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1st Rhode Island: Trainband

  • Jun 20, 2025
  • 11 min read

COLONEL JAMES VARNUM: Gentlemen of Rhode Island – Sons of Liberty and of this troubled continent – I bid you welcome! You have answered the call not merely of your town or colony, but of your conscience. Tyranny now darkens our shores, and Parliament, blind to our petitions, dares to trample our rights as Englishmen underfoot. The blood of our brethren has already been spilled at Lexington – and the time for hesitation is past. Here, among the ranks of the Kentish Guards, you will find discipline, brotherhood, and purpose. We are not mere rabble with muskets. We are citizen-soldiers – trained, determined, and bound by honor. Each man here swears not just to resist injustice, but to uphold liberty with his life if need be. You will drill hard, you will march far, and you will be called upon to stand against the finest army in the world. But take heart – for our cause is just, and Providence, I do believe, walks with those who fight for freedom. Stand proud. Shoulder your musket. You are now part of a company that will not yield. Welcome, Guardsmen. Let the world see what free men may do.


Select which battalion you would like to train with below

MAJOR Christopher Greene

'Hello, Sergeant?’ Is that how you greet the man who’s going to keep you from getting your fool head blown off? Listen, boy — this ain’t a town festival and I ain’t your cousin. Out here, you speak when spoken to, you march when I say march, and you fire when I say fire. You got that? But since you're polite — I'll remember your face. You keep that musket clean, follow orders sharp, and we just might get along. Now fall in line, lad. War don’t wait on greetings.

Me? I’m from a patch of rocky soil near Warwick where the corn don’t grow tall and the wind never quits. Name’s Olney Waterman. My folks’ve been pulling stones outta that land since before King George knew how to spell ‘America.' We fish when the sea’s kind, we farm when it ain’t, and we fight now ‘cause we’re done bein’ told how high to bow and when to pay for the King’s tea. What about you, friend? You got a place worth goin’ back to, once this madness is done?

Where am I from? That depends who’s asking — the army, the taxman, or someone looking for supper. I was born near Newport, but my people came from France — Huguenots, long time back. My father was a cooper, my mother sang in both tongues, and I grew up with salt in my hair and Latin in my schooling, for all the good it’s done me here. Rhode Island’s where I live. But where I’m from? I suppose I’m from every place that ever told a man to stand up when he’d rather kneel. That’s why I’m here.

Where am I from? I’m from South Kingstown, born free, though that freedom’s always come with a price. My father was a freeman too. His father wasn’t. He was sold off a ship before Rhode Island called itself a colony. So I carry their names, and I carry their memory every time I shoulder this musket. Some men fight for taxes, some for land. Me? I fight so no man tells me I don’t belong on the soil my people bled to build. But if you mean the place I sleep — tent’s over there by the cookfire. Don’t steal my blanket.

LIEUTENANT COLONEL James Babcock

MEET YOUR SQUADRON

Hello, Sergeant’? That what passes for military address where you’re from? Out here, you say ‘Good morning, Sergeant Comstock,’—and only if you mean it. This ain’t a church picnic, son. This is a war, and I’m the poor soul tasked with keeping you alive long enough to hate it. But you spoke up, which is more than most. Keep your musket clean, your mouth cleaner, and we’ll get along just fine. Fall in, and pray you’re a quick learner.

Where am I from? Newport, Rhode Island—born and raised. My people came here from Portugal by way of Holland, long before most folks could point to Rhode Island on a map. We’re Sephardim—Jews. My ancestors fled the Inquisition with nothing but their names and their prayers. They came here for a place to live without fear. So I fight now, not just for this land, but for what it promised them. You’ll find all kinds in this army. And every kind has a reason to be here. Mine’s older than King George and louder than any drum. Now—where you from, and can you hold a line when the shooting starts?

Me? I’m from Tiverton. Little patch of Rhode Island hard by the water—windy, rocky, and full of folk who don’t take kindly to being told what to do by men across the ocean. I spent more time hauling nets and chasing pigs than dreaming of war. But when word came of Boston, I traded my plow for powder like any man ought. Ain’t much else to say. I’m Job Sheldon. I work, I fight, and I aim straight. You?



