The Secret Expedition. The Anglo-Russian Invasion of Holland 1799

By Geert van Uythoven

North Holland, 10 September 1799:

At daybreak the English spotted our advance guard, setting fire to the windmill in front of St. Maarten and opening fire on us with their batteries. On this spot, where the dragoon detachment had to remain in place, we were greeted by the fire of a howitzer of the enemy, which killed four of our horses. A dragoon’s cartridge-box was ignited and this set his uniform on fire. Only his presence of mind saved him, jumping quickly into a ditch filled with water, and the fire was extinguished. In the meanwhile the 1st Lieutenant Hoevenaar ordered his dragoons to close up, at which moment the detachment was hit by a 12-pdr cannon ball, which wounded a horse badly: the horse lost his complete forehead between the eyes and the nose, and it was necessary to shoot the animal. After this had taken place, two guns from the horse artillery arrived, commanded by Captain d’Anguerand. He deployed in front of the dragoons, and the accompanying caisson was placed at the same spot the dragoons were. The dragoons had no other option as to deploy in a new position, left of the road, close to the caisson and a small house, because there was not enough room to deploy properly.

After a short while a shell from a howitzer fell amidst of the horse-team of the caisson and three of the horses were killed instantly. Because we were so close near this caisson, it was lucky that the exploding shell did not hit the caisson itself, because when this would have happened surely the whole dragoon detachment and everyone near it would have been killed. It is commonly known that the terrain, where we fight on in Holland, has narrow roads and is intersected by many ditches and canals, which makes fighting very difficult.

Thus, Lieutenant Hoevenaar of the Batavian Dragoon Regiment describes his participation in the attack on the English positions in the Zijpe on 10 September 1799. His account illustrates that, contrary to the British and Orangist beliefs, the Batavian army was willing to fight for their country and did not run or defect at the first sight of the British. At a certain moment, the British Lieutenant General Abercromby even doubted the outcome of the battle and prepared for re-embarkation. Yet the common British expectation of an easy and victorious campaign was not surprising: years of polarisation between the Patriots and Orangists had divided the Dutch to the bone, not unlike the Democrats and Republicans in today’s USA. These divisions were also the main reason that the French were able to overrun the Dutch Republic easily in 1795, creating the French puppet state called the Batavian Republic. Hearing about the allegedly growing resentment of the Dutch against their French oppressors, a rising en masse of the Dutch population was to be expected.

The campaign had started well enough for the British: although their beach landing was opposed and fiercely contested, the swift capture of Den Helder provided a safe port. The subsequent capture of the Batavian fleet at the Vlieter, without a shot being fired, strengthened their belief that the Batavian Republic was ripe for capture and the reinstatement of the House of Orange. With the British army reinforced by a substantial contingent of the formidable Russian army, the capture of Amsterdam would be a matter of time. As so often, the situation under the surface proved to be much more complex and challenging.

In writing The Secret Expedition I tried to provide the reader with a thorough insight in all this. Treating all nations and armies participating, sketching the political situation and the events leading up to this remarkable campaign, where British and Russians joined forces in an effort to turn the tide against the French rule of a large part of Europe, I studied the battles that were fought, which are described in detail, leading often to a fresh insight contrary to those of previous historians, who often copied supposed facts without challenging them. The text further includes many quotes and accounts to provide the reader with a ‘look and feel’ of how the participants experienced the events during these memorable months, in a campaign during which the reputation of many participants was built or came to an abrupt end.

The new paperback edition of Geert van Uythoven’s The Secret Expedition: The Anglo-Russian Invasion of Holland 1799 is available to order from the Helion website: https://www.helion.co.uk/military-history-books/the-secret-expedition-the-anglo-russian-invasion-of-holland-1799.php

Defeat of a British outpost near Schoorldam
Zijpe polder seen from the Westfriesche Zeedijk between Eenigenburg and St Maarten
Zijpe Sluices

The Siege of Fort Augustus

By Jonathan Oates

275 years ago on this day, 5 March 1746, Major Hugh Wentworth, deputy governor of Fort Augustus (built 1729-1742, at the south-western end of Loch Ness), surrendered his fort to the Jacobite besiegers. Guided by artilleryman Major James Grant, the Jacobites made the best use of their few small calibre guns; or maybe they were plain lucky: ‘For while the walls were being bombarded by the artillery, a shot fell into the powder magazine. The powder ignited, and large pieces of masonry being blown up, a breach was made in the fort on this side’.

The fort’s Master Gunner later stated that the Jacobite guns blew up the powder barrels and cartridges on the turret of Wade’s Bastion. There had also been a shell on the court room and damage to the roof on the north side. No one had been injured, though, and the well was undamaged.

Fort Augustus (Map by George Anderson © Helion and Company)

Was Wentworth right in surrendering? His Master Gunner thought not. He argued ‘That the major and the other officers of the Garrison were mistaken in their assertion when they say there was no place of safety for the men to retire to or to boil their pots, for it appears that besides the vaults their common barracks were proof against any shells the rebels had to throw into the fort’. He concluded that it was ‘ignorance and panick that seized them all’.

How long they could have continued such resistance is a moot point. Cumberland did not think it was a strong point and the Board of Enquiry into the fort’s surrender later found, after studying the plans of the fort and having read statements from witnesses, ‘that the fort was defenceless. But do think that they ought to have delayed capitulating until the batteries had been playing upon them’.

Coehorn Mortar, as used in many of the sieges during 1745 and 1746 (Collection at Kedleston Hall, Photo by Brian Stone)

The result of that surrender was that part of the Jacobite army, including Grant and his guns, would go on to besiege Fort William, which was rather more strongly defended and guided by a more resolute defender. Not only did Fort William hold out, in a siege that lasted from 20 March to 3 April 1746, but the Jacobites were then decisively defeated at Culloden on 16 April. The capture of Fort Augustus, as things turned out, was the last major Jacobite military success.

Dr Jonathan Oates tells the story of this and the surprisingly large number of other sieges that took place in Scotland and England during 1745 and 1746, in his book The Sieges of the ’45: Siege Warfare during the Jacobite Rebellion of 1745-1746, which is available from the Helion and Company website: https://www.helion.co.uk/military-history-books/the-sieges-of-the-45-siege-warfare-during-the-jacobite-rebellion-of-1745-1746.php

Scharnhorst: The Formative Years 1755-1801

By Charles White

Chuck White talks about the writing of his recent book, Scharnhorst: The Formative Years 1755-1801, for our From Reason to Revolution 1721-1815 series.

If you are a student of German military prowess, then you need to read my book. Although much ink has been spilled on the subject of German military history over the past three centuries, with campaign and battle studies, memoirs, biographies, uniform plates and guides, orders of battle, wargames, and much more, far too much time and energy has been sadly devoted to the 12 years of the Nazi period. No other period of German history has been dissected more. For many, it would seem, Germany has only twelve years of history, from 1933 to 1945. Scharnhorst: The Formative Years, 1755-1801, is an attempt to rectify this sorry state of affairs. 

The origins of my book began during my junior year at West Point (1972-73). During the spring semester I took my first elective (we were given only six), which was a history course entitled, ‘War and Society’, taught by the academy’s first visiting professor – Jay Luvaas, a leading American scholar of military history. The research paper topic I drew literally from a hat was ‘The Impact of the Napoleonic Wars on Prussia’. All of the topics were overly broad for a 25-page paper, which gave us cadets some latitude in narrowing our focus on a subject to our liking, with the parameters of our topic. After conducting my preliminary research (and encouraged by Professor Luvaas), I settled on Gerhard von Scharnhorst (1755-1813), the great reformer of the Prussian military establishment following her catastrophic defeat at Jena and Auerstedt in 1806.

The title of my paper, ‘Scharnhorst: Father of the Modern Army’, reflected my belief that the modernization program Scharnhorst implemented, though vastly unfinished by his own admission, over time became the model of large professional organizations – first in Prussia, then in Germany, and later (in varying degrees) in every major army in the world. Realizing the severe constraints under which he labored, Scharnhorst wrote to his favorite student and close personal associate, Carl von Clausewitz (1780-1831), on 27 November 1807, advising him:

Who would not risk everything to plant the seed of a new tree, who would not gladly die if he could hope that the fruit would ripen with new strength and vitality! But only one thing can make that possible. We must kindle a sense of independence in the nation; we must enable the nation to understand itself and take up its own affairs; only then will the nation acquire self-respect and compel the respect of others. To work toward that goal is all we can do. To destroy the old forms, remove the ties of prejudice, guide and nurture our revival without inhibiting its free growth – our work cannot go further than that.

Scharnhorst and his associates clearly understood how to proceed in a potentially hostile environment. They planted a new tree, which over time produced the fruits of victory some 50 years later during the Wars of German Unification (1864-71).

After graduating from West Point, I continued my research and study into German military prowess, wondering why the German army continued to captivate so many American soldiers, despite the fact that it was the American army that had defeated the German army in two world wars. Interestingly, whenever I had opportunity to speak with German senior officers (I was stationed in Germany in the 1970s) about their military prowess, they would politely smile and refer me to Scharnhorst and the German notion of Bildung. Interestingly, Scharnhorst regarded the process of Bildung as central to the professional growth of the military leader. A fruit of Germany’s classical age, Bildung was the perfectibility of the individual’s character and intellect through the process of education and training. For Scharnhorst, Bildung was the mental fitness that empowered the military leader. It enabled him to assimilate knowledge from a variety of sources and then to synthesize and fashion that data into an appropriate response to the challenge at hand. It was a recurrent process rather than mere training to accomplish a certain skill.

Chuck White with General der Panzertruppe Hasso von Manteuffel in June 1977 at his home in Bavaria. Chuck spent the day with him, discussing his experiences as a tank leader. At that time Chuck was a First Lieutenant with the 2d Squadron, 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment in Bad Kissingen, Germany.

Scharnhorst and Bildung became the central theme of my studies at Duke University, from 1980-86. My Masters’ Thesis focused on Scharnhorst’s efforts to establish a professional military educational program in Prussia. I then spent two wonderful years in Berlin on a Fulbright Fellowship, during which time I researched the holdings of the Prussian Archives, which housed Scharnhorst’s Papers (Nachlaβ Scharnhorst) and other primary and secondary sources. Returning to Duke, I wrote my dissertation on Scharnhorst and the Militärische Gesellschaft in Berlin, 1801-05. Both studies covered Scharnhorst’s endeavors to inculcate Bildung into the Prussian army. Three years later I published my first book, The Enlightened Soldier: Scharnhorst and the Militärische Gesellschaft in Berlin, 1801-1805 (1989). That study focused primarily on Scharnhorst’s pivotal role as the intellectual father and educator of the Prussian army, whose amazing recovery following its catastrophic defeat in 1806 remains one of the most remarkable feats in military history.

Following the publication of The Enlightened Soldier, I embarked on the research and writing of this book. So much is known about Scharnhorst and his activities in Prussian service. So little is known or has been written about his formative years in Hanover, where he carefully crafted and endeavored to implement the modernization program he later realized in part in Prussia. This point is significant. When Scharnhorst arrived in Berlin in 1801, he already had his master plan in mind and continually looked for ways to bring the Prussian army and its leadership in step with the transformation of war shaped by the wars of the French Revolution and Napoleon.

This study of Scharnhorst presents unpublished discoveries about his youth, his education, and his extensive time in Hanoverian service. Scholarship in the field of German history during the late-eighteenth and early-nineteenth centuries has increased dramatically over the past 30 years; the most significant for this study was the publication of Scharnhorst’s Papers [Nachlaβ Scharnhorst] in eight massive volumes, with over 3,000 documents. These papers formed the foundation upon which I built my story of this enlightened soldier. I used primarily the first two volumes that deal with his long career in Hanover. Selected documents from other volumes are also included.

With the Internet came access to so many key sources that I might not otherwise have been able to obtain and research. Nearly all the rare books and journals I had studied in Germany in the early 1980s are now available on the worldwide web, especially the irreplaceable journals of the University of Bielefeld digital collection. Through the Internet I was also able to connect with other scholars who led me to addition resources and websites.

Returning to my introductory remarks, Scharnhorst: The Formative Years, 1755-1801, is the starting point for those seeking to understand German military prowess. In was in Hanover that Scharnhorst developed the ideals and institutions that made the Prussian and later German armies the model upon which nearly every other major and minor power in the world fashioned its military establishment.

Scharnhorst: The Formative Years 1755-1801 can be ordered from the Helion website: https://www.helion.co.uk/military-history-books/scharnhorst-the-formative-years-1755-1801.php

The Army of George II

Peter Brown talks about the writing of his recent book for our From Reason to Revolution 1721-1815 series.

If you’re a fan of the British Army of the eighteenth century then you may feel that you don’t need to read this book. After all, much ink has been spilled on the subject over the years, with uniform guides and accounts of the battles and campaigns easily available. Believe me, I was acutely aware of how much was already in print when I sat down to write it.

However, almost all of the work currently available on the army of George II provides the reader with a snapshot of army life. There are many books on the French Indian War, for example, the Jacobite ’45, or the campaign in Germany during the Seven Years War. What appeared to me to be lacking was a view of the army ‘in the round’, so to speak; looking at every aspect of it from the accession of George II in 1727 to around the time of his death in 1760. How did it develop? How was it recruited, trained and disciplined? What were the officers like and how did they learn their trade? What about the medical services, the system of command and control and the changes to all of this that had to be made on campaign? We all know that the army marched to battle, but how exactly was this achieved and who was responsible if it all went wrong?

Fusilier, 23rd Foot (Royal Welch Fusiliers), War of the Austrian Succession (Reconstruction by Richard Marren Craft Workshop – photograph © Alan ‘Kael’ Ball)

Filling all of these gaps in our knowledge became the aim of the book and it often took me down some very unglamorous roads. I had to begin with the accounts, looking at how the army was funded and who exactly held the purse strings. Readers with a love of military history often do not share a love of eighteenth-century accounting, but none the less, the detail of how the army was funded is necessary if one is to understand why it was always short staffed, under equipped and often much too small to carry out the tasks allocated to it. I also had to explore the often-overlooked topic of logistics, which any military man will tell you can make or break a campaign. The housing, supply and movement of the army from A to B was no easy task and this book explores the intricacies of the system alongside its obvious failings.

The organisation and uniforms of the infantry, cavalry and artillery are dealt with in depth, with a chapter on each arm that tracks the development of their uniform and structure as the century wore on. Details are also provided of their colours, officer distinctions, and the role of the various officers in battle.  The medical facilities available to the army, both on campaign and at home, is not a topic well covered outside academic circles and I wanted to cover this, especially in regard to the aftermath of battle and the treatment wounded soldiers could expect. I was certainly surprised by the key role the soldier’s wives played in this, alongside the general support that they provided not only to the men, but to the regiment they were attached to.  Indeed, they were, in many ways, an invisible and often unrecognised logistical arm. The final chapter looks at how the men and their families mustered out, sometimes with a pension but more often simply laid off when the war ended and left to fend for themselves.

15th Light Dragoons, 1760 (Original artwork by Patrice Courcelle, © Helion & Company)

Writing this book was not all hard slog. From the chapter on recruitment, through the court martial system and on to the officers and their ‘duels of honour’, I found much to smile about. The British squaddie, it would appear, has not changed over the centuries and if there was trouble to get into he was sure to find it. There are some great little stories that I was keen to retain as they show off the indomitable spirit of the British soldier whilst showing the reader that army life was not all floggings and drill.

Going back to my opening paragraph, my aim throughout this project was to fill that hole in your knowledge that previous books on the subject had failed to do. Hopefully by the end of it you should have a complete understanding of the eighteenth-century British Army. It was a joy to research and write and I do hope you enjoy it.

You can order The Army of George II from our website: https://www.helion.co.uk/military-history-books/the-army-of-george-ii-1727-1760-the-soldiers-who-forged-an-empire.php

Wellington’s Favourite Engineer?

Since we announced our latest book, several people, have questioned the choice of title. Can we truly say that John Fox Burgoyne was Wellington’s favourite? If so, why him and not other deserving Royal Engineer officers such as Richard Fletcher? Author Mark Thompson explains why he believes Burgoyne to have had pride of place in Wellington’s esteem.

Of course, no-one will ever know for certain. Wellington did not say it, but a look at Burgoyne’s service with the Duke will make such a claim reasonable and explain why I have said this about him and not the senior engineer for most of the war, Lieutenant Colonel Richard Fletcher. Apart from one brief absence, Richard Fletcher was the Commanding Royal Engineer under Wellington from 1809 until his death in September 1813. From reading the correspondence over the period, I would describe Fletcher’s relationship with Wellington as professional rather than warm. Over the duration of the war, Wellington came to respect Fletcher’s advice even when he did not follow it. Fletcher was probably one of the few officers who could ‘speak truth unto power’ to their leader and stay in his role.  As the war continued the relationship appeared to become strained, particularly after the difficulties in the sieges of 1811 and 1812. One scurrilous account suggested that Wellington left Fletcher at Badajoz to make the repairs in 1812 because he blamed him for the high casualties (I do not believe it).  Similarly, Fletcher did not appear to have a friendly relationship with his engineer subordinates. He was a great organiser rather than a great leader.

Burgoyne, on the other hand, was generally well liked and had built close and friendly relationships with most of his fellow engineers who served with him in the Peninsula. Burgoyne had also met several Peninsular generals including John Moore and Thomas Graham and was well respected by them. When Burgoyne first came into contact with Wellington he would have come with positive reviews.  In 1809 Burgoyne was ordered by Wellington to carry out comprehensive surveys of the Douro river and the northern border which.  Later in the year he was the only engineer who was with the army for several months when all others were ordered to Lisbon to start work on the Lines of Torres Vedras. This remained the case until mid-1810 when Fletcher re-joined headquarters. Burgoyne would have seen Wellington regularly through this period and was heavily involved in the preparations for the French invasion, surveying potential routes, mining bridges, preparing fort conception and identifying defensive positions all of which would have required close liaison with his commander.

