Pistoleer: Roundway Down

by Smith, Skye

  "And his name was? Your name is?"

  "Blake. Blake of Lyme and Bridgewater," Rob said with a slight nod of his forehead. "The French navy accused him of smuggling Huguenots to England and confiscated his ships. His business never recovered."

  "And how can we help you, Mister Blake of Lyme and Bridgewater?" the mayor asked in perfect English. "Our boats are too small to carry many men at a time, and certainly not your carts and cannons. That is, even if we agree to bring them out of hiding."

  "Call me Robert, sir." Rob smiled as he also switched to English. "I feared as much, so I was wondering about a bridge instead."

  The men around him all laughed at the same time, for they all knew English.

  "A temporary bridge, a floating bridge," Rob told them. "Your boats strung in a line facing the current, with planks set across them. And if you take charge of the building, then your boats won't come to harm and the planks won't be ripped from your best buildings."

  "Ah," the mayor said, looking around at the other men. "Now I understand why you call your advice 'prudent'.” The men were all nodding. "So be it. Tell your general that we will build him a floating bridge if he supplies enough strong backs to do the grunt work."

  * * * * *

  Waller sat on his horse on the river quay at Framilode so he could see above the heads of the army, and was amazed at what he was seeing. In four short hours the locals from miles around had not only retrieved their river boats out of hiding, but had also stripped barn boards from their out buildings and had mated boats and planks together into a floating bridge. They were testing it now by sending heavy men stomping back and forth across it to find the weakest places and the tippy planks.

  "Arthur," Waller called out to Haselrig, "Take your Lobsters across first and secure the other bank."

  "Nay, William. The first men across should be the scouts with orders to block all the roads leading north. We don't want word of our crossing to reach the Welsh.” What he didn't say was that he would rather have the lightly mounted scouts test the bridge before his fully loaded heavy chargers were put at risk. He grinned as Waller went to pass the order to Blake. He didn't like Robert Blake much, and never had. The squat man acted too grand for his station in life, and too know-it-all in his attitude towards his betters."

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  The Pistoleer - Roundway Down by Skye Smith Copyright 2014-15

  Chapter 14 - The End of the Welsh Army in Highnam in March 1643

  General Waller's mounted forces made a halt while still east enough of the Welsh army's camp at Highnam House to be out of sight. Out of sight meant keeping within the last of the woods of the Forest of Dean. Beyond Highnam House and just across the Severn bridge was Gloucester. Captain Robert Blake had expected his dragoon company of 'expendables' to be spared any hard duties in the forthcoming battle, for they had seen long service in the saddle over the last three days. This was not to be.

  The Welsh had dug an earthwork defense all around the grand manor house and the ditch, dyke and stake combination was well enough done to be deadly to Haselrig's Lobsters, should they be so foolish as to charge the earthworks. As no other dragoon company were eager to show their valour against such defenses, the general's staff decided to send in the expendables.

  "My men are exhausted," Rob pointed out to Waller while glaring at the general's staff, "and with good reason. They have been in the saddle for three days and nights scouting and capturing scouts. You need to keep the element of surprise, so the men you send to breach the earthworks must be rested and ready to do whatever it takes." He knew his point was lost on these officers. The reason his men were known as expendables was because they could be lost without causing embarrassment for these officers in their home parishes.

  "Someone has to sneak forward to that earthwork," Colonel Arthur Haselrig growled, "to create a path through by pulling the stakes, and pushing the earth from the dyke back into the ditch to fill it. Twenty feet of width would do. As soon as the ditch is mostly filled, my cuirassiers will charge through it."

  "And you expect my men to do all that without an alarm being sounded," Rob growled back. "You don't think that perhaps the Welsh may take exception to our spades undoing their good work. We'll be cut down by their musketeers before we get across the ditch to the dyke."

  "No, not necessarily," Waller interrupted. "as we speak Colonel Massie is preparing to cross the bridge and attack Highnam from the Gloucester side." Massie was the Governor of Gloucester. "We will not break our cover until his attack has drawn all the Welsh towards the Gloucester side of the defenses. They may leave a squad or two at our end, but not many. In the confusion you should be able to surprise the pickets, and then set to work creating a way through the earthworks for Arthur's charge."

  "I've just returned from spying out those earthworks," Rob replied. There was a gasp from some of the officers. To get close enough to spy them out, meant he had risked being seen and therefore risked ruining this hard won surprise. "They have the same problem we had in Bristol. In order not to leave a weak spot anywhere, they began digging the complete ring of earthworks all at the same time. Everywhere around the ring has the same strengths and weaknesses. As with Bristol, the weakness with these defenses is that the ditch is not yet deep enough or wide enough. A good horse could still run through it or leap over it. Even the Lobster's heavy coursers should be able to cross it."

  "We would be blind to what is in the ditch until we came to it. For sure there will be stakes and horse traps," Haselrig growled. "If we fail to get across, then all of this effort to surprise them will have been for nothing. No, I refuse to charge unless there is a proven way through. Our best chance of a quick victory is to hit them fast and hard, with no delay getting through the earthwork."

  Rob nodded, not that he agreed, but because it was obvious that the decision had been made and there was nothing he could say to change it. "Alright, I accept the mission, but only with your personal oath that as soon as I give you the signal to charge, that you will charge immediately." He glared at Arthur. "Otherwise my entire company may be slaughtered."

  "Have no fear, we will charge, and as soon as we are inside the defenses the battle will be ours. My cuirassiers will sweep into the back of the Welsh line like a bloody tide."

  * * * * *

  "Carts, what do you need carts for?" Haselrig hissed at Rob as the first of the two wheeled farm carts came creaking up towards the edge of the woods.

  Rob's men had grabbed two such carts from the supply train, emptied them, unhitched them, and then had filled them with straw. Now they were manhandling them out of the edge of the woods to face the earthworks.

  "You don't need carts," Haselrig repeated. "Carry your weapons and shovels over your shoulders. The carts will just slow you down, and their creaking wheels will warn of your approach."

  "Sergeant Fodder," Rob called to the newly promoted man. "Grease those hubs before we begin." There was a delay of a few minutes while this was done. These were simple carts designed to be hauled by a single animal harnessed between two hitching poles. Four men were assigned to each cart to pull on those poles, while eight more burrowed under the straw with their weapons and spades.

  Rob lifted himself up to sit on the back of the lead cart, and then told his human beasts of burden to start off. He held his arm straight out and pointed a finger at Arthur Haselrig. Arthur nodded and threw him a mock salute, as a confirmation that he would order a charge immediately on Rob's signal.

  It wasn't far to the earthworks, perhaps an eighth of a mile, but it took a goodly time to get there because they were pulling the carts across a not-yet-planted field. April and still not planted. That did not bode well for the stomachs of the locals come next winter. Rob idly wondered how many other fields lay fallow in this kingdom because of their oh-so-proud king. An eighth perhaps, hopefully not a quarter. Even in good years the kingdom could barely feed itself, which was one of the main reasons that folk were moving t
o the plantations in Ireland and in the New World.

  From beyond the fields and beyond the earthworks he could hear a sporadic rattle of musket shots. The battle had begun on the Gloucester side of these defenses. Rob said a prayer that this battle would end quickly with a fast surrender before too many were maimed or killed. The sporadic fire was good news. So long as Governor Massie's garrison from Gloucester were staying out of musket range, the butchers bill would stay light. According to Waller's plan, Massie's attack was just a diversion, so there was no pressing need for his garrison to sacrifice themselves against these defenses.

  When the carts were within musket range of the earthworks a voice called out to them from behind the dyke, "Who goes there? State your business!" not in Welsh but in accented English.

  Rob pressed himself into the pile of straw to stay out of sight while the men towing the cart gave their answer. It was Corporal Perk, unarmed and dressed in rags, who called back the answer. "These here'n carts is all we own, and all we have to earn our crust. We don't want them Gloucester men thievin' them, now do we?"

  "You can't bring them here," the call came back. "There be no gate on this side. An' you can't leave'm where dey iz, cause they will give the rebels a place to hide frum our balls. Turn 'em around and 'op it."

  This was all to Rob's plan. His men would now turn the carts around, as ordered, but then instead of leaving they would push them to the edge of the ditch, side by side, and tip the mound of straw into the ditch. Besides helping to fill the ditch, the straw would lend a soft landing to the eight armed men hiding under the straw. They would be across the ditch and up the dyke and onto the pickets before those pickets could react. Hopefully.

  As the carts turned, Rob had an unobstructed close up view of the ditch. Curse Haselrig and his carefulness, Rob had been right. The ditch had not yet been deepened and widened into something a horse could not cross. Bloody Haselrig could have just charged across the thing and up and over the low dyke. The dyke was still low for the same reason ... the earth to make it higher was still in the still-too-shallow ditch.

  "Change of plans, change of plans," Rob yelled out to get all his men's attention. "Just push the carts right into the ditch. The beds of them will form bridges. As soon as the cart is in the ditch, push the straw over the sidewalls and into the ditch, and then race for the dyke."

  The eight men towing had already had the same thought, and this order just confirmed it. With a heave and a shove they pushed the carts down into the ditch and sure enough, the bed of the carts lodged into the banks on each side. Immediately straw began flying over the sidewalls. Rob yelled to the pole men, "Jam the straw under the wheels so the axles take the weight of the span.” He didn't wait for a confirmation for he was already running towards the dyke. Behind him three or four voices called out to him that they were right behind him.

  Six expendables reached the four pickets standing behind the dyke all at the same time, and luckily they did not have to fire their dragons. On seeing the men running at them with dragons in their left hands and swords in their right, the pickets threw down their muskets rather than raise them. While Rob was telling the pickets to lay on the ground, behind him he could already hear the sound of axes hacking down the sharpened staves that bristled along the slope of the dyke. He pulled a white silk scarf from around his neck, a scarf he wore to stop his chest armour from chaffing his neck, and he faced the woods and waved it back and forth. It was the signal to charge.

  While he waved, he glanced quickly around. They had been seen by pickets stationed all along this dyke and now thirty or forty armed men were running towards them. Haselrig had better charge, and charge now, else his expendables were doomed to be outnumbered in a hand to hand fight.

  "Here they come," Perk yelled out from where he was climbing out of the ditch after snugging the two carts in place as a dual bridge. "Spades to the dyke. Flatten the top. Gentrify the slope.” Men with spades raced to do the work. They would have but a minute or two to do as much flattening as the could before the charging cuirassiers were upon them. After two minutes, Perk was yelling again. "Everyone to the side. Make way for the charge lest you be mistaken for a Welshman.” All the men, including Rob, leaped back down the dyke and dived into the ditch on either side of the carts.

  The sound of the charge was like a continuous rumbling thunder of some vengeful ancient god. All of the expendables crossed themselves and said thanks to the heavens that it was not them that would have to try to stop this charge. Each horse and rider represented a ton of brute force in motion. They scrambled further away from the carts at the sudden thought that the beds of the carts would not carry such weight. It was good that they did, for though each of the carts allowed one horse at a time to cross, many in the charge were not patient men. They were spurring their great mounts through the straw filled ditch on either side of the cart.

  Once the crossing was well underway, and obviously successful, Rob scrambled up the dyke to see what was happening on the inside. It was a scene from the Revelations gospel. The forty pickets who had been racing to cast his expendables out of their fort, were now facing a charge of heavy cavalry. Those with the presence of mind to fire their muskets wasted their balls aiming at fast moving targets, and even if the balls had hit, they would have bounced off the heavy steel armour. Their efforts hardly slowed the cuirassier’s who now engulfed the Welsh pickets with bloody carnage.

