Abigail's Cousin

by Ron Pearse

  Lascelles barked a couple of commands and the troops stopped their pacing, and saluting, disappeared into a little office. The colonel did not need to point out the views across the Sound. They were magnificent.

  "What a fine sight your men-o-war present, rear-admiral." praised Lascelles and Walker returned the compliment by thanking him again for his eleven gun salute on entering the Sound on arrival. He looked behind him and across at another turret, one of the four in all which owed much to Vauban, the French designer of the barrier forts along the Dutch/French border. He noticed the position of some cannon and queried:

  "Cannon pointing inland. What is their purpose?"

  "Charles' idea!" was the reply

  Walker understood and commented to Lascelles: "This continuous religious infighting is the reason for my son to move to the Colonies. The efforts of our late unlamented sovereign to force popery on the people was the last straw." He suddenly stopped, adding: "I may have spoken out of turn."

  "Indeed you did not. Had James not abdicated, my lieutenancy was forfeit. The papers had been drawn up. However my son's last straw was the Test Act. Although not a Catholic he was fed up with all the parliamentary bickering." Walker half-listened more interested in looking around and comparing everything in his mind with a man-o-war and commented as such:

  "With a bit of rigging my dear chap, I might feel at home here."

  "And you will never be sea-sick, rear-admiral."

  Walker conceded the point cheerfully then looking across to the adjacent turret called out: "I've been racking my brain this past five minutes at that contraption, I'm pointing at. Beg pardon for the word but I don't know how else to describe it."

  Lascelles chuckled: "Contraption is as good a word as any, my dear chap. That is a target, my target for shooting practice. Shall I explain how it works?"

  Walker indicated he was intrigued and listened to Lascelles explaining about French prisoners and wondering what it had to do with shooting, but his puzzlement did not last long as the colonel went on to tell how he put several thousand of the enemy to work. It seems the French were amazed at some of the time-honoured practices and devised methods to improve them. One great improvement came in the manufacturing of clay pipes. It seems the proximity of local clay deposits and French methods soon produced a surplus of pipes. That was when one of his serjeants devised this contraption to improve the men's shooting.

  Lascelles walked to the cabin where his soldiers were and Walker heard him issuing orders and soon one of them was on his way down the stairs and returning to Walker pointing to the contraption:

  Walker said: "I see those are pipes sticking out."

  Lascelles agreed: "Indeed, but what you may not realise how it turns so as always to present whole pipes to shoot at."

  There was no time for further explanation as the trooper appeared carrying two muskets and firing accoutrements. Walker commented:

  "Not much use letting me shoot, colonel. In Barcelona I was quite happy with a pistol."

  "Perhaps you have not heard about the new flintlock musket, rear-admiral. You would oblige me very much by watching a demonstration. Incidentally these are the same type used by the captain-general. It is owing to these muskets that we took so many prisoners, at Blenheim."

  Lascelles might have added something about the irony of a French invention used to such devastating effect by an English general resulting in French prisoners who unwittingly were improving English marksmanship though even the best education did not extend to the teaching of the finer attributes of the English language.

  Walker watched fascinated as a soldier took a roll of paper from a compartment in a block of wood drilled to accommodate several charges. He then poured powder from the roll into the muzzle of a musket, followed by a ball from the same roll and ramming it down with a long rod which he then withdrew. Walker attention was interrupted by another soldier that had suddenly appeared and stood to attention before colonel Lascelles. He barked:

  "There is a Brigadier Hill below sir. He has just arrived and is waiting outside the gates at the south entrance."

  Lascelles glanced at Walker as though to mean that the brigadier seems to have come on cue and turned to the soldier: "Show him up here onto the battlements, corporal. Dismiss!"

  With great relief, Walker was pleased that Lascelles ordered the musket loading to continue which he had abated. The soldier resumed and holding the musket level he sprinkled a small amount of black powder from a flask into the breach of the musket then bringing it back to the level, presented it to the colonel who promptly allowed Walker a close-up of the loaded musket, pointing out: "That is the Doglock which prevents accidental discharge and is unique to English flintlocks. Watch as I cock the musket."

