, the tents of the First Black Army were scattered like gray mushrooms. Xianfeng held the telescope in his hand without moving - the 21-star flag of the Northern Confederacy was flying on the top of the city, and a slight smile appeared on the corner of his mouth.

"Damn it!" O'Hara took a sip of whiskey, his Irish accent gushing out, "Didn't they say the redskin barbarians occupied the city? How did it become the Yankee flag?"

Hampton III's voice was unusually solemn: "Governor, my scouts saw the troops in blue uniforms entering and leaving the city. I'm afraid that the Union Army and the Indians in California have joined forces to capture Denver. How about we retreat to St. Louis first, then ask Washington for help, and then retake Denver after the reinforcements arrive."

Xianfeng smiled lightly on his pockmarked face: "How can we retreat? Why are we here? Isn't it to pull the three states on the west coast into our camp? Don't think that the gold produced by the three desolate states on the west coast is worth 2000 million pounds a year! Our entire southern exports are only 4500 million pounds a year!"

Hearing that the three states on the west coast could dig out so much gold in a year, Hampton III could no longer hide his greed. He no longer mentioned withdrawing troops, but reminded Emperor Xianfeng: "Your Excellency the Governor, we are running out of food rations. We can only last for a month at most."

"Then send Zeng Ke to St. Louis to urge for grain." Xianfeng deliberately raised his voice, "Tell those rednecks in Missouri - if they can't deliver 500 tons of flour within half a month, I will bring the black army back to eat the rich people!"

That night, Zeng Ke led 4,000 black soldiers from the "Black Wall" Brigade on the journey back to the east.

Hampton III stood on a high place, the hands of his gold-plated pocket watch stopped at two o'clock in the morning. He looked at the smoke and dust of the Black Wall Brigade going away, and sneered: "Without the Black Wall Brigade, what can that yellow monkey use to protect himself?"

The next night, the campfire gradually died down. Hampton's confidant, the 4th Black Brigade, distributed barrels of privately brewed whiskey to the soldiers in the tent: "Brothers, the yellow-skinned governor wants to starve us to death on the prairie! Follow General Hampton and fight our way out to Kansas to be free men!"

At midnight, the sound of footsteps and commands tore through the silence. The slave soldiers who had gone up to South Carolina had already pointed their guns at the central army tent. Hampton kicked open the tent curtain, but found that there was no one in the tent.

Suddenly, a fire broke out outside the tent. Tom of McMullenga led 300 black knights out of the darkness, crushing the rebels' ranks with their horses' hooves and dispersing the panicked soldiers with their sabers. Hampton III, knowing something was wrong, shouted "Hollow Square" and tried to stabilize the situation.

At this moment, soldiers from the "Black Wall" Brigade under Zeng Ke's command had already surrounded Xianfeng and appeared outside the central army tent, with torches illuminating his pockmarked face full of pride.

"Hampton, I knew you wanted to rebel a long time ago. Your rebellious intentions are written on your face!" Xianfeng shouted in southern-accented English, "You'd better surrender. I'll spare your life if you do. If you continue to resist, don't blame me for being ruthless!"

(End of this chapter)