Pistoleer: Roundway Down

by Smith, Skye

John was perhaps the smartest man in England, and at least Daniel had been able to spend long hours with him, hours he cherished. John was a business partner of Robert Rich and John Pym. One was the Lord Admiral and the other was the leader of the ruling Reform Party. John had therefore also been the business partner of the late Lord Brooke, who would have made a far more competent Lord General of the rebel army than Essex. In truth, John was much more than just a business partner to these powerful men, because he was the strategist behind the Reform Party, and the brains behind the Providence Island Company. Indeed the brains behind most of the English companies chartered during Charlie's reign to plant colonies in the New World.

  When together in Thame they spent many hours discussing the ways of things, and when out of earshot of anyone else, the ways of Essex. John was being pressured by Pym and Rich to become the Lord General, but he kept refusing them because he felt that he lacked the experience. "There is far more to being Lord General than knowing battlefield strategy," John told him. "Even when it comes to battlefield strategy I am an innocent. Better to have me advising Essex than him advising me. Besides which, I am more than his advisor, for Pym has given me control the army's purse strings."

  "Well you had better uncinch them strings and be quick about it," Daniel warned him. "The infantry and dragoons are on the verge of mutiny because of how much back pay they are owed."

  John smiled at him. He still couldn't get used to Daniel's newly shaven bald head and chin. In truth, he found it difficult to recognize most men these days. The barbers were clean shaving everyone so as to make it easier for men to control the vermin that lived on their bodies. At least these days they were being shaved using hot water. Since all shaven hair was immediately thrown into a fire, it had become normal to have a pot boiling beside the barber, and normal to have the acrid smell of burning hair fill your nostrils.

  A month ago, to find a cleanly shaven head in this kingdom had meant a visit to the foulest of gaols. Now almost every infantryman and many cavalryers had taken up the look of criminals. He cursed himself for not buying shares in wiggeries, for the only things selling at a premium in these troubled times, were wigs. Even a poor wretch would wear a bad wig rather than suffer the indignity of looking like a criminal.

  "The risk of mutiny will be solved very soon," John told his only uneducated friend, "though it took the near mutiny of my own Greencoats back in Reading to convince parliament to ship me the payroll silver. If my men hadn't been so eager to leave that fever ridden place, I'd have never convinced them to stay together for the march to Thame.” Thame was close enough to Oxford to satisfy parliament that Essex was readying his army for an eventual siege of the king's army. Not that he would. In truth he had moved the army here only to keep the king from marching on London.

  "And now Thame is fever ridden," Daniel moaned. Telling John about Greek Typhos had been the only time that Daniel had broken his oath to Skippon not to speak of it to anyone. John, being an educated man, had immediately sent to Cambridge to have the Greek medical texts researched, translated, and summarized. Once he had those facts in hand, he quietly and privately advised Essex on the matter.

  "I did my best to advise the general about the sickness and how to stop it from spreading," John replied. "I expected him to ignore my advice, and he did just that. I warned him that it would become an epidemic which would hit the infantry the hardest. He ignored that warning too, despite that we are a lot more dependant on our infantry, than the king is dependant on his. Well, at least we now know how to best nurse the men who succumbed so the fever won't cripple them or kill them. Not like those poor buggers in the king's camp."

  There had been horrific news out of Oxford about the health of the infantry conscripts. Essex had used the typhos epidemic as an excuse to put the siege of Oxford on hold. The whole war seemed to be on hold. The queen had put her march from York to Oxford on hold, and not just because of the fever, but more because Oliver Cromwell had roused the commoners and cottagers of South Lincolnshire to put the run on the local royalist lords. Critical highways were now denied to her supply train.

  "Oliver is threatening Newark and the bridges along the River Trent," John blurted out. "Was that your doing? Did you suggest to him that General Fairfax needs help if he is to keep the queen from bringing her invasion force south?" John had always viewed his cousin Oliver as a country buffoon despite his legal training and skill at debate.

  "I may have mentioned it when I suggested that he roust the Campdeners out of the Lincolnshire fens," Daniel replied.