  On doing so the Doglock was released and the colonel pointing the musket towards the target on the far turret took careful aim. Silence descended as Lascelles held his breathing momentarily while both soldiers and Walker emulated each other by standing well back. He saw a spark as Lascelles pulled the trigger followed instantaneously by an explosion accompanied by smoke and the crack a fraction later over at the far turret as the pipe fractured into many pieces.

  "Bravo! Good shooting!" The voice was slightly piping and Walker wondered if one of the soldiers had got carried away but then a man in military garb appeared among them. He wore a red coat with epaulettes on both shoulders and just as Walker has decided who he must be, another, a serjeant calls out: "Gentlemen! Allow me to present Brigadier-General Hill."

  Walker waited until Lascelles turned smartly around, handed the discharged weapon to the corporal walking over to greet the new arrival:

  "Your servant, sir." shaking him warmly by the hand immediately afterwards introducing the admiral over saying: "May I present rear-admiral Sir Hugh Hovendon Walker," who also offered his hand and salutation at which Hill smiles then switching back to Lascelles as if impatient to put his point, said:

  "Would you allow me colonel to have a go?"

  In answer Lascelles called out:

  "Corporal, bring forward the second musket. Is it loaded?"

  "Loaded sir, but not cocked as you see."

  Hill turns to his aide: "Serjeant Mack, what do you think?"

  "It has no sight-piece, sir, unlike the matchlock, but it should not give you any problem." There was an emphasis on the 'you' which excited Walker especially when the serjeant added: "What do we aim at your honour?"

  Walker was amused. Clearly these two did not take themselves too seriously but Lascelles did not appear amused calling over to the far turret:

  "Turn to the next target, if you please."

  A soldier turned the circular board until a long, white clay pipe stuck out and the colonel turned to Hill:

  "There is your target, general. Think you can hit it!"

  Hill looked at his serjeant and chuckling remarked: "What do you think, serge? Better still, how about you smoking it." The two men guffawed as if enjoying a joke known only to themselves and nonchalantly, Hill brought the weapon up, cocked it, and without appearing to aim, squeezed the trigger.

  Once again the spark, the bang, the smoke and the final crack as the pipe shattered. Hill barely registered his pleasure before handing the gun to Mack with the words: "Your next month's pay against mine that you miss, eh serge." Mack laughed nervously unsure whether Hill was joking as Lascelles spoke:

  "My word, General! With the British Army shooting like that is it any wonder we have so many victories?"

  Hill thanked the colonel then added with his serjeant smirking:

  "Pity I weren't in charge at Blenheim. The bloody thing would have been over by mid-afternoon. Would you believe it, the duke looks at his watch and says to his messenger. Ask the prince if noon be suitable to start the battle while all the time French cannon-balls were ripping through our lines. If you knew how many men were killed while the prince and the duke were assing around."

  This was too much it seemed for Colonel Lascelles who decla
red:

  "Doubtless the captain-general had his reasons, general. It is not for us of the lower military orders to question the duke's actions. What say you, admiral?"

  Walker noted the caustic remark but tried to ameliorate his response:

  "There are mayhaps occasions when a command might raise a doubt but we get on with it and do what we are told. There is often a good reason for it, and if not we do it anyway. What do you think of the muskets, general?"

  Hill smiled at Walker. He liked the old boy and turning to serjeant Mack:

  "What do we think of the guns, serge?"

  "That we shall need a thousand, at least, for wherever we are going."

  Hill looked at Lascelles after that remark and the latter's face took on a troubled expression. He asked for the weapon from the serjeant pointing to a mark on the silver stock. It read: ‘WR’. Lascelles straightened as he explained:

  "The musket was made in the last reign and these are the last of them. Muskets for the present campaign have all been shipped to France. Sadly not enough were made so the WM muskets had to go as well. These two were being repaired which explains their presence.