The incident during the action at El Bodon in 1811 where Burgoyne was ordered to stay with a threatened Portuguese regiment (described in detail in the book) showed Wellington’s confidence in Burgoyne, and willingness to use him in non-engineering roles.

Burgoyne then took senior roles at the sieges of Badajoz and Ciudad Rodrigo but avoided the flak that the chief engineer received. When Fletcher remained at Badajoz in 1812, Burgoyne commanded the engineers with the army even though there was another senior engineer in the Peninsula. He carried out another detailed survey of the Douro which would have been in preparation for the advance in 1813 although he would not have known that at the time. The challenges of the Salamanca forts and the failed siege at Burgos did not appear to impact Wellington’s view of Burgoyne.

On the death of Fletcher at San Sebastian in 1813, Burgoyne took over temporary command again. There were two senior engineer officers in the Peninsula at the time and Wellington did not order either up to the army (one was only 40 miles away).  It was almost certain that Wellington was involved in the decision to appoint Burgoyne to the American expedition of 1814.

Burgoyne’s relationship with Wellington did not finish with the end of the war. Wellington was Master General of the Ordnance from 1819-1827 and is likely to have had direct contact with Burgoyne who was commanding engineer for the Medway District, based at Chatham. Burgoyne was selected to be chief engineer of the expedition to Portugal in 1826 and Wellington would have approved this appointment. In 1831 Burgoyne was appointed to the Board of Public Works in Ireland and his work in that country will not have escaped the attention of the Duke.  Burgoyne’s later civil duties across the nation meant he would have been in contact with ministers during the period that Wellington was in the government. One wonders if Wellington had a hand in some of these appointments.

The claim that Burgoyne was (possibly) Wellingtons Favourite Engineer is based on his regular use of this officer when others could have been used. Wellington clearly had great confidence in him and was happy to use him in the absence of senior engineer officers and sometimes over other army officers. No other senior engineer officer served as long under Wellington during the Peninsular War and survived. This relationship built in war would endure for another thirty years in peace.

Rebellious Scots to Crush

By Andrew Bamford

There is something of a contradiction in the ’45 – the last, and perhaps best-known, of the Jacobite Risings – now that serious history has moved away from seeing in it yet another round of an England versus Scotland struggle lasting unbroken from William Wallace to Nicola Sturgeon.

On the one hand, it was indisputably an integral part of the wider European struggle known as the War of the Austrian Succession, which had itself subsumed the pre-existing Anglo-Spanish War of Jenkin’s Ear and which also encompassed not one but two Silesian Wars. My previous book on the ’45, The Lilies and the Thistle, looked at this aspect by exploring the French involvement in the Rising and the activities of the small but significant number of French troops to fight in the British Isles. On the other hand, though, the Rising, and the response to it, was very much a matter of local concerns and it was these concerns, far more so than national or international dynastic politics, that dictated allegiances when the arrival of the Stuart heir in Scotland forced people to choose sides. Had a locality done well out of the new regime under the Hanoverian dynasty, now in its second generation on the throne, or had there been stagnation that made people ripe for a change? Was the local magnate committed to one side or the other by family involvement in past Risings – or, conversely, were they showing loyalty to George in 1745 as a way of regaining what father had lost by backing James in 1715 or 1719? Or, perhaps, was the real fear for some not the Jacobites marching out of the north, but the French waiting at Dunkirk in the hope of slipping across the Channel while the British Army was looking the other way? After all, Cornwall raised not one but two regiments in the emergency, and Penzance and Falmouth are a long way from the Highlands!

Original grenadier cap of Granby’s 71st Foot (Belvoir Castle Collection; photographs © Andrew Cormack)
Included in the colour plates section are front and back views of this cap and of a second original example from another of the ‘Noblemen’s Regiments’, Harcourt’s 76th Foot. As well as detailing the raising, composition, and service of these regiments, Andrew Cormack’s chapter lays to rest a number of misconceptions surrounding their uniforms.

One of the intentions with Rebellious Scots to Crush, therefore, was to look at these local concerns by means of case-studies of the different regiments and companies that were raised in different parts of the British Isles to meet the Jacobite threat. Some remained under the control of local county associations, although in reality this often made them the tools of the local Whig gentry, while others were temporarily taken, thanks to political jobbery, into the ranks of the regular forces with all the perks that that entailed. Many of these units – the ‘Blues’ volunteers, and the so-called ‘Noblemen’s Regiments’ taken into the line – were of rather questionable military value, but looking at how they were raised, paid for, organised, uniformed and equipped, gives us a valuable insight into how the mid-Georgian state responded to the emergency, and by consulting local and family papers a great deal of new information has been brought to the fore.

In Scotland, meanwhile, the immediate proximity of the Jacobite threat and a far more divided country – after all, England gave Charles a single weak regiment; Scotland gave him an army – made for a rather different, and much more confused, response. The situation in Edinburgh was symptomatic of this, with an existing paramilitary force supplemented by units forming to meet the threat but each with their own agendas as well. Thus divided, Edinburgh’s forces failed to prevent Charles from taking Scotland’s capital. In the Western Highlands, meanwhile, the Duke of Argyll and his cousin, Major General Campbell of Mamore, were able to form a far more coherent force but only by resorting – after initially being hamstrung by legislation intended to keep arms out of the hands of potential Jacobites – to methods not far removed from those by which other Highland magnates brought out their men for the Stuarts. One of the things that can frequently be forgotten in more politicised tellings of the events of 1745 and 1746 is the number of Scots who remained loyal to George II. When a title was chosen for this book, from the contemporary lyric sung to the tune of ‘God save the King’, it was with an eye very much to the word ‘Rebellious’ and not the word ‘Scots’: there were plenty of the latter who did their share of crushing, just as there were Englishmen who rebelled.