  "Well good for you," John told him. "This might be the making of Oliver. He's been sulking in the shadows for far too long. It's well past time for him to ride out and make a name for himself."

  "Hold on, John. Did I hear you say that the problem of back pay will soon be solved?"

  "Shhh. That news is to go no further. No one must know."

  "But everyone already knows," Daniel hissed. "For a month Essex has been telling the men that a great treasure was captured on a ship near Bristol, and that it was being sent to him to cover their back pay."

  "Aye, and therefore Prince Rupert and Prince Maurice have had their flying squads scouring every road from here to Bristol to intercept it. Instead it was first sent to London by ship and only now is it being sent to us by supply train. I can't even imagine how many carts it takes to move 27,000 pounds of Dutch silver coins." John gave him the bent eye. The only reason he trusted such news to Daniel was because over the years Daniel and he had saved each other's lives. He had saved Daniel's yet again just last month when Essex wanted to silence Daniel 'permanently' for telling him about the typhos epidemic.

  While they had been talking, they had been walking towards the camp's training grounds, but as they neared the ears of the trainees they ceased speaking of important things. Since Daniel was stuck in Thame anyway, he had agreed to train John's Berkshire Greencoats in the tactics used by the Dutch Pistoleers. This latest lot were local lads who had been given the horses and weapons of experienced dragoons who were so weak from typhos that they could not sit a horse. For most of that time Daniel too had not been able to sit a horse, so he had devised practices using pretend horses. This was the third such session that John Hampden had watched, but he never tired of watching Daniel put the gleam of confidence on the faces of young lads.

  After the needless introduction of both he and Colonel Hampden, Daniel had all twenty of the green recruits draw and aim their dragons at him. "Right," he bellowed. "Put them away. All those who are left handed did just fine. The rest of you have not given any thought to what a wondrous weapon your dragon is. It is a weapon that only needs pointing, not aiming. Don't waste your good hand aiming it, lads. Save that hand for other things. Your cack hand is good enough for pointing a dragon.

  There is a reason why mounted infantry are now called dragoons, and that is because they all carry at least one dragon. In the olden days before guns and before the Normans, you would have been called shieldmen, and in your cack hand you would carry your defensive weapon, your shield, and in your good hand you would carry your killing weapon. Your dragon is now your shield. Now draw them again and point them at me.

  That's better. At first it may feel clumsy in your cack hand but you will get used to that. Put them away. Those of you who lifted them to shoulder height to sight them still aren't thinking. The spread of the load is wide. The further away your target, the wider and taller is the spread. Don't waste time lifting it up to shoulder height like a true pistol. Just draw it, point, and fire."

  Daniel walked over to John, "Colonel, sir, may I borrow your pistols?" John handed him both of them and Daniel passed them around through the ranks. "These are the finest pistols you will ever hold. A matched pair of French dueling pistols, built purposefully identical so that when it comes to their selection in the duel, there is no difference between them. They are elegant and balanced and small bored. You load them slowly and carefully with full bore balls so that the balls w
ill not rattle in the barrel when they are fired. You hold them straight out at shoulder height and aim them with your eye. If your arm is absolutely steady when you pull the trigger, then the balls will fly straight and true and easily kill a man at twenty paces. A man without armour that is. They are killing weapons, and as distant a cousin to your dragons as another pistol can possibly be. Right then, pass them back to me."

  With the two dueling pistols once again in hand, Daniel aimed one of them at a stuffed dummy wearing steel chest armour, helmet and visor. "Notice my stance. That is all meant to brace the arm so that it holds still while you fire. Notice how much time the aiming takes." He lowered the pistol and turned back to the lads. "You lot are not professional soldiers and neither are you hired killers. If you ever point a killing pistol at another man, you will hesitate before you pull the trigger. I know you will hesitate, for you are descent lads and thus you will be having second thoughts. Thoughts like, I don't really want to kill this man, or perhaps, where can I shoot him to disable him but not kill him. If the other man is a professional, he will have no such thoughts and he will kill you as you are thinking yours."