  Hill said savagely: "So what weapons do you have?"

  Lascelles felt mortified at the tone of the question yet could understand as he went on to explain: "We have thousands of matchlocks, general. You are welcome to them."

  "Damn and blast! What a way to fit an army out." Hill turned away in disgust striding over to one of the two sentries standing around. Without a word to Lasclles to whom he should have addressed his request, he demanded: “Show me your piece, fusilier!"

  The fusilier looked at Lascelles who nodded and Hill examined it turning it over before handing it to his serjeant who complained of pitting on the stock. Lascelles almost cheerfully explained:

  "Some of the muskets are rusted, general. Your men will not lack for something to do. We have plenty of ash for cleaning."

  Hill turned to his serjeant: "What do you think, serge?"

  Mack drew himself up to his imposing height. Puffed out his chest and said with the knowledge of experience: "Besides the wherewithal to clean ‘em, sir, we shall need powder and ammo and."

  Hill was beside himself walking up and down in a fury then stopped to bark at his serjeant: "And what, damn you!"

  "Match, sir! Tons of match!"

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  On the following day contingents of yeomanry, artillery battalions, companies of Foot were marched from several barracks including the Citadel on to Plymouth Hoe where they were formed up into columns according to their various military specialities. There were pikemen easily recognisable by their obsolescent cuirass, soon to be dropped, the sun glinted on scores of pot helmets and flashed as its rays struck the pointed steel heads rammed onto long poles as their corporal shouted, 'order!', 'port!', 'trail!' according to the way he wanted them to hold their pike.

  Not far from this marching column were the grenadiers marching as one their crimson tunics slashed by broad diagonal yellow stripes, the one from the right shoulder connected to a knapsack while peering over their shoulder could just be seen the muzzle of their muskets. Each grenadier wore a cap lined with fur later to be developed into the familiar bearskin. The artillerymen wore a similar uniform differing only in their shallow triangular hat. Instead of a musket, they carried an igniter which on the battlefield would be aflame ready to light the fuse of a cannon.

  Riding in a gig from the Citadel General Hill had skirted the Hoe watching the columns of soldiers march, turn, wheel, and come to a halt and ordered to attention. He heard commands to 'about-turn', 'slow-march', 'quick-march'. 'march enfilade', 'march in column' as he rode around the Hoe transformed into a parade ground.

  Upon seeing a street urchin waiting on the side of a road just off the Hoe, Hill stopped his gig and handing the reins to the boy, told him to hang on to it, the urchin complying with a grin at his good fortune on seeing the grand looking uniform; he should earn a tanner, at least. Meanwhile the general walked towards the Hoe from the side-street stopping incognito to observe the marching columns. The road running around the Hoe was below its level so he could observe without his uniform being seen. He recalled his own drill as a fresh faced lieutenant years ago, a million years ago, comparing his likely prospects then with his present status. He muttered a 'good old sis.', the ‘sis’ being his sister Abigail, who had such influence with the queen of England. It was a meteoric rise by any standards and though the difference between general and lieutenant was huge enough, things could turn out even better. After all, plain John Churchill had made it to duke on the strength of his wife's influence. Hill mused, 'once I've captured Quebec...'

  Starting him from this reverie was a barked command from a personage in the centre of the parading soldiers which on closer inspection, appeared as someone standing upon a raised dais bawling lusty comments upon the drilling men or at the corporals in charge of them. He looked at the three broad stripes on his arm and thought, 'where would the British Army be without its serjeants' and then looked to see where his own serjeant Mack was, and had not far to look as he heard firing coming from a clump of trees. As he walked towards the sounds the acrid smoke confirmed his observation, since on the windless day it was taking time to dissipate.

