Abigail's Cousin (38 page)

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! W
ith 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 declared:

"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.

Hil
l 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.

At 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 kn
ow
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:

"I'll do no
such thing." shouted the indignant Mack at Hill who retorted,
grimly: "If you don't I'll have you court-martialed. Better still,
I shall order one of your men to take my place. Now give over, man.
Do it!"

Mack never a
deep thinker muttered under his breath and nodded to the corporal
then shouted to a soldier, "Phipps! Tie your bandanna round the
general's eyes." As Phipps did so Mack told Hill: "We don't want
the tobacco to get in you eyes, general, who allowed himself to be
blindfolded tetchily muttering: "Now get on with it."