For all this focus on men raised, ‘for the duration’, as it were, it should not be forgotten that it was ultimately the regular British Army that crushed the Rising. Yet the redcoat is too often the lumpen and anonymous villain of the story of the ’45, and so a final objective in putting the book together was to provide some case-studies of the regular soldier’s experience of the Rising. The regiments that were available to meet the threat when Charles first landed were largely a sorry lot, whose poor discipline and training helped assure the Jacobites an early victory at Prestonpans. The troops brought back from Flanders, on the other hand, were veterans but were soon worn out by a winter campaign under Wade that saw much marching and little fighting and left his successor Hawley with a brittle army that broke at Falkirk. Only the arrival of spring, supplies, and Cumberland, shifted the balance and led to the victory at Culloden.

Volunteer of the Derbyshire Blues, 1745. (Artwork by Christa Hook © Helion and Company)
This reconstruction is compiled from a number of primary sources, including the archives at Chatsworth House which give details of the leatherwork and accoutrements that were ordered for these local troops.

This work has been a joint effort and some years in the gestation. As I began to assemble a team of writers, many of them past contributors to the From Reason to Revolution series, an early volunteer was the noted historian of the period, Colonel Hugh Boscawen. As a descendent of one of the men who raised a ‘Nobleman’s Regiment’, he would have been well placed to write about his ancestor, Viscount Falmouth, on this topic but he soon volunteered to contribute to the book more widely and to assist me with the front- and end-matter. Sadly, his worsening illness and untimely death prevented him from doing as he had wished. Our mutual friend Andrew Cormack kindly stepped in to write about the ‘Noblemen’s Regiments’ in his stead, and to he and all the contributors I owe my thanks, but by agreement of all concerned it is to Hugh that this title is dedicated.

As well as an introduction detailing the various sorts of troops available to oppose the Jacobites, contents comprise:

  • Jonathan Oates on the 13th and 14th Dragoons.
  • Mark Price on Pulteney’s 13th Foot.
  • Andrew Cormack on the ‘Noblemen’s Regiments’ (67th-79th Foot, 9th and 10th Horse).
  • Arran Johnston on the Edinburgh Trained Bands, City Guard, Volunteers, and Regiment.
  • Jenn Scott on the Argyll Militia.
  • Jonathan Oates on the Yorkshire Blues.
  • Andrew and Lucy Bamford on the Derbyshire Blues.

As a bonus, a detailed appendix provides the order of battle for all forces deployed against the Jacobites in the course of the campaign, including unit strengths where these are known.

You can buy the book here.

Making a Cannon

By Jonathan Davies

“Tell them, whatever you do, don’t try and make a cannon.” That is the polite version of what my son said to me when I told him I was writing this blog. The project has taken twice as long and cost twice as much as I thought but it has also been fascinating and produced something beautiful and permanent. The following should still be considered a warning rather than an encouragement.

The project was the consequence of my retirement and a small windfall. I had led a re-enactment group for almost 20 years and had decided to carry on but on a much smaller scale. The focal point of the new ‘gun company’ was to be a cast bronze cannon from the reign of Henry VIII. This was a period of history where there are currently few re-enactment groups and plenty of excellent venues.

The Barrel

With limited funds we decided that it was far better to produce an accurate version of a smaller gun rather than a poor copy of a larger. Only major national museums, such as the Royal Armouries in the UK and the Vasa museum in Sweden could afford to produce large pieces of bronze ordnance. A steel barrel inserted into a fibreglass shell, although economical and practical, did not appeal to our sense of authenticity.

On simple grounds of cost and practicality the gun could only be a falconet, one of the smallest contemporary guns. The first gun we investigated was in the Musee de l’Armee. It was octagonal in form, some 1.06m long weighing 25.4kgs. Its shape, proportions and date, (ca1510), would suit our plans but we hoped to find a rather larger gun. The search led us to two bronze falcons held in the collection of the Royal Armouries, at the Tower of London and Fort Nelson. Both were early guns of octagonal form. With the approval of the Royal Armouries staff we made detailed measurements and drawings of both guns.

Comparison of key proportions of comparable faceted falcons and falconets.

TypeDateLocationOriginBoreLengthCalibre
FalconCa 1500Ft NelsonGenoa63mm2.54m40
Falcon1540TowerFlemish?58mm2.31m39
Falcon1520Ft NelsonGenoese66mm3.05m46
FalconetCa 1526GlasgowScottish54mm1.71m32
Falconet1510ParisFrench32mm1.06m31
Falconet2019BirminghamIlkeston46mm1.67m36
An early 16th century Genoese falconet had a diameter of 46-47mm (1.8in) and would use a ball weighing one Italian libra. The later English falconets had a bore of two inches (51mm).

It was the falcon in Fort Nelson xix-14 which particularly took our fancy. The heraldry would suggest that it was cast prior to 1503. Renato Ridella suggests that the letter G, cast around the touch hole was the initial of the Genoese gun founder Gregorio I Gioardi, who died in 1518. Our gun would for obvious reasons have a cast D, in carefully researched Lombardic script. It would also have two shields on the facets as did the original. The cross of St George was used by Genoa and it seemed appropriate for us as well. My son was able to produce a falconet version of the design conforming to contemporary proportions.

The process of casting required the making of a precise two-part pattern. The mould would be horizontal but slightly tilted to ensure a free flow of metal into all corners of the mould. Ben Shutt a young pattern-maker was responsible for making the wooden pattern and a local foundry took on the responsibility for casting. The first gun was cast at 1.15pm on 1 February 2019 by a well-drilled group of seven men, the whole process taking little more than two minutes. Unfortunately, it soon became apparent that the core had slipped and that the thickness of metal at the breech was in no way uniform. This was a common contemporary problem even in a gun cast vertically. The gun was unsafe and could not be proceeded with. It was therefore back to the factory for the gun to be recast. With a new gun it was now down to a firm in Leighton Buzzard to drill a perfect bore.

The gun was cast with additional material around the trunnions in order to avoid cracking during casting. The facets of the gun, the heraldry and the mouldings all required considerable fettling, using files and cold chisels to produce the correct finish. It was important to avoid using modern tools as we wanted to replicate the original finish. Several visits to the Fort Nelson falcon and detailed photographs enabled us to establish exactly what the finish on the gun should be. Hundreds of hours have now been expended in this fettling process but the result is a beautiful gun.