  To his right in the distance was the sea and Plymouth Sound and a forest of masts belonging to the men-o-war and other ships of rear-admiral Walker's fleet looking black against the afternoon light. He decided to make for the trees and the shooting practice halting some distance away as he heard the familiar calls of 'ready', 'aim', 'fire' followed by a more disheartening cry of someone's, 'miss'. It seemed a regular cry as he observed the scene at a distance.

  Serjeant Mack commanded a troop of musketeers armed with matchlocks. They were distinctive in their red jackets under buff leather jerkins, the sleeves of which had slits in front for their arms to come through. Even from this distance he could see their blackened faces, a side-effect of burnt powder, as the contents of the firing pan ignited and flashed. He watched as a musketeer took up station and at the serjeant's command, 'ready' poured a measure of powder from a horn attached to a bandoleer. Then came the command 'aim' followed a moment later by 'fire' and he saw the incandescent match lowered by a lever action onto the firing pan. The man would close his eyes just prior to this, the flash penetrating the hole in the breech igniting the powder inside the barrel, the explosion shooting the ball out at the target, though in this case, there was a pause then came the sound of 'miss', followed by an expletive.

  The next musketeer was ordered to take up station vacated by the previous soldier and the general listened to the cycle repeated groaning at the final 'miss' uttered along with the obligatory cuss. Bored he took out his turnip watch, opened the brass cover, glanced at the time and snapped it shut. The sound made everyone look around as he made his way towards the group. Everyone stopped to observe the general approaching while Hill took in the scene. He saw that Mack had brought the two flintlocks which Lascelles had presented to Hill. He told the men to carry on though his presence did not improve their marksmanship and he thought back to his days as a raw recruit and the brutal methods used then. It was kill or cure, yet something had to be done, and in haste.

  Impatience had given way to anger and in that temper he growled at Serjeant Mack to give him a matchlock, powder and ammunition. He ordered the corporal to set up the target as before which comprised an upturned log draped with a smock to denote a person topped with a root vegetable from which eyes and mouth had been gouged. Taking a pipe he rammed it into the soft mouth and told the corporal to issue the same orders as before.

  The matchlock was so-called from the length of match the end of which was lit. A lever brought the incandescent match down upon the firing pan. The breech with its tiny hole, like the flintlock, allowed the flash to pass to the charge which exploded shooting the ball from the muzzle.

  A
t the command 'ready', the general poured black gunpowder onto the firing pan; 'aim' saw him cock the gun and aim while 'fire' caused the trigger to be squeezed followed by the flash, explosion and the ball shooting from the muzzle. This time however the corporal shouted a 'hit' which was evident as the pipe had been shattered. General Hill greeted his friend Serjeant Mack asking him to call a halt and order the men to stand easy. He said to him: “Let them know who I am, then take a break.”

  As Hill retired he heard Mack announcing him and was soon feeling embarrassed as he recited the circumstances of his capture at Blenheim while fighting for the Irish 'Wild Geese' regiment. How he had been wounded and left for dead but rescued by Hill disobeying his captain-general to do so. Hill interrupted the recitation with a "That's enough of that, serjeant Mack. Retire if you please and smoke a pipe."

  The brigadier ordered the troop to form up in two lines and march away until he called 'halt' and they complied. Ordering both lines to face each other, he told them each man was to walk towards the other line looking his opposite number's eyes and to stop immediately any of them could see the whites of the other's eyes. This they did and soon there were two ragged lines. Telling them not to move he paced out the nearest and the furthest. There was roughly five paces difference.

  Giving directions to the corporal, he ordered him to walk so many paces from the target to the firing spot. He recalled his own brutal introduction to the matchlock firing range but decided to modify it. Taking one of the men's weapons, he cleaned it, poured in powder and ball then striding over to Mack's astonished face, gave him the musket and took the still smouldering pipe which he stuck in his mouth. The general ordered Mack to the firing spot and then walked over to the target.

  He was about to order the corporal to issue the normal firing instructions when the serjeant placed himself before him: