Of the two main players, James was the most cautious; his concern for his good self obliged him to hang back as he sent out his pieces this way and that to knock the Williamites off the board.
William, however, was different. He favoured leading his army from the front, on horseback, encouraging them to keep up with him and make a strike for victory.
Furthermore, it was he who opened the game by making the first move.
William had devised his own battle plan, in the belief that a wise leader selects the best of his advisors’ ideas to entwine with his own: I will use some of the Duke of Schomberg’s proposal and send a strand of my army off to distract the Jacobites.
And, so, at six o’clock that morning, Meinhard Schomberg and just over seven thousand soldiers set out, according to William’s orders, to make their way towards Slane to cross the River Boyne at the ford at Rossnaree. Once they crossed the river they were to head southeast, or as far as they could get before being confronted by the enemy.
‘You will be my sneaky surprise,’ said William. ‘Therefore, I do not want you to make an attack until the rest of the army has launched its offensive.’
The Duke of Schomberg was not pleased with this plan but had given up on ruling William’s mind ever again, although the king had used some of his idea which was to move men into place in order to hide the real attack from the enemy. However, the old duke worried for his son and maybe this alone prompted him to say to William, ‘My Lord, do you think that Meinhard has enough men to make a stand?’
William bit his lip. The truth was he did not know the answer to the question. He had worked out plans for three crossings to take place at different times. Meinhard was taking the right side of the army on a six-mile trek to cross the river at Rossnaree. From there he was to march east and attack the Jacobites in the flank and the rear. His father would lead the main body across the river at Oldbridge while William would lead off the left to make their crossing at Drybridge.
The duke’s son knew that it was only a matter of time before they were spotted by the Jacobite lookouts, thus it was important to reach Rossnaree as fast as he could. His father was of the opposite persuasion, though he kept that to himself. He preferred that Meinhard take his time so that he and his troops would be able to cross the river while the Jacobites were already busy fighting the rest of the Williamite regiments. Otherwise, well … otherwise the seven thousand might well find themselves facing the bulk of James’s army. The duke sighed to himself. Why didn’t William just accept my plan and keep things simple?
William watched them disappear into the mist, after warning Meinhard to be as quiet as possible. ‘You know how noises carry at this hour. I need your men to be like a snake slithering on its belly towards the water’s edge.’
Meinhard bowed his head. ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
Ordinarily this reminder to be quiet would have irritated him, but this was not the time to give into his usual whim for wanting to be independent from unnecessary instruction. His mother always used to say that one of his very first sentences had been ‘I do it myself!’
Meanwhile, William turned his attention to the remainder of his thirty-six-thousand-strong army. How long would it take for thousands of men to cover such a stubborn territory of forest, crevices, hills and narrow paths? As he tried to focus, a little anxiety persisted in niggling him. William did his best to imagine the next two or three hours. Perhaps now would have been a good time to admit that he was not an expert when it came to planning a battle on such a scale as this. Timing was all important. For instance, if Meinhard reached his destination too soon he was vulnerable to an all-out attack by James. Alternatively, if he arrived much later than expected he would be of little help to his father’s troops who – if all went according to plan – would be dealing with the brunt of the Jacobites at Oldbridge.
True, William was comforted by the fact that he had more men than his father-in-law and far superior ammunition, but he found that his general’s question would not leave him be. What if Meinhard’s forces are completely overwhelmed because I did not give him enough men?
William was feeling guilty over his treatment of his most loyal and trusted general. It would be madness to ignore the potential danger as hinted at by the duke, especially in relation to Meinhard. Oh, it was foolish to try to worry over everyone’s safety but, at the very least, William understood that he had to give his men a fighting chance.
Accordingly, the king sent out one of his English commanders, along with five battalions, after Meinhard, to support his crossing of the Boyne. As soon as he did that, William felt a lot better.
The next task was to have several cannons lined up with orders to start bombarding Oldbridge. This village, or hamlet, consisted of a few stone buildings whose occupants had made themselves scarce. William wanted to prevent the Jacobites from taking up defensive positions within the abandoned homes and cowsheds.
The cannons were pulled into place with their respective teams who set about ramming powder and shot into the barrels. Next, the captains inserted fuses and stood ready for the order to fire. This, William knew, would signify both the end of the peaceful morning and the beginning of whatever was going to happen.
The noise was tumultuous, and several people in Drogheda must have toppled out of their beds thinking that either the world was ending or God was in a rage.
BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
Each cannon exploded, jolting sharply backward on its wooden wheels, with the effort of sending a ball of lead shooting across the river to crash into the opposite bank. Muck and water spewed up at the onslaught. The Williamite soldiers, all professional and experienced, worked together in near-perfect synchronicity, to re-load and keep firing. They wanted those cannonballs raining down on Oldbridge, sending every individual Jacobite scarpering, thereby making it easier to cross the river when the time came.