This work revealed numerous small flaws, especially on the upper surface. Two small holes, filled with a sand/bronze mix were found, one near the touch hole and the other on the breech moulding. We decided that before proofing we should investigate the integrity of the barrel using X-rays. There were no voids in the casting, there were a few patches where the density of material varied. The horizontal casting was bound to produce such issues.

Proofing the gun presented significant problems. The Birmingham Proof House were unable to proof such a long-barrelled gun on its Birmingham site. Now for our very own Catch 22. You can’t hire a field to proof a gun without insurance and you can’t get insurance until your gun is proofed! Fortunately, I had a friend who owned a large field just south of Bristol. This is where the gun was eventually proofed, by two Proof House technicians, on what was one of the wettest days of the year. It did make a lovely bang. Result!

All this could only have been achieved with the commitment and hard work of Tom and Tim as well as the arcane skills of manufacturing firms both old and new.

The Fort nelson Falcon is in the centre of this photo. As you can see it is a very fine form without the reinforcements that will appear later. The polygonal design is associated with early cannons from c. 1500-1560, cast in France, Flanders, England and Italy.
Tom’s 3D version of the falconet using contemporary proportions and shape to produce a beautifully elegant design. His detailed engineering drawings were essential for the pattern maker to produce a precise model.
The pattern was very, very big. It was so precisely made that there was virtually no visible ‘seam’ when it was cast.
The gun was cast horizontally in sand. The mould was held together with a large number of heavy weights. Some 120kgs of bronze was poured of which over 80kgs constituted the cannon itself. It was an exciting and tense moment for everyone.
The gun as it came out of the foundry after the removal of the waste from the casting. The exterior was still very rough and required hundreds of hours of work by Tim and Tom.
The proofing was not an administrative technicality but a real test of all the work up to that point. It used a 4oz. proofing charge. I would have liked to have fired a few more rounds but the weather precluded it.
Not the final state of the barrel but most of the hard work has been done to clean up the casting, the mouldings and heraldry. Contemporary paintings show the barrels in their true colour, which contrasts with the muted greens of museum examples. In bright sunshine the barrel shines like a mirror!

Confessions of a Female Wargamer

By Carole Flint

There are some hobbies where women generally fear to tread. Angling used to be one of them, but that has changed a lot in the last decade or so, and contact sports like Rugby is another, but that has also changed. Wargaming is, however, still  an area where women are very much the minority. Why should that be? Well, I can only speak for myself, but I’ve been playing with toy soldiers since I was small. I have loved swashbuckling and adventure stories for even longer.

Let’s take a step back to the dim past, or the 1960s as some of us call it. I was always a solitary child with few friends. I was shy and I found it hard to open up to others. Consequently I took refuge in reading. Luckily, I was a good reader from an early age and I read voraciously. When I was in my first year at primary school, the teacher read us “The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe”, which I loved, and I went on to read the other books in the series. I liked that the female characters were given prominent roles, although I much preferred Jill Pole and Polly Plummer to the Pevensie children. However, I discovered the “Swallows and Amazons” books shortly after, thus engendering my first literary crush, the formidable Nancy Blackett, someone who I really wished I could be. I also sought out various stories mentioned in the books, such as the “Ingoldsby Legends”, which seemed to spark the romantic swashbuckling instincts of Titty Walker a lot. However, I found the language of that book tough going.

Anyway, I read widely and preferred exciting stories to anything else, apart from History. I absolutely loved History.

Wargaming arrived when I was around 11. My father brought home Don Featherstone’s “War Games” from the library one week. After reading it, he went out and bought a box each of Airfix Desert Rats and Afrika Korps and a couple of tanks models, which were pretty random, being a Tiger and a T-34. The British got the T-34. As an aside, just think how different the war might have been if the British had actualy had T-34s in 1942. Anyway, it wasn’t too long before the dining table was turned into the North African desert and I was roped in to play games of soldiers. I enjoyed this hugely, having sat through the usual Sunday afternoon TV fare of black and white war films for years.

My father also brought home Charles Grant’s “The War Game”, a book that impressed me much more, because the pictures looked so good with all those massed ranks of soldiers. We never got to play any of those games, though, not having access to any 18th century figures.

Time marched on, though, and in my teens other things took prominence, underground music and being a hippy, mostly, but I never lost my love of history and adventure stories. The next big thing for me was one of the most important literary influences on my wargaming life; Tolkien’s “Lord Of The Rings”. This gave me my second great literary crush, the Elven Lady Galadriel. She was POWERFUL. People loved and feared her. She wielded Elven magic. She ticked all the boxes for me.

Of course, I was reading lots of other fantasy stuff too, and inevitably this led on to Dungeons and Dragons, a game I embraced as a student. Of course, life took over, including getting a job, growing up and having a family. Games went to the back of the queue. However, when my son was growing up, he developed an interest in games, initially via the MB Games Heroquest, which we bought him for Christmas one year, and then Warhammer Fantasy and later on 40K. I painted up endless Elves, Goblins, Space Marines etc and helped him build scenery and played in his games too. Then, as these things often seem to do, he moved on to teenage rugby and playing bass in a band, and the Warhammer stuff ended up getting sold.