  Rob watched and shook his head in disgust. By how the Welsh lads had reacted, they had never been trained, nor seen battle before. The London Lobsters smashed through them and then turned to join up with the latest of their comrades coming over the dyke. Once most were inside the defenses they turned and charged towards the Gloucester side of the defensive dyke and the backs of the Welsh musketeers who were lined up to shoot at Massie's garrison.

  They left behind them perhaps twenty broken bodies on the ground. The bodies of fools. The only chance an infantryman had to survive a cavalry attack was to keep facing the horse. Face the horse and you have some chance of dodging, diving, and ducking. You may even get a chance to use your own weapon. If you turn your back and run, then you turn yourself into helpless bait for sabres, spears, and monster hoofs. Nay, that was harsh. The broken men on the ground were not fools, so much as innocents. It was their officers who were the fools.

  Rob scanned his western end of the defensive dyke. The lobsters were away at canter towards the eastern end, but that left Rob and his lads here, alone, to keep this gateway open in case the lobsters were forced to retreat. Alone, except for the two hundred Welshmen who were now making their way around the dyke towards him. They were taking the long way, staying close to the dyke just in case the lobsters returned.

  "Prepare to defend the carts," Rob yelled to his men. It took a good yell to wake them up. With the stress and work of creating this gate now done, most of them were laying in the straw relaxing and appreciating how wondrous if felt to still be breathing and not hurting. Once that order was given, Rob waved his long silk scarf in the second signal. The signal to bring up the next wave of Waller's army, the dragoons. If the dragoons came on the double, it would be they who would take care of all the Welshmen who were coming his way to close this gate.

  Two shots rang out close by, and he ducked as he turned to see their source. They were from the closest of the Welsh musketeers, but they were still too far away to be aiming with any accuracy. Even if they had carried full length muskets, rifled for hunting and accuracy, he would have been safe enough at this range. Still it was a warning, so he ducked low and moved to the outside of the dyke so that just his head would offer a target. ..

  While he waited impatiently for reinforcements to arrive, he pulled out his looker and scanned to the east to see how the lobsters were faring. At first the confusion of men and horses, dust and smoke made it difficult to focus, but eventually it came clear to him what was happening. The Welsh officers had sent their pikemen to the rear to form a bristling line facing the l
obsters. The pikemen of this novice army would be the youngest and least experienced of lads. As he watched, the well experienced and well trained lobsters broke the pike line and began herding them, like dogs herding sheep, away from the main part of the Welsh army.

  Rob sobbed at the sight of what was happening to those poor lads. They were breaking and running from the huge horses. Within moments a few hundred Welsh lads had been hacked, stabbed and trampled into the dirt. It was horrible to behold such a waste of life. It was even worse for Rob to ponder because he was a student of history. Only a hundred years ago under the Tudors, lads such as these would have been armed with Welsh bows. The power of the heavy arrows from such bows would have been bringing down those heavy horses. Once the lobsters were on the ground and weighted down by their full armour, lads such as these Welsh would have used their heavy arrows like daggers to spike the lobsters through their face plates and through their eyes.

  It was unfathomable how far the Welsh soldiering had fallen apart in less than a hundred years, and all because their officers believed that a musket was more modern and fashionable than the historic Welsh bow. As he was thinking this, a horse came close and he looked up into the face of a young Dragoon lieutenant, one of the arriving reinforcements. "Oy," he growled at the young man. "Have your men secure this area from them musketeers coming along the dyke from the west. Meanwhile, I need to borrow your horse."

  "Borrow my horse? What's that you say?" the lieutenant replied, astounded. He just sat in the saddle looking down at the short captain.

  "Consider that an order," Rob snarled at him, and then punched the man's leg above the boot to make the point that he wasn't yet moving to dismount. The man began to dismount but was too slow for Rob's liking so once he was half out of the saddle, Rob grabbed at his arm and dragged him down. "Sorry lad. Lives are at stake.” he told the startled lieutenant as he scrambled into the saddle. Of course the stirrups were too long, but there was no time to change that. Rob kicked the horse to a run and aimed her towards Haselrig's standard to the east of him along the inside of the dyke.