Hundreds of birds took flight as the first gun sounded out. They would not return for several hours. Rabbits shuddered in their burrows, while petrified squirrels clung on to their branches for dear life as the very roots of the trees shook within the ground.
The next to move out was the Duke of Schomberg, with almost twenty thousand men, including William’s personal favourites, his Dutch Blue Guards. This was the main body of the army, the centre, which would perform the frontal attack on Oldbridge. The various drummers and trumpeters sounded out the reveille, signifying that it was time to get into their lines and make their way down to the banks of the Boyne.
Their shift was determined by Mother Nature, obliging them to wait for the low tide at ten o’clock, when the water level would drop in front of Oldbridge and the mist would clear. In truth, the duke was far from happy at the prospect of making their crossing in full view of the Jacobite camp but, as the king’s second-in-command, he accepted that his duty was to follow orders and trust to William’s determination that this was the best approach possible.
With so many men, progress would be slow, maybe even an hour or so – as wave upon wave of marching men made their way down from the glen where they had camped. From a distance they must have looked, in their different uniforms, like colourful ants who would not be distracted from their chosen path. Left, right! Left, right! As one line appeared over the ridge and continued downwards, it was immediately replaced by a second line and then a third and fourth … and so on.
‘Keep your muskets out of the water! Keep your powder safe!’ The duke knew that his words were unnecessary, but it gave him something to do, and he wanted to be recognised by as many as possible as their leader.
Meanwhile, Meinhard led his men on a winding, twisting route that took them several miles off to the far right of the two armies at Oldbridge, from where they could plainly hear the cannonfire.
Meinhard could not help but enjoy the morning sun, though he wished he was not wearing so many layers of clothing. It was going to be a hot day. He was not a man given to idle chat with his
colleagues so he mostly rode in silence, ignoring the men nearest to him, who wisely left him alone to his thoughts.
I wish Father did not look so worried for me. Why isn’t he more confident in my leadership?
At the same time he shared his father’s anxiety. When an army is broken up into different groups, to perform individual attacks on an enemy, timing is probably the most crucial aspect of the entire undertaking.
At least the ground is not as bad as I feared.
He took a quick look behind him as if to check his army of English and Dutchmen were still following him.
It was easy to be lulled into drowsiness by the clip-clopping of the horses’ shoes on the grass. A more imaginative man might have closed his eyes for a minute or two and pretended that he was out by himself for a morning ride where the only requirement was to enjoy the countryside.
William would wait for the duke and his battalions to perform a successful crossing before leading the remaining two thousand soldiers a couple of miles downstream to cross at Drybridge. So far everything was going according to his plan. For now, he could keep watch as the main offensive smartly penetrated the Boyne and think to himself, what a wondrous sight!
Schomberg’s regiments slid their way down the banks and steadied themselves against slippery rocks and their neighbour’s feet. Moses himself would have been proud of how those soldiers, staying in their lines, raised their guns over their heads and boldly marched into the water, almost creating their very own walkway, using their body mass to part the river.
Naturally they found themselves immediately under fire, from the Jacobite infantry that were close enough to heap as many curses as bullets upon their heads.
The duke continued to roar in as many languages as he knew: ‘Keep going forward and get into formation as soon as you are out of the water.’
He could only hope that the different captains and sergeants were relaying the same message to their own squadrons. His voice could not possibly carry to every soldier as their entrance into the water was about a mile long. Also the air was full of gunshot and cannonfire. How he disliked having to deal with the Boyne before the enemy could be properly confronted, although he had to admit that the low tide was proving rather cooperative. The men would have puddles in their boots, but at least they would be cool in the heat of the sun.
Jogging his horse back and forth, the duke kept an eye on the enemy. The cannons had done their job and cleared the south bank of the Jacobites who, he knew, would be ordered back to meet the Williamites clambering onto what had been their territory. Briefly the duke wondered about his son’s progress as he took in the impressive sight of so many men moving in formation together, the drums beating a steady rhythm and the different flags waving to signify those brave men and boys from Derry, the Dutch guards, the French Huguenots and the Danish boys, all bound together by their hatred of the Papist James and the tyrant King Louis of France. As they marched, they belted out their own battle songs, providing a gloriously chaotic chorus of different words and harmonies.
The Huguenots, those proud French Protestants who had been forced to leave their own country because of Louis, the dogmatic Papist king, hardly noticed that amongst their own commanders was another man who had moved in front of them, brandishing his sword and a pistol. Maybe some of them recognised him as an army chaplain, but all would have been ignorant of his identity as the best-selling author of A True Account of the Siege of Londonderry. The Reverend George Walker looked positively thrilled to have involved himself in leading those noble Frenchmen down to the bank of the river. Every so often he stepped out to roar at those soldiers in the Derry regiments that had survived that dreadful siege: ‘Come on, boys, let us go and do the Lord’s work for him! I see you Sherrard lads, and Henry Campsie too!’
The boys that had closed the gates against James’s army cheered their Anglican minister and former governor. How thrilling it was to march together with all of these different nationalities.