So, what got me back into gaming? The simple answer is Boredom. My life was all about work. I was a manager in a large IT Services company and I was drained by work and I needed to get away from reality. Pretty much out of nowhere, I started looking online at wargaming stuff, just to see what the hobby was like in the present day. I was amazed at the abundance of rules, figures, vehicles etc, and also at the breadth of games one could play. When I took voluntary redundancy from work-related stress, I became very bored indeed and one day, on a whim, I went shopping online. Before long, I was painting up PSC British and German infantry and tanks with the aim of playing solo games, but I needed rules. I was drawn to the idiosyncratically-titled “I Ain’t Been Shot, Mum” and bought the rules. I suddenly had structure. I put armies together, I played a few games, but I wanted more. I went shopping mad. I bought the Field of Glory: Renaissance rules, because I’ve always liked the Pike and Shot period, and I bought and painted Louis XIV and William of Orange armies from Lurkio. Unhappily, I didn’t like the rules, so I moved on to other things, specifically another TFL set of rules, Sharp Practice, which I was able to play at Crusade in Penarth with Richard Clarke himself running the game. I was hooked. Before long, I had the rules and two Peter Pig 15mm Union and Confederate armies. I played solo, but I also roped my partner in for a few games, but I had the bug now and I was widening my purchases. I discovered Ground Zero Games and bought loads of 15mm Sci Fi troops. Why? I just liked them. That was reason enough. I started exploring the imaginary nations concept, remembering my love of Charles Grant’s book. I started a blog, basically so I could write about my chosen imagi-nations, based on Syldavia and Borduria in the Tintin graphic novels of Hergé. I’d been an avid viewer of the TV cartoons in the 60s and we had had the books in French at school. Obviously, I needed armies for this too. Using Sharp Practice as my ruleset, I put together armies for both countries using Essex 15mm Seven Years’ War Austrian, French and Prussian figures.

Of course, eventually I had to start playing games against real (and willing) opponents, so I joined a local wargaming club, after visiting their annual show for a couple of years running, and now I get to play all kinds of games against real friendly opponents. It was at one of these shows that I met someone who is a real pioneer in women’s wargaming, Annie Norman of Bad Squiddo. Needless to say, I think of her as a real friend now and I have lots and lots of her excellent figures.

Revenge, Honour, and National Identity

Nicholas Kaizer explains why the War of 1812 still has such a resonance in today’s Canada.

‘A six pounder is not an army, no more is 450 men, except in our puny war’ wrote one Upper Canadian in a Halifax newspaper in 1813.[1] Even contemporaries living in the British North American colonies (what is today Eastern Canada) recognized that the scale of the War of 1812 was tiny compared to the titanic campaigns being waged in Europe. By this point in the Napoleonic Wars, field armies could comprise hundreds of thousands of men: over 600,000 men made up Napoleon’s Grand Armée when he invaded Russia (1812), and the colossal Battle of Leipzig (1813) involved 600,000 soldiers in all. The British army that invaded and burned Washington DC (1814), by contrast, fielded just over 4,000 redcoats. The colonials also recognized, that to the wider British Empire, their Anglo-American conflict was a bit of a sideshow.

Still, 19th century Haligonians were engrossed by the campaigns in Canada, just as they were by those of Lord Wellington in Europe. The naval actions of the conflict were not neglected, either. Most shockingly for Halifax, USS Constitution, the famous American heavy frigate, defeated two Royal Navy frigates in single ship actions. A third frigate was captured by her sister ship, USS United States, and by March 1813 three British sloops of war met the same fate. During the 19th century, Halifax was a fiercely British city – proud subjects of the King and proud of the Royal Navy. Haligonians, who had enthusiastically followed the exploits of Admiral Horatio Nelson, were shocked by the losses, and struggled to come to terms with them; how could the Royal Navy be defeated by the upstart Americans?

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Not the Little Belt
Illustration by Elizabetha Tsitrin, Image Courtesy of Blue Nautilus Art, https://bluenautilusart.com/

Today, we Canadians cling to our national prowess in hockey and celebrate our athletes. The Toronto Raptor’s Championship win in the summer of 2019 briefly drew the attention and admiration of the country. In the early 19th century, our sports heroes were the officers and men of the Royal Navy’s frigates – figures who held a great degree of star power. They captivated Halifax’s youth and inspired many to seek a career in the navy, including a young Provo Wallis, who won fame during the War of 1812, and would go on to reach the highest rank in the Royal Navy. Beamish Murdoch, a future Nova Scotian historian who was a boy during the conflict, remembered the ‘sad series of disasters’ which, while ‘they are only connected with the history of our province indirectly,’ their impact ‘on the minds of our people was great, stimulating their patriotism and loyalty instead of depressing them.’[2] Faced with the losses of 1812, Halifax’s papers sought to defend the reputation and honour of their naval heroes, clinging to the fact that USS Constitution and her sisters vastly outclassed the RN frigates which they defeated. It was a remarkably similar tune to that sung by the press in England, which too sought to defend the honour of the Royal Navy and its sailors. This is still the understanding of today’s British and Canadian historians. The historiography of the War of 1812, alas, has always been steeped in national biases.

When I set to work on the project that would culminate in Revenge in the Name of Honour, I quickly noticed that not all contemporaries seemed to agree that the American victories could be sufficiently explained by their marked advantage in sire and firepower. None other than James Dacres, the captain of HMS Guerriere during her crushing loss to USS Constitution, declared at his court martial that the disparity in force had little to do with the defeat, and that he wished ‘to be once more opposed to the Constitution, with [his old crew] under my command, in a frigate of similar force to the Guerriere.’[3] The attitudes and actions of the Royal Navy’s captains following the losses suggest that Dacres’ rather bold interpretation was not unique. More than one officer sought revenge and contemplated putting their ships and crew into unnecessary risk to do so. The boldest was Captain Philip Broke of HMS Shannon, whose tiresome and risky efforts to bring about a single ship action with an American frigate paid off on 1 June 1813, when in a brief action Shannon captured USS Chesapeake.

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H.M.S. Shannon Leading Her Prize the American Frigate Chesapeake Into Halifax Harbour. Schletky, J.C., King, R.H., Haghe, L. Library and Archives Canada, R3908-0-0-E W.H. Coverdale Collection of Canadiana, http://collectionscanada.gc.ca/pam_archives/index.php?fuseaction=genitem.displayItem&lang=eng&rec_nbr=2836439

The victory reinvigorated the British. It was celebrated on both sides of the Atlantic, and Broke was showered with praise and honours from Halifax and British society. Halifax continued to celebrate the action well into the following century, and it became a staple of cultural memory and local literature. Its centenary in 1913 was marked by major events, and the 150th anniversary was celebrated with a naval spectacle, attended by warships from the Royal Navy, the still-young Royal Canadian Navy, and even from the United States Navy, once a bitter enemy but now united by a camaraderie built over two world wars. Alas, as with most aspects of the War of 1812, it had largely faded from public memory by the bicentenary in 2012, when the Government of Canada again commemorated the war, as part of a wider mission to celebrate a nostalgic vision of Canada’s colonial past.