  John was nodding his head vigorously for it was all so true. Professionals took no chances with their own safety, which gave them a great advantage over a normal militia lad on the battlefield. A professional would immediately shoot to kill rather than risk being wounded themselves. A month ago every one of these lads had been herding cattle or driving their dad's cart. As he watched, Daniel spun around, aimed and fired one of the dueling pistols, and all in one smooth motion. There was a ringing of a ricochet as the ball hit the heart painted onto the dummies armour. Daniel was the best shot he had ever known. Not just accurate, but fast.

  "The Devil Prince's flying squads all wear armour of the finest German steel," Daniel continued. "Light and strong and shaped so that all the critical targets are protected by curves in the steel. That shot was right on target, but it was a waste of a ball, and now I have an empty gun and he can take his time killing me." Daniel walked over to the closest lad. "What's yer dragon loaded with lad?"

  "One big ball, sir."

  Daniel took the dragon, spun and fired from the waist. There was now a deep dent on the armour well below where the heart was painted. "I was shooting for the heart but the ball rattled about in the barrel and did not fly true. Even though the ball was heavier than a musket ball, it was still not a killing shot against such armour. That dent would hurt like hell, and leave a huge bruise underneath, but he has survived and now the advantage is his.” He handed back the smoking dragon and asked the next lad what his load was.

  "Three pistol balls, sir."

  Again Daniel spun and fired from the waist. "Only two hit the armour," he called out. "One high and one low. The third missed completely. A complete waste of a dragon." He passed the dragon back and then drew his own. "My load will not kill him either. Come and stand beside me, and as soon as I fire I want you all to run forward as if you are attacking the dummy.” He waited until they were gathered round and then he fired. They all ran forward into the powder smoke, and then almost immediately began to cough and gag and bend over facing the dirt. "Come back. Hold your breath and come back. Get out of the smoke and then take some deep breaths and wipe your eyes and blow your noses."

  "What was your load, sir?" asked the closest lad.

  "The Dutch call it draakadem, so dragon's breath. It is birdshot in a mix of slaked lime with sulphur and coal grit." The cloud of acrid smoke had cleared, and he led them to the dummy. "I fired at his face." He lifted the visor and showed them the holes in the sack cloth of the dummy's face and the grit coating in it. "Despite the visor, enough got through to his face. He is now choking, gasping for breath, and his eyes are stinging so badly that he cannot open them." He pointed out the wide spread of the hit. "If the man had been mounted, the horse would be doing the same. Dragon's breath is the finest shield you will ever carry. This man is out of the battle, and you didn't need to kill him. If you want him dead, then use a killing weapon on him while he is still blind. Now, who can tell me something else about a spread so wide that would also blind his horse?"

  The lads were eager and were yelling out their thoughts.

  "If there had been two men close together, or even three, then all of them would have been stricken."

  "You can now scarper," said another.

  "His horse would be bucking and rearing."

  "You can shoot first and ask questions later," the shortest of the lads called out.

  "Hold," Daniel called out. "That was close enough. Full marks. Did you hear that. You can shoot immediately. You don't have any reason for second thoughts, you needn't pause to choose your target, you don't have to aim ... without a thought you can just point and shoot, because you know that your shot is not going to kill him."

  "Fallin' from his horse may kill 'im," a lad yelled out.

  "Aye, but that is not your doing but the horses. Let me say it again. You point and shoot without worrying about the outcome. The draakadem makes you the equal of a professional. Better, because as soon as you blind a professional he will as like as not throw down his weapons and surrender rather than risk further injury.” While they pondered his words and looked with new respect on their own dragons, those butt ugly blunderbusses of pistols, Daniel walked over to John and handed him back his pistols.

  "They are lovely, John, but not a soldier's weapons. It takes too long to load them and is too exacting to aim them. It would be hard enough to load them standing on your own two feet, never mind on horseback. Where ever did you get them?"

  "A gift from my son-in-law Robin Pye, Anne's husband. I suspect they were his father's pistols, and that he gave them to me to spite the old man because he is a staunch royalist."