Some of the battalions were obliged to hang back to allow the others to cross. They stood in their square formation – ten men wide and eight men in length – and began firing at the enemy over their colleagues’ heads, warning the Jacobites to leave their friends – who were in the water – alone.
Again the Duke of Schomberg fretted as the minutes passed. How long before the water level rises again?
And again he cursed the river for its messiness. Grimly, he congratulated James for forcing it upon them as he watched the Williamite approach start to stumble under fire. The men in the water were stuck in limbo since they could not use their muskets or pistols and risk getting them wet. The duke scowled. They are as helpless as ducklings! However, it had to be said that the Jacobite infantry were inflicting little actual damage because their muskets and pistols were too far out of range.
Once the men had crossed and got themselves out of the water they had to get back into position again, but this time in range of enemy fire.
This is a numbers game, thought the duke. I need all of them over there as fast as possible.
The landscape began to change, and Meinhard quickened his pace, worrying that they were slowing down because of the broken ground. He had sent his scouts ahead, which was how he knew that the bridge at Slane was smashed up, no doubt by Jacobites to prevent them from using it.
Interesting, thought Meinhard, James must have been concerned about an attack from the side.
The destruction of the bridge was a reminder that they were now in enemy territory. A long time ago his father had taught him that, in a situation such as this, caution was a soldier’s best friend and so Meinhard sent out scouts to scour the surrounding area, searching for signs of Jacobites. He would not risk leading his men into an ambush, even if that meant calling a halt while the scouts galloped off to check that they were safe for the next few miles at least.
Meinhard was scarcely aware of the land they were passing through though he did notice a collection of odd-looking hills, or burial mounds, representing Brugh na Bóinne, the Palace of the Boyne, comprised of Newgrange, Dowth and Knowth. One of the English commanders smirked as he said, ‘We must watch out for the fairies, sir. The Irish believe that this area is haunted by them.’
If he had expected this to start an interesting conversation with his stony-faced general, he was wrong. Meinhard turned away from the man, ending the discussion right there and then.
The terrain was starting to cause problems for the wagons that carried their large artillery. Meinhard could not allow a gap to open up between the men and the cannons so it was necessary to keep sending scouts backwards to check on the progress of the wagons as their horses dragged them over the various bumps and dips.
On hearing that the next few miles were clear, he sent an advance guard ahead of them, fearing that they were taking too long on account of those heavily laden wagons. What was uppermost in his mind, apart from wanting to prove himself to William, was that he was leading the charge to help his father’s offensive. While the Jacobites were preoccupied with fighting the duke’s massive force, his son would sneak up behind those Jacobites and bite them in the rear and the side. At least this is how he would have described it to his son, Charles, who, at seven years of age, had been bitterly disappointed not to be allowed to accompany his father and grandfather to Ireland.
It was nearly nine o’clock now; in other words they had taken three hours to cover almost four miles. At long, long last the advance guard reported back that they had spotted the windmills that proved that they were almost upon Rossnaree, where they would finally cross the Boyne.
That was the good news.
The bad news was that there was a welcome party, waiting on the other side, only they weren’t so much welcoming as utterly murderous.
Chapter Nineteen
James’s Hasty Response
James had hardly slept a wink all Monday night and as soon as he managed to doze off he was roused by an anxious Lauzun. ‘Sire, we have received
the most alarming news from our sentries!’
The king did not feel ready for the day ahead and craved to be allowed to sleep for another few hours at least.
‘It appears that William’s army is on the move!’
‘WHAT?’
James was wide awake now.
‘Our sentries heard them set out about thirty minutes ago. You can still hear them marching outside: thousands and thousands of feet along with wagons carrying cannons, heading off to their right – that is, our left.’
James threw off his blankets and jumped out of bed, pointing at his clothes as he roared, ‘You know what this means, don’t you? The scoundrel is probably leading his entire army to that damned ford at Rossnaree – the ford that the Irish claimed to know nothing about. This nation may prove to be my undoing yet!’
Lauzun was busy grabbing at tunics while searching for James’s left boot. He had little sympathy for the panicking king. How long were we here before William arrived? William, who within moments of his arrival, set out to make a proper reconnaissance of the area, unlike us who just sat on our behinds and waited?
Lauzun kept his true opinions to himself. When he realised that James was looking at him, he quickly said, ‘Er, yes, sire. That is what we believe, that he’s making his way to the ford. He must hope to surprise us with a flanking attack.’
‘Well,’ said James, ‘it is we who will surprise him.’
There was a flurry of movement just outside the tent. Richard Talbot poked his head through and then bounded inside as soon as he saw the Frenchman. There was hardly enough room for the three of them.
‘So, you have heard the news, Your Majesty. It is a bold move, to be sure, but how could he hope to get away with it? The noise of those Protestant feet is remarkable and can surely be heard for miles around.’
Kings of the Boyne Page 13
