by Smith, Skye
With the horse well under way in the right direction, he glanced over his shoulder and what he saw made him smile despite himself. When he had first taken over the 'expendables' he had told them that their main job was to keep him alive. Over the weeks they had learned from experience that his words had been in earnest. Five of his lads were in the process of 'borrowing' horses to follow him.
In the next moment he neared the edge of the battle for the eastern defenses. Battle, hah, there was no battle. The Welsh forces under Lord Herbert of Ragland were no longer fighting Massie's Gloucester garrison outside their defenses, but had turned to protect themselves from the lobsters coming at them from inside their defenses. Off to the north he could see a troop of finely dressed gentlemen, the king's courageous officers, fleeing for safety while leaving their Welsh infantry caught in this deadly trap.
Though the thousands of half trained Welsh lads were bravely standing their ground against the surprise rear attack on their line, those closest to the London Lobsters were in a complete and utter panic. Parliament's only force of heavy cuirassiers were doing efficiently what cavalryers did best. They were slaughtering frightened, running men. Their heavy horses were trampling men under hoof, while their sabres and lances skewered and hacked at men too panicked to remember to defend each other with their pikes.
Arthur Haselrig took an aleskin from his standard bearer and sucked hard on it. Then he ordered his trumpeter to sound the signal to reform for another charge. "The next charge will break them into rabble," Arthur said with satisfaction. It was then that the short prick, Robert Blake, hauled his horse to a halt right in front of his courser and blocked his way. "Get out the way," he growled at the captain. Haselrig sat head and shoulders above Blake, and the difference in height was almost comical. On foot, he stood a head taller than Blake, even without the difference of height between his courser and a normal horse. Still the determined captain would not give way.
"Call you men back!" Blake yelled at him. "This slaughter of innocents is unbecoming of our cause. Sound your trumpets and stop this deviltry."
"Don't be such a woman!" Haselrig growled at him. "If they escape us into the woods, we will never catch them. Get out of my way."
"Then perhaps you should change sides and ride with Prince Rupert," Blake snarled at him, "for what you are doing to these farm lads is worthy of the Devil Prince."
The insult hit Haselrig like a slap across the face, and he lifted his long sabre as if preparing to slash at Blake in anger. He relaxed his grip only because five dragoons had pulled up to a halt beside Blake and every one of them was now pointing a cocked dragon at his face. He was about to threaten the skins on their backs for daring to raise their guns against an officer but he never got the chance because Blake began snarling at him again.
"You owe me a blood debt for saving your skin from the king's clutch at Westminster Palace," Rob told him. "I am collecting it now. Order a recall, and do it now!"
"I owe that debt to Daniel Vanderus."
"Fine, then I hereby collect it on behalf of my best friend," Rob yelled. "Now recall them."
"Sir!" cried the lad with the trumpet. More of Blake's dragoons had ridden up and were now pointing dragons at him and the other lad, the one holding the standard.
Haselrig's indecision made him stumble over the curse that formed behind his teeth. Blake was a nothing, whereas Daniel was the most dangerous man he had ever met. That because Daniel lived by a strong moral code that made sense only to those of his own clan, and certainly not to any English gentleman. For breaking that unfathomable code, Daniel would certainly hunt down and kill a man, even if that man was a royal. Moreover, he would do the killing without a second thought. The blood debt he owed to Blake he could shrug off, but not so the one owed to both Daniel and Blake. That was different, very different. He sucked in his temper and called to his trumpeter, "Sound the recall lad. Sound the recall. Ride about and tell the company to allow the pikemen to surrender."
* * * * *
"It was not Arthur's fault," General Waller told Blake on hearing his version of how three hundred panicked Welsh lads had been trampled and slaughtered for no good reason. "The blame lies with the king's officers, especially Lord Herbert. If they had sent out orders to surrender, and sent us notice of that surrender at anytime before they fled the field with their cavalryers, then hundreds of Welsh mothers would not have cause for grieving. Instead the Welsh infantry were abandoned without leaders, without anyone to declare their surrender, and without even the experience to form pike squares until calm was restored to the battlefield."
"I've seen blood lust before," Rob replied, "and Arthur's lobsters were filled with it. Do you realize the damage they have done to your own cause. For how many months have you campaigned now, ... nine is it? Nine months of patiently taking care to avoid slaughter and pillage. Of taking care to encourage surrender and send as many of the enemy lads whole and safe home to their families. And now this slaughter. I hope you weren't planning a campaign into Wales any time soon. For every lad Arthur slaughtered today, ten will rise up to take vengeance on you if you enter Wales. They will be waiting behind every tree with their grandfathers' great bows."
Waller would not have taken such verbal abuse from any of his officers, had he not been having the same thoughts himself. "It was nothing that the king's cuirassiers would not have done in the same situation." His words hung heavy in the air and rang hollow even to himself. That was the weakest excuse possible in these times when able men were rising in every valley to protect their families from the king's army, and especially from Prince Rupert and his Germans. "Do you have any suggestions of how to turn this around? Quickly now before Governor Massie and the other officers join us."
"Half of the Welsh are pikemen without guns. Lads on a lark, untrained and undisciplined," Rob pointed out. "Order them to bury their dead with respect in the defensive ditch as they fill it back in. Then feed them, have their wounded treated, take a vow from each not fight for the king again, and then send the poor frightened things home to their mothers."
"And the other half?"
"Let them keep the guns that the king has issued to them, but with no powder or shot. Welcome those who wish to change sides and march with you. For any who refuse your offer, buy their guns off them, take their vow of peace, and then send them home."
"A good plan except that Gloucester has been living in fear of the Welsh army for a month," Waller pointed out, "so Governor Massie will refuse your plan outright." Now his own agile mind was darting through the options. "I agree that the pikemen should be sent back home from here, but not the musketeers. Hmmm, I believe I will ask Governor Massie to lead a triumphant procession of prisoners into Gloucester. He will like that. All that cheering. It will take the towns folk but a day or two to realize that this will saddle them with a thousand and a half more mouths to feed. On that realization they will request that we de-mobilize the prisoners and send them home. Yes, perfect. That is what I shall do."
Rob nodded his approval but made no comment, for he knew that as soon as Colonel Edward Massie and the other officers reached Waller's command post, he would be pushed and shunted away from the general. He had no time to make polite comments to the general, not when there were things he needed to know. "So do I assume that you are planning a campaign into Wales?"
Waller smacked his lips as if stopping the honest answer from escaping, but then his lips relented. Blake had known of his secret maneuvers that had surprised Highnam, so why shouldn't he trust him further. Blake gave good advice, and more importantly, advice that differed from that given by his general staff. "Not into Wales so much as along the border. I am expected to block the king's army in Oxford from being reinforced from Wales or Cornwall."
* * * * *
* * * * *
The Pistoleer - Roundway Down by Skye Smith Copyright 2014-15
Chapter 15 - The Dragon of Bristol in Chepstow in March 1643
Rob stared down at t
he port of Chepstow on the River Wye. The old town was just a mile upstream from the wide tidal pool where the River Wye joined the River Severn. From his perch high up on the limestone cliff across the Wye from Chepstow he had an unobstructed view of the town's layout. He passed his spectacle scope to his brother Sam for another look. He was glad to have Sam at his side again.
It had taken Sam more than two weeks to convince twenty of their friends from Lyme to hurry their ploughing and lambing and ride to Bristol from the south coast of Dorset. Rob was no longer in Bristol, so rather than stay and pick up shovels to help deepen Bristol's outer defensive ditch, Sam had led the troop to Gloucester. They had eventually caught up with Rob, and with Waller's army, just after Monmouth had surrendered to the general.
Waller was following the orders of Parliament's Committee of Safety by leading his flying army up and down the Welsh border. His regiments were making surprise attacks on the royalist garrisons, but more importantly were wrecking the foundries that were making cannon and gun barrels for the royalist army. He had attacked Twekesbury on a day trip from Gloucester, and a few days later had marched on Monmouth to put paid to any hope the royalists may harbour of regrouping the remnants of the Welsh army that had been so thoroughly trounced in Highnam. Waller's next target was Chepstow, in order to deny that vital port to the royalists.
Rob crawled along the edge of the cliff to change his view. There was a tumbled down castle just upstream of the town. Throughout history this town had always been important because it was on the Welsh side of both the River Wye and the River Severn. Downstream a mile where the Wye joined the Severn, was the mid-point between Bristol and Gloucester. The cliff he was perched on forced the Wye to bend sharply, and Chepstow was built along that bend.
It was the port that Rob was spying on, not the walled town nor the out-dated castle. The Wye river at the port was tidal, very tidal, with perhaps forty feet between the lowest and highest water. The port therefore had floating wharfs rather than docks, and these floated diagonally up and down a series of sloped stone roadways. This allowed ships to be unloaded whatever the tide.
"I see no defenses that could stop Waller now that he has crossed the Wye at Monmouth," Sam pointed out. "The town wall is crumbling, and the castle would turn to dust at the first hit of a cannon ball. The bloody royalists are too proud to get their hands dirty by digging a defensive ditch and dyke. There's nothing I can see that would stop our cavalry from just riding around the castle, around the town, and right into the port area. With the port in hand, the town will soon surrender."
"I agree with you about nobs and real work, but there must be more to it than that. The nobs aren't stupid, even if they are too proud to turn their hand to useful work." Rob took his looker back. "We must be missing something.” He handed the looker to his sergeant. "Here, Fodder, what are we not seeing?"
Fodder got off his belly and onto his knees to better see. Their horses were back with the rest of the scouts hidden in a woods, but the three of them had crawled forward to the cliff edge so they could survey the port without being seen. Eventually he said, "What about them ships directly below these cliffs. There are no ships tied up to them sloping quays on the town side, but there are ships tied up on this side of the river. There must be another quay below us that we can't see from here."
The gruff sergeant waited until Rob and Sam had pushed their heads further out into empty space so they could look straight down, and then he said, "Ships have cannons don't they? That means they don't need cannons along the town walls or up in the castle, nor need they dig defensive ditches. The ship's cannons are safe from cavalry, and they can be moved up and down river as needed depending on where we attack." He passed the looker back to his captain.
Rob took it but didn't need it to look straight down at the ships below them. Of course. Why hadn't he noticed that? Due to the bend in the river, the deep water was under these cliffs. When not actually unloading, the larger ships would tie up on this side, in the deeper water. "There is only one large ship, a three-master. My guess is that she could be carrying as many as twenty guns. The others are coastal traders. A gun or two apiece, if any at all." He stared again at the three-master. "I wonder if she is Dutch," he said almost to himself. "If so then she may be a munitions supply ship."
Sam brightened up. "That would make a profitable prize. Any chance of us capturing her?"
Rob had been thinking the same thing. "Not from the land," he replied. "The town is on the other bank and this bank is a shear limestone cliff. When our cavalry arrives she will either blast them or cut and run."
"Can we take it from the water then?"
"Aye, which means we need boats not horses. And boats that belong on this stretch of river so they won't raise any suspicious eyebrows as we approach."
"The town on the other bank of the Severn is Aust," Fodder told them. "I think that's another of them Huguenot towns. They may well loan us a boat or two."
"My thoughts exactly," Rob told him with a smile. "Take your squad and make an oral report back to General Waller. Tell him of this prize ship and her cannons, and that we are going to try to take her, so he must not scare her away. Tell him to slow his advance on Chepstow. You know, as if giving the army a rest."
"Oh, aye. I'm in the habit of tellin' generals what ta do," Fodder replied. "Will ya say a kind word at me funeral."