  Daniel nodded knowingly but did not linger on family matters with him. A few years ago John had lost his original wife and two children and recently had married Letitia, another man's widow, mostly to take care of his surviving seven children. He still grieved the loss of Elizabeth, his first wife. "You should paint the stock of one of them so you can tell them apart. I just shot one of them, but I am not sure which of them is now empty. That could cost you your life on the battlefield."

  "No fear. They are two costly to take into battle. Besides, I've listened to you prattle on about dragons three times now, so I am convinced. Umm, your students are waiting for their master."

  Daniel walked back to the lads and told them and showed them all of the other advantages of dragons. How the spread meant that at the right range, you could set five or six men to choking and rubbing their eyes. How the big bore meant that you could load it quickly and easily even while riding. How with the dragon's breath mix you never risked overloading a gun and having it explode in your hand. How you could use the dragon's breath as a smoke screen, even when your targets were out of range. The lesson went on and on because there was much to tell.

  "If there are no more questions, then it's time for some practice with dragon's breath. The corporal over there has set out the ingredients and you are going to learn how to mix them and load them. He held up a small pipe and removed the lid. "This is what the Dutch call a patroon so in English that would be cartridge. I filled this one this morning and despite the drizzle it is still dry and ready for loading. You fill it in the reverse order to how you would load your dragon, so the gun powder goes in last. When you are ready to load, you pop the lid and bang it down on the muzzle to empty it. Right, everyone empty their dragon at the dummy and let's go and practice loading."

  The next hour they were busy loading patroons and then practicing loading dragons using them. It was a very noisy, smoky, stinky hour, but then they were finally ready to learn the actual pistoleer tactics. For this Daniel had them pretend they were mounted and then danced them about the field in the attack and defense formations made possible by the dragon's breath, and made necessary by the stinging smoke.

  "You can work an attack or a retreat just
like an infantry line," he told them. "When attacking, you fire your dragon to blind and confuse the enemy and then push them back or finish them with your killing weapon. If you are sure they are blind, then use your axe on them rather than your pistol. As the enemy falls back you stop and let the next line ride past you to attack with their dragons, and meanwhile you reload. Reload your dragon first, 'cause it's your shield. With the patroons the load is fast and sure even on horseback.

  With a rotation of four or even three lines, you can keep attacking and attacking, so that the enemy and their horses are kept blind and confused until they break and run. Keep in mind that you don't want you or your horse or your mates to suck in the dragon's breath, so try to stay up wind of the fight.

  When defending it is the same rotation but you must move backwards before you can stop to reload. To do this you turn your horse ready to retreat before you fire, and then point and fire your dragon backwards over the horses rump. In that way the horse's face is well out of it, and she is ready to hurry you out of harms way. Who can tell me why you most always turn your horse to the right?"

  "So you are turning away from the enemy on their cack hand side, to stay clear of their sabres," an eager lad blurted out.

  "Because the dragon is in your left hand, so that gives you a clean line of fire," yelled another.

  Daniel went on and on with them about tactics, but with each tactic he always mentioned one vital thing, and each time he did so these farm lads groaned.

  "There must be a better way," one farm lad finally complained. "In every case you are telling us that it is more important to blind the horse than the man. Well, I don't mind so much crippling some of them cavalryers 'cause they are all noble asses, but why the horses? The nobs ride expensive horses, wonderful horses, which we can claim once we defeat the rider. If we fight like you say, all we'll win is French stew meat."

  "Lad, what can I say except that you are absolutely right," Daniel replied. "I too prefer the company of most horses to their riders, but it can't be helped. If you cripple the horse, then you are almost sure to beat the man. A cavalryer without his horse is just a reluctant infantryman who is wearing armour that is too heavy, is wielding the wrong weapons, and is wearing the wrong type of boots. If you want the horse as a prize, then once the rider has surrendered be quick to flush the horses face and eyes with water. And use lots of water, 'cause you need to wash any quick-lime dust completely away."