Begin the Trainband


MAJOR Christopher Greene

You’ve come a long way since the day you took up your musket and stepped onto this field. You’ve shown discipline, steadiness under pressure, and a willingness to learn. I’ve watched you drill, march, and fire alongside men twice your size and with half your heart. And now I’ll speak plainly. You’ve been selected to join the line—as a private in this battalion. That means when we stand shoulder to shoulder on the field, you will not be in the rear. You will be in the ranks. You will bear the fire, and return it with calm and skill. This is not a reward. It is a responsibility. You are no longer just a volunteer. You are a soldier of Rhode Island, and your name stands among those ready to fight for liberty and hold the line when others falter. You’ve earned it. Report to the quartermaster. Get your proper kit. And be ready—next time we drill, you drill as one of us.

Recruit, step forward. Throughout this training, I have watched you—not for noise or bravado, but for steadiness. You rise before the bell, you carry yourself with respect, and you ask nothing of others you do not first demand of yourself. That is the mark of a leader, and more importantly—the mark of an example. For that reason, by order of this command, you are hereby appointed Ensign of the Regiment—to serve not merely as a junior officer, but as one of our two standard-bearers. You will carry our colors into every drill, every march, and—when it comes—every battle. The flag you carry does not belong to you alone. It belongs to Rhode Island, to your brothers in this line, and to the cause for which we all stand ready to bleed. It is not a weapon. But it will be a target. And you must never let it fall. This is not a decoration—it is a charge. And I trust you to bear it with the honor and discipline you’ve already shown. Congratulations, Ensign. Make ready—there’s work ahead.

Recruit, step forward. You’ve distinguished yourself over these weeks—not with noise or vanity, but with powder and steel. Your musket speaks clearly, and more often than not, it speaks true. Your consistency in drill, your precision in marksmanship, and your unshakable discipline under pressure have not gone unnoticed. Among your peers, you have risen—not by boast, but by example. For that reason, I am assigning you to the light infantry company of this regiment. You’ll serve among the swiftest, sharpest men we have. Light infantry does not march in ranks behind the line—they advance ahead of it. They move through woods, over stone walls, across creeks in silence, striking where the enemy does not expect and holding fast where others cannot. It is not a place of comfort. It is a place of trust. And I trust you’ve earned it. From this moment forward, you will drill with the flankers. Report to your company at first light—they'll see that your gear is brought up to standard. You’ve earned your place on the edge of the line. Make it count.

LIEUTENANT COLONEL James Babcock

Step up, recruit. You didn’t embarrass yourself. That’s a start. You’ve earned a place in the line. That means you stand shoulder to shoulder with the rest of us—not in the rear, not on the sidelines. When the British come calling, you’ll be in the thick of it, musket ready, nerves steel-strong. This isn’t your father's trainband. There’s no second chances when the muskets fire. You will learn to obey my orders, my discipline, or you will get yourself killed. Being ‘in the line’ means you’re part of the regiment. It means sweat, grit, and the constant grind of training until your bones ache. And it means you don’t quit. You want glory? Earn it. You want to survive? Follow orders. You want to be a soldier? Then don’t screw it up. Dismissed.

Listen up, recruit. You didn’t just show up and stumble through like half the men here. You worked. You showed discipline, kept your nose clean, and for once, you didn’t embarrass the regiment. That’s why you’re being made an Ensign—the man who carries the flag. The symbol. The target for every musket ball on the field. Don’t think it’s a reward. It’s a responsibility. That flag means more than your life, and you’ll be expected to keep it flying even if everything else falls apart. You’ve set an example. Now live up to it. Fail, and you won’t just disgrace yourself—you’ll disgrace every man in this battalion. Dismissed.


COLONEL James Varnum: Men of Rhode Island—soldiers and citizens—stand proud this day. You have completed your training with discipline and determination worthy of the greatest armies. You came here as farmers, tradesmen, and fishermen. You leave here as soldiers of liberty, bound not by rank or wealth, but by the solemn duty to defend your homes and your rights. Our cause is just. The time has come to march to Boston, to join our brothers in arms who already hold the field there, and to lay siege to the British forces who dare occupy that city. We shall not rest until Boston is free, until the chains of oppression are broken, and until this land breathes the air of liberty once more. Take heart, men. The road ahead will be long, and the fight will be fierce. But we fight for our families, our future, and the very soul of America. Prepare yourselves. Tomorrow we march—not just to battle, but to history.

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