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Photograph of a 18-pounder on display outside Province House, Halifax (seat of the Nova Scotia House of Assembly), believed to have come from Shannon. One believed to have come from Chesapeake is on display on the opposite side of the building. Halifax Military Heritage Preservation Society, https://hmhps.ca/sites/shannon-vs-chesapeake

While the general public in Halifax has largely forgotten the conflict, the naval-interested public still hold a certain delight in this particular bit of history. It has taken up more than its fair share of curated space in museums and public places in the city, which is hardly surprising; not only was Shannon’s senior surviving lieutenant a Haligonian (Provo Wallis), but Canadians delight in any arena we can claim a victory over our cousins to the south. It was no different in Halifax in 1813, when the small town flocked from Sunday church to the waterfront to cheer on Shannon and the Haligonian officer at her helm.

Lieutenant Provo Wallis, At the Time of His Victorious Entry Into Halifax Harbour, ca. 1800-1880, Davey Fitzner. Library and Archives Canada/William Kingsford collection/e010966281, http://www.bac-lac.gc.ca/eng/CollectionSearch/Pages/record.aspx?app=FonAndCol&IdNumber=4310540

[1] NSA, Acadian Recorder, Saturday 4 December 1813, 1:47 (online), available at https://novascotia.ca/archives/newspapers/archives.asp?ID=800

[2] Beamish Murdoch, A History of Nova Scotia, or Acadie, (Halifax: J. Barnes, 1867), Vol 3, p.334.

[3] TNA, ADM 1/5431, Testimony of Dacres, CM Guerriere.

Fashioning Regulation, Regulating Fashion. The Uniforms and Dress of the British Army 1800-1815

By Ben Townsend

The reading rooms of the National Archives at Kew present a curious sight on any given afternoon. Imagine a care home for the massively over-educated and terminally under-employed, and you will have a fitting conception of many of the inhabitants. The emblematic animal of the archives, and their notional spirit animal, is the swan, and a beautiful family of swans skim the ponds of the Kew forecourt. It is a not-inapt metaphor for the operation of the archives: the staff are all apparent grace and dignity, but beneath the surface, there is frenetic action, powering the perpetual cycle of documents from readers to storage and back again.

There are not many swans amongst the readers. A broad sweep of the detritus of the reading rooms might harvest a few spirit sloths who have carried their slippers from home, plenty of dishevelled wombats apparently unacquainted with a barber, and the occasional neophyte as startled giraffe, swivelling its neck in nervous wonder. Spending a lot of time in this atmosphere one begins to feel at home among this often vague, but also minutely focussed motley herd. You unthinkingly adopt their quiet padding lope to the return counter, and their lolloping shuffle of anticipation taking them to the arrived document pigeon holes. From there, it’s a short step to master the thousand-yard stare at the coffee counter down in the lobby, as one struggles to drag the mind back from mortgage rolls of the fifteenth century to deal with the mundane choices of various caffeine-based cups.

I spent enough time amongst these people to feel at home when researching my latest book there. It involved thumbing many tens, even hundreds of thousands of document and folio pages, and while doing so, one becomes aware of other subterraneana lurking under the surface of the documents themselves. My particular haunt was the labyrinthine military bureaucracy and associated government apparatus of the early nineteenth century. Handling the correspondence between the lugubrious assistant second secretary to the deputy-assistant-adjutant-general at Horse Guards and his wizened counterpart at the Clothing Board in Great George Street can be a fairly dry experience, but after a while one comes to recognise their handwriting, and know their idioms of speech, and you begin to feel at home in their company. After joining the family of bureaucrats in their everyday procedures, and feeling them come to life again while thumbing through their letters, it’s just a few steps further to imagining you are part of that family. When you listen to their long lost voices asking after the health of the housekeeper’s cat, you wonder why on earth they would let a cat into a room used for storing textiles. Imagine the hair everywhere! One can sympathise with the custodian of the pattern-room who battles rheumatism and the cat with equal stoicism.

There are frustrations amongst the papers too, to balance these homely pleasures. In correspondence concerning the pattern room  (a storage place for sealed patterns of military uniform), one is all too frequently brought up short by the constant references along the lines of, ‘see pattern item attached’. This starts to become something of a litany to lost wonders, as the pattern was always attached to the original correspondence, and not included in the letter-book. When one is concentrated on the subject of these elusive patterns, to be always brought up short and reminded of their absence, is to exist in a state of perpetual disappointment. But there are exceptions. Sometimes after a long day reading letter-books recording the ingoing and outgoing correspondence of the pattern office, one turns the thousandth page and is confronted by a splash of glorious colour. Some marvellous new clerk has failed to remove the pattern item or drawing and file it properly, and it survives, as fresh as the day it was deposited. Below are two examples of these survivals, calculated to raise the spirits of even the most jaded wombat of the reading room.

These two samples of uniform lace illustrate the lace worn by the buglers of the 71st Regiment in 1819 and 1820. The practice of buglers wearing reversed colours had fallen out of favour by 1811, and they were to be distinguished by a different lace to that of the other ranks instead. This was a utilitarian alteration, intended to prevent the disproportionate targeting by the enemy of buglers, who were a vital part of the command and control hierarchy, owing to their role in transmitting orders.

This expertly rendered coloured drawing of the new 1812 pattern infantry cap plate pre-empts the issue of the infantry clothing warrant of that year, indicating that The First, or Royal Scots, Regiment had followed the advice of the clothing board of 1811 and prepared their issue of the new model caps in advance.

Further examples of these fortunate survivals are recorded in the author’s two new volumes on the regulation material of the British army, Regulating Fashion, Fashioning Regulation.

Find volume one on our website here.

Find Volume two on our website here.