With a shrug Rob relented and scrambled back to his horse for a pen and paper to write the report.
* * * * *
The three launches glided silently along, pushed by the last of the flood tide through the light mist towards the tall ship tied up beneath the towering cliffs. The oarlocks were muffled with rags, and only the lads from Lyme were pulling on the oars. Lads who had grown up putting their backs into the oars of fishing dories and so would have complete control of the blades. They could not allow a splash to warn the watch on the ship. Sam's launch made for the bow, Rob's made for the stern, while Perk's came alongside amidships.
She was the Dragon of Bristol, and Rob had to choke back his admiration when he read the name. The Dragon was Captain Thomas James' famous ship, or rather the famous Thomas James' worthy ship. As a lad Rob had grown up on the adventure stories of James, a local hero, and his daring search for the Northwest Passage north of Newfoundland. This was the ship he had purposefully built for such explorations. A tough, fast ship of shallow draft, with a reinforced bow for breaking through ice. Its small holds were not the best for merchant trading duties, but her double oak hull and raked masts and sixteen guns made her perfect for use as a privateer. Which, of course, was how James used her once he had failed to find a northern route to the Japans.
The Wye was infamous for its tidal currents, but the ship was not anchored. Instead it was moored snuggly against a quay carved out of the limestone cliffs like a giant, square cave. There was no sign of a crew at work, but a ship always has a watch. Hopefully they were on the quay side of the ship keeping their eye on the fenders as the tide slowly rose. The moon was half, so the tides were not violent. On moon tides, the Severn Bore could raise and lower this River Wye by as much as forty feet. The lack of a watch on this side was likely due to the flooding tide, but that flow was almost finished and the slack tide about to begin. That there was not a crew on duty showed how much safer a ship was on this, the deeper side of the river, rather than on the town side.
The twenty Lymemen were shared between the three launches, and it was they who silently maneuvered the launches up against the ship's fenders. The lightest man from each launch silently climbed straight up the side of the hull by shoving dagger after dagger into the chinking between the oak boards to give them toe and hand holds. Each of them dragged a knotted climbing line up to the lowest of the decks. Once the lines were secured, other men scrambled silently up the knots to the deck. The first of these big, well muscled men were almost naked and lightly armed. Once aboard, their job would be the quiet work of silencing any watchers. They crouched low in the s
hadows and cast their eyes around searching for those watchers.
There seemed to be only one watcher on this side of the ship, on the bow. The rest must have been watching the quay. That one watcher's slow amble ended with a hand pushed cruelly hard against his mouth and a belaying pin smashed across his neck. Sam lowered the limp man softly to the deck and then signaled down to the launch for the rest of his squad to come aboard. The next men up were carrying an assortment of pistols but it was the dragons that would be needed next. Not five minutes had passed, and yet all along this side of the ship the Lymemen were aboard and laying low waiting nervously for any warning shout that would force them into action, or for the rest of their company to ooze aboard, whichever came first.
Rob knew that every man of them was watching him for a signal, so he sucked in some courage with a deep breath, raised his dragon high enough for them all to see, and made an exaggerated motion of cocking it. He gave them all a bit of time to cock their own guns, and then he led his squad towards the staircase that led up to the bridge on the stern castle. There would be a watcher up there, and there was no way of taking him quietly by surprise, so Rob just sprinted up the stairs and ran towards the ship's wheel.
Something bulky moved over to the right of the wheel and he swung his gun around to point at it. The watcher stared at him open mouthed as if in mid yell, but without uttering a sound, at least not yet. "If you yell a warning, then I may as well fire this gun into your face. Stay quiet and you'll live," Rob hissed at him.
It was sound advice and the watcher took it. As soon as another of the Lymemen arrived to keep the watcher quiet, Rob turned and looked down along all of the decks. The Lymemen had spread out and were making their way over to the quay side of the ship. There was no sign of any other watchers, so either the ships master was a fool, or the other Lymemen had already take care of them.